Dragonbind: The Great Hunt

[Haruchai]

to where we sat leaning against each other on the heavy golden chest that protected the Horn of Valere

Click to shrink...

Well, that's like half of the plot of book 2 unravelled right there. LOL. At least there won't be an annoying fetch quest this time around. How this will affect the Seanchan's arrival I am unsure of. Specially if neither Rand nor the horn of Valere will be available at Falme.

 

[Adullahan]

Contains excerpts from the Great Hunt by Robert Jordan

---

Amadaine 3, 998 NE (June 10th)

I scanned the room. Moiraine sat to one side of the room, and one of the Brown Aes Sedai I had met last night, Verin Sedai, sat to the other, but it was the woman in the tall chair behind the wide table who held my eyes. The curtains had been partially drawn over the arrowslits, but the gaps let in enough light behind her to make her face hard to see clearly. I still recognized her, though. The Amyrlin Seat. Why is the Brown Sister here?

Quickly I dropped to one knee, left hand on sword hilt, right fist pressed to the patterned rug, and bowed my head. "As you have summoned me, Mother, so have I come. I stand ready."

"Yes, this again. Stand up, boy, stand up." The Amyrlin sighed. I met the Amyrlin Seat's look eye to eye. She did not blink. I tried not to, but could not help myself.

"Sit, boy," she said finally, gesturing to a ladder-back chair that had been pulled around squarely in front of the table. "This will not be short, I fear."

"Thank you, Mother." I bowed my head, then, as Lan had told me, glanced at the chair and touched my sword. "By your leave, Mother, I will stand. The watch is not done."

The Amyrlin Seat made an exasperated sound and looked at Moiraine. "Must you have let Lan at him, Daughter? This will be difficult enough without him picking up Warder ways."

"Lan has been teaching all the boys, Mother," Moiraine replied calmly. "He has spent a little more time with this one than the others because he carries a sword, and because I chose him as my second Warder."

I couldn't help my snort.

All three women looked at me, eyebrows raised in unison.

My face was calm as I stared back, not showing my mirth at Moiraine's woolly words. If Moiraine wanted to basically lie to the Amyrlin Seat I was not going to help her. I worked with Lan every day, nearly. I don't think Perrin has touched his axe, nor Mat his bow.

The Brown Aes Sedai shifted on her chair. "The Gaidin are stiff-necked and proud, Mother, but useful. I would not be without Tomas, as you would not lose Alric. I have even heard a few Reds say they sometimes wish for a Warder. And the Greens, of course..."

The three Aes Sedai were all ignoring me, now. "This sword," the Amyrlin Seat said. "It appears to be a heron-mark blade. How did he come by that, Moiraine?"

"Tam al'Thor left the Two Rivers as a boy, Mother. He joined the army of Illian, and served in the Whitecloak War and the last two wars with Tear. In time he rose to be a blademaster and the Second Captain of the Companions. After the Aiel War, Tam al'Thor returned to the Two Rivers with a wife from Caemlyn and an infant boy. It would have saved much, had I known this earlier, but I know it now."

He was telling the truth, but did not say he rose so high. I cannot believe I was raised by a blademaster who never taught me! And how did Moiraine find all this out? I frowned, worry gnawing at my belly.

"Against Tear." The Amyrlin Seat frowned slightly. "Well, there was blame enough on both sides in those wars. Fool men who would rather fight than talk. Can you tell if the blade is authentic, Verin?"

"There are tests, Mother."

"Then take it and test it, Daughter." Okay, time to speak up.

I laughed out loud, but my tone was sharp. "That is not happening. This is a power-wrought blade, given to me by my father. It is my sword now and I will not be parted from it." My words were louder than I intended, and I felt embarrassed when I realized Verin Sedai had made no move to get up.

"So," the Amyrlin Seat said, "you have some fire in you besides whatever Lan put in. Good. You will need it."

This was a test, I realized. "I am what I am, Mother," I managed smoothly enough. "I stand ready for what comes. I demonstrated so last night." My stomach felt queasy as images flashed in my mind of the dead men, their bodies torn apart by my sword.

She looked me straight in the eye, speaking plainly. "Lan has been at you. Very well. In a couple hours, after we publically announce you as chinnar'veren, you will join Lord Ingtar Shinowa and your friends Mat and the other one—Perrin?—will go as well. You will guard the Horn of Valere until it reaches Illian, first by river, then across land. Is this acceptable?"

I nodded. "Yes, that is much what I expected, Mother."

"And when you reach Illian, you will announce yourself as Lord Drake, the chinnar'veren who found and then rescued the stolen Horn of Valere. You will be crowned king by the Council of Nine and the Assemblage, in accordance with Moiraine Sedai's plans." I was surprised she spoke so directly, and in the presence of the Brown Sister.

I looked to Verin Sedai, who had sat quietly, watching me. "Does she know?" I asked plainly. If she did not, then why have her here?

"That you are the Dragon Reborn? Yes, I am aware. There is no other reasonable explanation why Moiraine would bond a man who can channel, let alone become infatuated." She looked at me as if I were a juicy, wriggling worm, and she the bird. "Your tattoo is quite remarkable, may I see more of it? I must make a quick sketch of it." The Brown Sister brought out a small pad of paper and a box of charcoals from somewhere and dragged her seat closer to where I stood.

The Amyrlin looked at her with exhaustion and just sighed, rubbing her forehead. "We all three know what you are, boy."

Moiraine finally spoke up, when she realized the Amyrlin would not say more. "We have known her since we were Novices. I can trust her enough, Rand, you simply need to trust me. And if she is not trustworthy, I know where to find her." Verin did not even pause, not hearing the threat.

The Amyrlin continued, pointedly ignoring the sound of sketching, and Verin's noises of appreciation as she moved my bare forearm this way and that, admiring the tattoo in the sunlight. Her voice was sharp and sure. "After you consolidate your hold on Illian as its new King, you will seek Toman Head with an army, and deal with whatever lies there. Whether shadowspawn and Forsaken or Artur Hawkwing's return, you confront it and you proclaim yourself there. Returning a conquering King will cement your hold in Illian, and the reactions in Tarabon, Arad Doman and the Almoth plain will be worth watching. Moiraine Sedai will have to make plans when you get to that point."

Annoyed, I replied, "I can agree with seeking Toman Head out, with an army even. I have been told to go there already, by another. But Moiraine and I will make plans when we get there, we will be partners, Mother. I am not content to be on puppet strings."

She gave me a hard look. "Moiraine Sedai, will rule Illian in your absence. We will not have Illian falling into rebellion the second you leave. There will be chaos enough, with just you leaving. If you want to make plans for nations you know nothing of, then feel free. You'll see how few the strings we have on you are. Moiraine Sedai will clean up your mess later." Her voice brooked no nonsense, as she seemed to rise in her chair taller than me, which made me want to bow my head in acquiescence. That just made me angry. I wanted to glare, I wanted to fight and deny, to claim I could do better with the world than the White Tower has, but that would do nothing to help me, only make me appear a spoilt child. Better the Amyrlin think me domesticated. And it seems Moiraine has not spoken of Doors, so at least I can trust her to keep some secrets.

I nodded, slowly, not saying a word, and she smiled, a dazzling smile that made her handsome face beautiful, the sunlight haloing her head, her hair done up in a net of gold wire.

"Good. Very good. I'm glad to see my Daughter Moiraine was not merely infatuated, but seeing true. Finding a good man who listens is like noodling for catfish on the new moon, it's always a surprise you've caught one. Now tell me, how well can you channel?"

I wove dozen heatless flames in a dozen colors, sparking and popping and hissing, bobbing gently in the air. The Amyrlin Seat leaned back but stared intently, as if trying to see the threads of saidin, while Verin suddenly pulled a new page of paper and began immediately writing, muttering quietly to herself.

Moiraine shook her head, smiling, feeling proud. "He prepared this little demonstration, Mother. Worked very hard on it all last week. Almost dangerously so, when he began altering the weave to make it fizz and sparkle and change color. He is a genius with weaving, picks up techniques and modifications like he was remembering them."

"A week? Two weeks at most? How is such a thing possible? Such a display would take a Novice years!"

"My teacher taught me well." I smiled, pleased at the praise. "Even though she tried to tell me 'A bird cannot teach a fish to fly, nor a fish teach a bird to swim.'"

"I have always thought that was a bad saying," Verin said suddenly. "There are birds that dive and swim. And in the Sea of Storms are fish that fly, with long fins that stretch out as wide as your outstretched arms, and beaks like swords that can pierce...." Her words trailed off and she became flustered. Moiraine and the Amyrlin Seat were staring at her without expression. Verin busied herself with her papers.

I decided to distract the growing anger of the Amyrlin Seat. Let us see what else Moiraine has told her 'Mother'. "I have discovered lost weaves, Mother. Weaves Moiraine has studied and even recreated with saidar. I have weaves for sensing the One Power, identifying angreal, weaves that tie to my body, allowing me to float gently from a fall, or spray fire and lighting my hands for as long as I hold the One Power, and many more. They just appeared in my head one day." I paused, a smile growing. "And we discovered something miraculous, Mother. We found that a chinnar'veren channelers expel the Taint from their body while channeling, in the form of vomit and smoke."

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat as I spoke of the Taint, a frown forming. "Moiraine Sedai told me of all of these, and her own discoveries, but I will have to see this 'expelling' for myself. I prepared a lead container for you. Verin Sedai?"

So she did not tell her about the Door to Darkspace, like I thought. I smiled.

"Oh yes, let me grab it." She rummaged around in the bag near her chair. "Ah, here it is." She handed me a square lead box, and a towel, a kind smile on her face. "For any spillage, I'd like to see how it affects cloth."

I took a deep breath, releasing saidin, the flames fading out. Then I transformed: long red-golden hair spilling from my scalp, scales surrounding my eyes and dusting my jaw, sharp teeth giving me a predator's smile. My ears lengthen to points, and golden antlers burst from my forehead and bend back, and my fingers become scaled and clawed. I stand in the so'shan of a chinnar'veren, the Lord Form of a shapechanger, in the middle of the room.

And I immediately vomited an awful black oil that curdled my stomach and coats my mouth in the taste of decay into the lead box. Embarrassed, I wipe my mouth with the towel, that lingering Taint burning the cloth. It was an acrid smell.

I walked forward to the Amyrlin's desk and set the box with its open lid atop. Goosepimples ran up my arms, and she recoiled from the box almost immediately. "Light Preserve me, that blasted stuff has to be the Taint,"—she shivered—"I've never felt something so evil, so rancid and wrong. Verin, take it away. Now."

Verin Sedai appeared next to me, peering at the box before also starting. "Oh. Yes. Yes, that feels quite awful." She turned to me, genuine sympathy in her eyes. "You poor boy, have to have that in your body. If merely channeling some lights produces that much Taint, it is no wonder some men go mad so quickly. Though I have some regret. I had been wanting to document the mad—"

"I said, take it away, Verin," the Amyrlin interrupted, her voice calm and cool but her eyes lit with an angry fire. "You have spoken much out of turn today. Do you wish to be removed from this room?"

"No Mother," she said, chastened, and quickly snapped the box shut, sealing the Taint inside, hair-thin tendrils of smoke began to pour from the clasp keeping it closed.

"Why do you not gentle me?" The words come out of my mouth, the thought having bounced around in my head since I stood out in the waiting room yesterday, for Moiraine to leave her private meeting. I expected it then, especially with how angry Moiraine looked as she left, and that she muted her bond about an hour before she walked out that door.

The Amyrlin Seat looked at me as if I was a fool. "The Prophecies must be fulfilled. We let you walk free, knowing what you are, because otherwise the world we know will die, and the Dark One will cover the earth with fire and death. Mark me, not all Aes Sedai feel the same. There are some here in Fal Dara who would strike you down if they knew a tenth of what you are, and feel no more remorse than for gutting a fish. But then, there are men who've no doubt laughed with you who would do the same, if they knew. Have a care, Rand al'Thor, Dragon Reborn."

If I only I could remember most of them.

I felt exhausted, all of a sudden. I stared into those bright blue eyes, who watched me like a hunting hawk, distant and cold. "Is there any more you wished to speak of, Mother? I find myself in need of some time alone before I have other matters to attend to."

Those eyes softened. "Take care of yourself, Lord Dragon. The Creator's Hand shelter you, and His Light illumine your path."

A part of Lan's instructions came back to me. Left hand on the hilt, I twisted the sword behind me, catching the scabbard in my right, then bowed, arms straight. "By your leave, Mother, may I depart this place?"

"I give you leave to go, my son. You may accompany him, my Daughter." She nodded to Moiraine, who somehow managed to make leaping out of the chair graceful. The Amyrlin snorted, but said nothing as Moiraine made her way to my side and we left the room, hands intertwined.

---

The ceremony that announced me to Fal Dara was rushed by the Amyrlin Seat, taking place in court at the Fortress, the wide room filled with nobles and commonfolk alike just hours after our meeting. Farmers, blacksmiths, merchants and shopkeeps all mingled amongst Lord and Ladies, respectful and quiet as they spoke about the events of last night and my daring rescue of the Horn. In the hall earlier, I heard a tale of my dueling a Fade and a dozen Darkfriends one on one until I won the Horn back.

I was dressed in a scarlet jacket, a massive black and white dragon on the back curled on itself like the Great Serpent, an ancient symbol of the Wheel of Time, and embroidered golden dragons curling round my arms. Moiraine stood beside me in full Aes Sedai regalia, the formal shawl once again adorning her and her silk blue dress with a high neck and lacy ruffles at her hands. A belt of gold etched with suns adorned her waist, and she wore delicate gold bangles with turquoise stones on her wrists. Her hair was a cascade of dark brown waves that seemed to shine in the sunlight streaming through high, narrow windows down onto the dais, and a spray of sapphires dangled from each ear. With us stood Lord Agelmar, in that formal armor he kept in his office, well-made and gilded but not ostentatious, fierce-looking and martial. The Amyrlin Seat sat on the only chair, lounging like a cat, her eyes never leaving me, done in a dress of white with a ruffled skirt, each of the seven ruffles the color of an Ajah, a stole of the same colors around my neck.

Once enough people gathered in the hall, the doors closed and Lord Agelmar spoke. "We are gathered here today, after a night of chaos and mourning, to discuss a revelation! This revelation was delivered to me by the young Lord Rand and Moiraine Sedai after their triumphant return with the Horn of Valere, a month ago. They told me that the chinnar'veren, our long-lost defenders against the predation of the Shadow have returned." He paused as shouts filled the air, the crowd aware of me, but still astounded by the news. "In ancient tradition an Aes Sedai would often bond with male chinnar'veren, the two defenders of the Light acting in concert with one another in battle and in heart, and I would ask anyone who has seen Lord Rand and Moiraine Sedai together to deny they are bonded. When the Horn was stolen, Moiraine Sedai graciously sent her new Warder to track it down, defeating the Myrddraal in single combat, and slaying five Darkfriends to retrieve the Horn."

A roar filled the room, that quieted when the Amyrlin stood. I hurriedly put my hand to my chest, and so did others in the crowd.

The Amyrlin spoke next. "In the wake of last night's tragedy and betrayal, I urge you to not give up hope. Hope for a better tomorrow, hope for the Light, hope for the defeat of the Shadow and an Age of Blessings, sheltered by the Creator's Hand. I see His Hand in the actions of last night, that the Wheel wove such tragedy with a perfect happy ending. Lord Rand represents this hope, and when he rides out today to hunt for the Horn he found, it will be as Lord Drake, so'shan!" On that cue I transformed, and the crowd went wild, chanting my title as if it would ward off the Dark One himself.

When they quieted, the Amyrlin continued. "Many tales tell of the strange powers chinnar'veren had, the many Talents we have lost. I have witness Lord Drake's talent and it must be seen to be believed. He spits flame, a flame of many colors that is gentle to any who walk in the Light, yet burns the Shadow to ash. He used this flame to kill five Darkfriends and the Myrddraal who lead the fist of Trollocs that caused such suffering. The Light Preserve Lord Drake!"

"The Light Preserve Lord Drake!" came the resounding, echoing response.

I seized saidin, thin tendrils of smoke coming from my nostrils as I spat a tongue of dragonfire, iridescent and radiant, before reaching out with a thread of Fire and a hand to gently grasp it, and shape it into a ball. With a casual hand I tossed it to Moiraine, who caught it. The crowd gasped. She tossed it back to me and I caught it, never once not having control over the flame with a thread of Fire. A servant in black and gold livery approached with a wooden box, and I opened the top to reveal a bullish Trollocs head.

"Those of the Light stay unburnt, while the taint of the Shadow burns brightly in this sacred fire!" I shouted, over the cries of fear and anger at the sight. I picked up the decapitated head by the horns, grateful for the Oneness to mute my disgust and breathed flame. The head caught fire like oil in a pan, instantly blazing, flesh melting by my hand staying unburnt. I passed it to Moiraine who raised the head by the horns as it burnt merrily, before passing it back to me.

I held head, rapidly disintegrating into ash, dusting my clothes and the dais in white. I could feel something come over me, a kind of joy. "The flames you see are the Flame Imperishable, the Light that fills each and every soul with the glory of the Creator. No work of the Dark One can withstand it! This is what you lose when you become a Darkfriend, you lose that ember of Light inside you. I saw each Darkfriend I killed burn without burning, their skin clear of blemishes and wounds, some inner darkness inside of them consumed by the Flame Imperishable until they died and were burnt to ash. Do not let the Light of your souls go out, Shienar. Do not let these betrayals shake you! We are filled with His Light, always!" Even the horns burnt and I dropped the remains, scattering ashes on the dais.

The crowd stood silent, shocked at my revelations and seeming to believe them. Then the shouts came once more.

"Lord Drake! Light Preserve Lord Drake!"

"al'Thor! al'Thor!"

"Lord Drake!"

It was unlike anything I had ever experienced and I let it wash over me, basking in my triumph.

Amadine 3, 998 NE (June 10th)

The outer courtyard was in ordered turmoil when I finally reached it with my saddlebags and the bundle containing the harp and flute. The sun climbed toward midday. Men hurried around the horses, tugging at saddle girths and pack harness, voices raised. Others darted with last-minute additions to the packsaddles, or water for the men working, or dashed off to fetch something just remembered. But everyone seemed to know exactly what they were doing and where they were going. The guardwalks and archers' balconies were crowded again, and excitement crackled in the morning air. Hooves clattered on the paving stones. One of the packhorses began kicking, and stablemen ran to calm it. The smell of horses hung thick. My cloak tried to flap in the breeze that rippled the swooping-hawk banners on the towers, but my bow, slung across my back, held it down.

From outside the open gates, came the sounds of the Amyrlin's pikemen and archers forming up in the square. They had marched around from a side gate. One of the trumpeters tested his horn. Some of the Warders glanced at me as I walked across the courtyard; a few raised eyebrows when they saw me and the heron-mark sword, but none spoke. Half wore the cloaks that were so queasy-making to look at. Mandarb, Lan's stallion, was there, tall, and black, and fierce-eyed, but the man himself was not, and none of the Aes Sedai, none of the women, were in evidence yet either. Moiraine's white mare, Aldieb, stepped daintily beside the stallion. We would be leaving first, to scout the way for the Amyrlin Seat.

My bay stallion was with the other group on the far side of the courtyard, with Ingtar, and a bannerman holding Ingtar's Gray Owl banner, and twenty other armored men with lances tipped with two feet of steel, all mounted already. The bars of their helmets covered their faces, and golden surcoats with the Black Hawk on the chest hid their plate-and-mail. Only Ingtar's helmet had a crest, a crescent moon above his brow, points up. I recognized some of the men. Rough-tongued Uno, with a long scar down his face and only one eye. Ragan and Masema. Others who had exchanged a word or played a game of stones. Ragan waved to him, and Uno nodded, and Masema stared at me with a look of hate, though he was not the only one who stared, the others with awe in their eyes. Their packhorses stood placidly, tails swishing.

The big bay danced as I tied his saddlebags and bundle behind the high-cantled saddle. I put my foot in the stirrup and murmured, "Easy, Red," as I swung into the saddle, but I let the stallion frisk away some of his stable-bound energy.

To my surprise, Loial appeared from the direction of the stables, riding to join them. The Ogier's hairy-fetlocked mount was as big and heavy as a prime Dhurran stallion. Beside it, all the other animals looked the size of Bela, but with Loial in the saddle, the horse seemed almost a pony.

Loial carried no weapon that I could see; I had never heard of any Ogier using a weapon. Their stedding were protection enough. And Loial had his own priorities, his own ideas of what was needed for a journey. The pockets of his long coat had a telltale bulge, and his saddlebags showed the square imprints of books. The Ogier stopped his horse a little way off and looked at me, his tufted ears twitching uncertainly.

"I didn't know you were coming," I said. "I would have thought you had enough adventure, after the Eye and the Ways, of traveling with us. This time there's no telling how long it will be, but I mean to be in Illian before three months pass."

Loial's ears lifted a little. "There was no telling when I first met you, either. Besides, what held then, holds now. I can't let the chance pass to see history actually weave itself around ta'veren and chinnar'veren. And to help guard the Horn to its resting spot...."

Mat and Perrin rode up behind Loial and paused. Mat looked a little tired around the eyes, but his face wore a bloom of health. Moiraine and the Amyrlin Seat and a few other Aes Sedai worked together to heal him earlier, thank the Light.

"Feeling better Mat?"

He ignored me, sneering at my scarlet jacket, embroidered with golden dragons curling round my arms.

"And you Perrin?"

"Good Rand, got a good night's sleep, and no dreams this time."

Perrin sometimes had strange dreams, like we three ta'veren sometimes did, but his had to do with wolves more often than not. They worried him, scared him even I would say. He did not speak much about them, or about his eyes, golden and shining in the late morning sun but I was sure something connected them, somehow.

"That's good to hear. Will you be riding with—"

"He's riding with me, my Lord," Mat drawled out. "It is not good for you to spend time around your lessers anymore. Shouldn't you be with your bloody Aes Sedai anyways? Dont you have your bond?"

Anger flared but I let them leave, unwilling to fight in public. Mat took Perrin to the opposite end.

The Amyrlin appeared, striding across the crowded courtyard beside Moiraine, with Leane and her staff, and Lord Agelmar at her shoulder. Even in a green velvet coat, the Lord of Fal Dara did not look out of place among so many armored men. There was still no sign of the other Aes Sedai. As they went by, I caught part of their conversation.

"But, Mother," Agelmar was protesting, "you've had no time to rest from the journey here. Stay at least a few days more. I promise you a feast tonight such as you could hardly get in Tar Valon."

The Amyrlin shook her head without breaking stride. "I cannot, Agelmar. You know I would if I could. I had never planned to remain long, and matters urgently require my presence in the White Tower. I should be there now."

"Mother, it shames me that you come one day and leave the next. I swear to you, there will be no repetition of last night. I have tripled the guard on the city gates as well as the keep. I have tumblers in from the town, and a bard coming from Mos Shirare. Why, King Easar will be on his way from Fal Moran. I sent word as soon as..."

Their voices faded as they crossed the courtyard, swallowed up by the din of preparation. The Amyrlin never as much as glanced in my direction. Moiraine gave me a soft smile, and I smiled back. A snake, but my snake.

The Warder the Amyrlin was speaking to suddenly sprang into his saddle. He was at a dead gallop before he reached the wide-standing gates. She stood watching him go, and her stance seemed to urge him to go faster.

"Where is he headed in such a hurry?" Rand wondered aloud.

"I heard," Loial said, "that she was sending someone out today, all the way to Arad Doman. There is word of some sort of trouble on Almoth Plain, and the Amyrlin Seat wants to know exactly what. What I don't understand is, why now? From what I hear, the rumors of this trouble came from Tar Valon with the Aes Sedai."

I felt cold. Toman Head, it all comes down to Toman Head. I could remember a big map back in Egwene's home, a map that old Rand had pored over more than once, dreaming before he found out what the dreams were like when they came true. It was old, that map, showing some lands and nations the merchants from outside said no longer existed, but Almoth Plain was marked, butting against Toman Head. It was all the way across the world, I knew, on the Aryth Ocean. As far west as one could go, and Illian as far south.

The Ogier was still peering at the gate where the Warder had vanished. "If she wanted to know, why not send someone before she left Tar Valon? But you humans are always sudden and excitable, always jumping around and shouting." His ears stiffened with embarrassment. "I am sorry, Rand. You see what I mean about speaking before I think. I'm rash and excitable sometimes myself, as you know."

I laughed. It was a weak laugh, but it felt good to have something to laugh at. "Maybe if we lived as long as you Ogier, we'd be more settled." Loial was ninety years old; by Ogier standards, not old enough by ten years to be outside the stedding alone. That he had gone anyway was proof, he maintained, of his rashness. If Loial was an excitable Ogier, I thought most of them must be made of stone.

"Perhaps so," Loial mused, "but you humans do so much with your lives. We do nothing but huddle in our stedding. Planting the groves, and even the building, were all done before the Long Exile ended." It was the groves Loial held dear, not the cities men remembered the Ogier for building. It was the groves, planted to remind Ogier Builders of the stedding, that Loial had left his home to see. "Since we found our way back to the stedding, we..." His words trailed off as the Amyrlin approached. Moiraine had mounted Aldieb, her white mare and made her way over to my side, Lan behind her.

Ingtar and the other men shifted in their saddles, preparing to dismount and kneel, but she motioned them to stay as they were. Leane stood at her shoulder, and Agelmar a pace back. From his glum face, he appeared to have given up trying to convince her to remain longer.

The Amyrlin looked at them one by one before she spoke. Her gaze stayed on me longer than on any other.

"Peace favor your sword, Lord Ingtar, Lord Drake," she said finally, giving me a knowing gaze. "Glory to the Builders, Loial Kiseran. Be safe, my Daughter."

"You honor us, Mother. May peace favor Tar Valon." Ingtar bowed in his saddle, and the other Shienarans did, too.

"All honor to Tar Valon," Loial said, bowing.

I bowed as well from my saddle, awkwardly, and followed Loial's example. "All honor to Tar Valon."

Only my two friends on the other side of the party stayed upright. Foolish. I wondered what she had said to them, to make Mat come. Leane's frown took in the two of them, and Agelmar's eyes widened, but the Amyrlin took no notice.

"You ride to guard and deliver the Horn of Valere," she said, "and the hope of the world rides with you. The Horn cannot be left to fall into the wrong hands, especially in Darkfriend hands. Those who come to answer its call, will come whoever blows it, and they are bound to the Horn, not to the Light."

There was a stir among the listening men. Everyone believed those heroes called back from the grave would fight for the Light. If they could fight for the Shadow, instead...

"With you rides—" The Amyrlin went on, but I was no longer listening. Someone, somewhere was watching me. The hair stirred on the back of my neck. I peered up at the packed archers' balconies overlooking the courtyard, at the rows of people jammed along the guardwalks atop the walls. Somewhere among them was the set of eyes that had followed me unseen. The gaze clung to me like dirty oil. It can't be a Myrddraal, not here. Then who? Or what? I twisted in my saddle, pulling Red around, searching. The bay began to dance again.

Suddenly something flashed across in front of my face and I reached for saidin, as a tug in the bond pulled me into a circle. Moiraine stood in her saddle and scanned the crowd, a nimbus of gold-white surrounding her. A man passing behind the Amyrlin cried out and fell, a black-fletched arrow jutting from his side. The Amyrlin stood calmly looking at a rent in her sleeve; blood slowly stained the gray silk.

A woman screamed, and abruptly the courtyard rang with cries and shouts. The people on the walls milled furiously, and every man in the courtyard had his sword out. Even me, I was not that surprised to realize. Lan had trained me with a furious energy once he realized I could last longer than most men but Warders.

Agelmar shook his blade at the sky. "Find him!" he roared. "Bring him to me!" His face went from red to white when he saw the blood on the Amyrlin's sleeve. He fell to his knees, head bowed. "Forgive, Mother. I have failed your safety. I am ashamed."

"Nonsense, Agelmar," the Amyrlin said. "Leane, stop fussing over me and see to that man. I've cut myself worse than this more than once cleaning fish, and he needs help now. Agelmar, stand up. Stand up, Lord of Fal Dara. You have not failed me, and you have no reason for shame. Last year in the White Tower, with my own guards at every gate and Warders all around me, a man with a knife came within five steps of me. A Whitecloak, no doubt, though I've no proof. Please stand up, or I will be shamed." As Agelmar slowly rose, she fingered her sliced sleeve. "A poor shot for a Whitecloak bowman, or even a Darkfriend." Her eyes flickered up to touch mine. "If it was at me he aimed." Her gaze was gone before I could read anything on her face, but I suddenly wanted to dismount and hide.

It wasn't aimed at her, and she knows it.

Leane straightened from where she had been kneeling. Someone had laid a cloak over the face of the man who had taken the arrow. "He is dead, Mother." She sounded tired. "He was dead when he struck the ground. Even if I had been at his side..."

"You did what you could, Daughter. Death cannot be Healed."

Agelmar moved closer. "Mother, if there are Whitecloak killers about, or Darkfriends, you must allow me to send men with you. As far as the river, at least. I could not live if harm came to you in Shienar. Please, return to the women's apartments. I will see them guarded with my life until you are ready to travel."

"Be at ease," she told him. "This scratch will not delay me a moment. Yes, yes, I will gladly accept your men as far as the river, if you insist. Your leave, Lord Agelmar, to order your oathmen?"

He bowed his head in assent. At that moment, he would have given her Fal Dara had she asked.

The Amyrlin turned back to Ingtar, and the men gathered behind him. She did not look at me again. I was surprised to see her smile suddenly.

"I wager Illian does not give its Great Hunt of the Horn so rousing a send-off," she said. "But yours is the true Great Hunt. You are few, so you may travel quickly, yet enough to do what you must. I charge you, Lord Ingtar of House Shinowa, I charge all of you, defend the Horn of Valere, and let nothing bar your way."

Ingtar whipped his sword from his back and kissed the blade. "By my life and soul, by my House and honor, I swear it, Mother."

"Then ride."

Ingtar swung his horse toward the gate.

I dug his heels into Red's flanks and galloped after the column already disappearing through the gates.

Unaware of what had occurred within, the Amyrlin's pikemen and archers stood walling a path from the gates to the city proper, the Flame of Tar Valon on their chests. Her drummers and trumpeters waited near the gates, ready to fall in when she left. Behind the rows of armored men, people packed the square in front of the keep. Some cheered Ingtar's banner, and others no doubt thought this was the start of the Amyrlin Seat's departure. A swelling roar followed me across the square, shouts of "Lord Drake" beginning to fill the air at the sight of me. I raced ahead.

I caught up with Ingtar where low-eaved houses and shops stood to either side, and more people thickly lined the stone-paved street. Some of them cheered, too. Mat and Perrin had been riding at the head of the column with Ingtar and Loial, but the two of them fell back when I joined them. Burn me, at least he is not dying anymore, but would it hurt him to stand my presence for two seconds? I promised myself to take some time on our journey to make it right.

"Changu and Nidao are gone, Lord Drake," Ingtar said abruptly. Oh not you too, Ingtar. He sounded cold and angry, but shaken, too. "We counted every head in the keep, alive or dead, last night and again this morning. They are the only ones not accounted for."

"Changu was on guard in the dungeon yesterday, Lord Shinowa," I said slowly, emphasizing his name, realizing why those Darkfriends looked so familiar. I killed Changu and Nidao. My stomach twisted.

"And Nidao. They had the second watch. They always stayed together, even if they had to trade or do extra duty for it. They were not on guard when it happened, but... They fought at Tarwin's Gap, a month gone, and saved Lord Agelmar when his horse went down with Trollocs all around him. Now this. Darkfriends." He drew a deep breath. "Everything is breaking apart. If we had not had you, Lord Drake, then we would have lost the Horn to the Shadow. Shienar is blessed every day you step a foot in her lands. We will need more of you before the year is out."

"Please, just call me Rand."

He gave me a brief, but genuine smile, revealing a handsome man out of the stern, hard face. "Then call me Ingtar, Rand, not Lord Shinowa."

 

[Haruchai]

"He's riding with me, my Lord," Mat drawled out.

Click to shrink...

I forgot how annoying Matt can be. LOL

For the chapter itself nothing really stands out since it is clearly a transitional chapter. Looks like the cast now has a clear plan on the way. Nothing could possibly go wrong right?

 

[Adullahan]

Contains excerpts from The Great Hunt by Robert Jordan

---

Amadaine 3, 998 NE (June 10th)

We rode hard for the first few hours, passing through foothills and forest on our way straight west to Medo—a port on the Mora river—before Ingtar realized what we all had realized already; his pace was going to kill the horses. Reluctantly, he started us dismounting whenever we went down hills to give the horses some rest while we still kept moving.

It was stunning to see men in full armor jogging every time we encountered the downslope, though Perrin and Mat were near exhaustion by the time Moiraine finally arrived. Loial, on the other hand, loved getting off his large, sturdy horse and running freely in the bright spring day. "I once outran a horse in Stedding Shangtai," he told me grinning as he jogged down one of the many hills. I did not disbelieve him, especially when he ran alongside his horse up the hills as well, easily keeping up.

It was long after the sun had started its journey back downward that Moiraine and Lan came riding up to us where we took a quick rest, neither them nor their horses winded. The up and down nature of our ride had worn a toll on Mat and Perrin who were drenched in sweat, and guzzling down water. Moiraine felt worried, had felt worried for about an hour now, but none of it showed on her face.

"Hail and well met, Moiraine Sedai, Lan Dai Shan," Ingtar called out, a little tired. "I was wondering if you would show today."

Moiraine gracefully dismounted from her white mare, Aldieb, while Lan stayed mounted. She wore a dark blue riding dress, with tan divided skirts, and a cream riding cloak, embroidered with vines of grapes, golden hoop earrings, and a belt of silver that emphasized her thin waist. At a quiet murmur, and with a muttered declaration, Lan turned and began galloping to the northeast. I quickly walked up to take her side and keep watch now that Lan had gone. She smiled at me, but addressed Ingtar. "My sisters took more of my time than I had planned, but I am afraid I bear bad news. Half a fist of Trollocs appears to be shadowing us, led by a Myrddraal."

Energy seemed to fill Lord Ingtar, and he stood straighter. "So the enemy thinks to wait until we are asleep to ambush us. That will be their downfall. I know of an excellent place to camp. Men, prepare your horses. We must gallop and canter if we are to make it in time."

Uno spoke up, spitting first to the side, "Pardon my language, Mistress Aes Sedai, but the bloody horses don't have the flaming vigor to go hard the rest of the bloody fool way, Lord Shinowa."

Ingtar frowned and made to speak, but Moiraine superseded his response.

"Lord Shinowa, your horses and men seem tired and road worn already, as your good man Uno has made clear. You made good time today, but I do not know if they can take much more wear this evening. Perhaps if I restored their stamina with the One Power, as much as I am able?"

Ingtar looked upon the Aes Sedai like light shone from her, eyes fevered. "If you are willing, Moiraine Sedai, then yes! I would be a fool to deny your help, and we are lucky to have you with us on our quest. Please."

I joined in a circle with Moiraine, and watched her weave saidar into a fine net of Spirit, Air and Fire that she lay on heads, pulling the poison of fatigue from the minds of the men and horses as the weave sunk in beneath their skin. We had maybe an hour and a half of sunlight when we finished, the twenty-three horses and twenty-three men drained Moiraine despite how much more she could channel when joined with me. Still, she looked happy rather than tired.

As we moved together to mount up, her mare next to my stallion, she whispered quietly. "Have I ever told you how much I love we can join in a circle so easily? The power you give me…" She sighed, in a way I would call dreamy, if it was not coming from an Aes Sedai. Louder, enough that some soldiers nearby turned, she said, "You are truly a gift given to me by the Creator, hand-wrapped with a bow, Rand al'Thor."

Then she stood up on her toes, pulling on me so I would bend down and kissed me softly on the lips. Moiraine surprised me, but I joined in the kiss, blushing profusely and my heart beating fast. After, I wore a grin no one could wipe off my face, not even Mat. It was stupid and silly; I had done so much more with Egwene, had made love and learned her body in our wonderful nights together, and yet these simple things that Moiraine does still makes me callow boy. She is a snake, I reminded myself.

We stopped for the first night in a shallow bowl well defensible, and easily picketed. I stopped to grab my things from the pannier, to change my coat to something more useful and less ostentatious, but something caused me to shout a loud "Moiraine!" into the twilight. I should have expected this from her.

Ingtar came running over, while Moiraine was much more sedate. She calmy got up from where she sat in the grass, cross-legged, and slowly walked over.

"What is it? Peace, did someone get through? I did not hear the guards," said a confused Ingtar.

I held up the two other coat the Aes Sedai had packed for me. One was a bright green with brown piping, embroidered with silver trees that held thread-of-gold apples, the other was black with golden piping, thread-of-silver stars dusting the shoulders. The green had herons on the collar, the black had dragons coiling down the arm. Both were insanely ostentatious. "These are unwearable!"

"You can wear them. A coat's a coat. I understand Moiraine Sedai herself saw to your packing. Maybe Aes Sedai do not exactly understand what a man wears in the field." Ingtar grinned. "After we catch these Trollocs, perhaps we'll have a feast. You will be dressed for it, at least, even if the rest of us are not." He strolled back to where the cook fires were already burning, passing by Moiraine, who gave him a smile.

"What is this, Moiraine?" I asked when she finally arrived.

"Ah, you found your coats. Yes, I thought it would be worth it to have something to wear when we reach Illian, and when you need to pass as a nobleman." She paused, then her voice took on a teasing tone, with a hint of warning. "Did you think these were the only coats I packed? You think me a silly twit? Your nice clothes are with the packhorses, the nice coats and silk shirts, but Lan has your clothes for travel. You packed nothing worthwhile, so I had it repacked, and we brought it with us."

Lan had returned by then, reporting that the Trolloc fist had split into small bands, all heading south. She opened Mandarb's saddlebags showed me the less ostentatious and gold-filled clothing that was my 'travel' clothing. All well-made, well-cut tailored clothing for a lord and not clothes for me, just Rand. I sighed. I should have expected this, she does love to dress me up. I kept my coat, figuring it fine for the evening chill.

Shienarans took turns at the cooking when they were in the field, and Masema was stirring the kettle when I returned to the fires. The smell of a stew made from turnips, onions, and dried meat settled over the camp. Ingtar was served first, and then Uno, but everyone else stood in line however they happened to come. Masema slopped a big ladle of stew on my plate; I stepped back quickly to keep from getting the overflow on my scarlet coat and made room for the next man while sucking my burned thumb. Masema stared at me, with a fixed grin that never reached his eyes, until Uno stepped up and cuffed him.

"We didn't bloody bring enough for you to be spilling it on the flaming ground." The one-eyed man looked at me and left. Masema rubbed his ear, but his glare followed me.

Moiraine stood speaking with Lan on the far side of camp, not having grabbed a plate yet, so I went to join Ingtar and Loial, sitting on the ground under a spreading oak. Ingtar had his helmet off, on the ground beside him, but otherwise he was fully armored. Mat and Perrin were already there, eating hungrily. Mat gave a broad sneer at my coat, but Perrin barely looked up, golden eyes shining in the half-light from the fires, before bending back to his plate.

At least they didn't leave this time.

I sat cross-legged on the other side of Ingtar from them. "I wish I knew why Uno keeps looking at me. It's probably this damn coat."

Ingtar paused thoughtfully around a mouthful of stew. Finally he said, "Uno no doubt wonders if you are worthy of a heron-mark blade." Mat snorted loudly, but Ingtar went on unperturbed. "Do not let Uno upset you. He would treat Lord Agelmar like a raw recruit if he could. Well, perhaps not Agelmar, but anyone else. He has a tongue like a file, but he gives good advice. He should; he's been campaigning since before I was born. Listen to his advice, don't mind his tongue, and you will do all right with Uno."

"I thought he was like Masema." I shoveled stew into my mouth. It was too hot, but I gulped it down. We had not eaten since leaving Fal Dara, and I had been too worried to eat this morning when Lan woke me up. My stomach rumbled, reminding me it was past time. I wondered if telling Masema I liked the food would help. "Masema acts like he hates me, and I don't understand it."

"Masema served three years in the Eastern Marches," Ingtar said. "At Ankor Dail, against the Aiel." He stirred his stew with his spoon, frowning. "I ask no questions, mind. If Lan Dai Shan and Moiraine Sedai want to say you are from Andor, from the Two Rivers, then you are. But Masema can't get the look of the Aiel out of his head, and when he sees you..." He shrugged. "I ask no questions."

I dropped my spoon in the plate with a sigh. "Everybody thinks I'm somebody I am not. I am from the Two Rivers, Ingtar. I grew tabac with… with my father, and tended his sheep. That is what I am. A farmer and shepherd from the Two Rivers. I am no Lord."

"He's from the Two Rivers," Mat said scornfully. "I grew up with him, though you'd never know it now. You put this Aiel nonsense in his head on top of what's already there, and the Light knows what we'll have. An Aiel lord, maybe."

"No," Loial said, "he has the look. You remember, Rand, I remarked on it once, though I thought it was just because I didn't know you humans well enough then. Remember? 'Till shade is gone, till water is gone, into the Shadow with teeth bared, screaming defiance with the last breath, to spit in Sightblinder's eye on the Last Day.' You remember, Rand? Well, maybe you don't."

I stared at my plate. Wrap a shoufa around your head, and you would be the image of an Aielman. That had been Gawyn, brother to Elayne, the Daughter-Heir of Andor. Is it really that obvious? I knew I probably was Aiel, as much as I'd like to deny the memories of what my father said. Enough people say something and it seems true.

"What was that?" Mat asked. "About spitting in the Dark One's eye."

"That's how long the Aiel say they'll fight," Ingtar said, "and I don't doubt they will. Except for peddlers and gleemen, Aiel divide the world in two. Aiel, and enemies. They changed that for Cairhien five hundred years ago, for some reason no one but an Aiel could understand, but I do not think they will ever do so again."

"I suppose not," Loial sighed. "But they do let the Tuatha'an, the Traveling People, cross the Waste. And they don't see Ogier as enemies, either, though I doubt any of us would want to go out into the Waste. Aiel come to Stedding Shangtai sometimes to trade for sung wood. A hard people, though."

Ingtar nodded. "I wish I had some as hard. Half as hard."

"Is that a joke?" Mat laughed. "If I ran a mile wearing all the iron you're wearing, I would fall down and sleep a week."

"Aiel are hard," Ingtar said. "Man and woman, hard. I've fought them, and I know. They will run fifty miles, and fight a battle at the end of it. They're death walking, with any weapon or none. Except a sword. They will not touch a sword, for some reason. Or ride a horse, not that they need to. If you have a sword, and the Aielman has his bare hands, it is an even fight. If you're good. They herd cattle and goats where you or I would die of thirst before the day was done. They dig their villages into huge rock spires out in the Waste. They've been there since the Breaking, near enough. Artur Hawkwing tried to dig them out and was bloodied, the only major defeats he ever suffered. By day the air in the Aiel Waste shimmers with heat, and by night it freezes. And an Aiel will give you that blue-eyed stare and tell you there is no place on earth he would rather be. He won't be lying, either. If they ever tried to come out, we would be hard-pressed to stop them. The Aiel War lasted three years, and that was only four out of thirteen clans."

"Gray eyes from his mother doesn't make him an Aiel," Mat said.

Ingtar shrugged. "I ask no questions."

I finally spoke up, nervous, sparing a look at Perrin and Mat. "I think I am an Aiel, you know. Enough people have told me the same thing, and I did not ask him, but when I carried my father on Winternight, fevered from a Fade's sword, he spoke to me, of finding me in the cloak of an Aiel Maiden of the Spear. At the time I thought it simply the fever talking, but I'll have to ask him the truth next time I see him."

"As I said before, if Moiraine Sedai says you are an Andoran from the Two Rivers, that is what you are. But your father, he survived a Myrddraal's sword and lived to tell the tale? Few can claim that," Ingtar said, surprised.

"He was a blademaster," I replied proudly. "Moiraine healed him, it was my price for accompanying her out of the Two Rivers."

Ingtar nodded slowly. "I see, I see. So that is why you wear the sword. A good price to pay, a life for a life. Myrddraal wounds never heal right, even when they don't kill, unless an Aes Sedai is there quick enough. I've seen too many good men die from a seemingly simple wound by a Myrddraal's blade. You were lucky, Rand."

"I have been. Sometimes it feels like too much luck and sometimes not enough. But I am lucky." I couldn't help glancing over toward Moiraine. Masema was plating her food while she spoke to him quietly, and he nodded his head in acceptance.

Ingtar followed my eyes and chuckled. "Too much luck, I think. Usually men know better than to try to seduce an Aes Sedai, and the Warder handles the fools. But you seemed to have threaded the needle, one of the few to be accepted in an Aes Sedai's heart. The men spend far too much time wondering how you did it. They gossip so much one would think they were maids."

Mat was eager to correct Ingtar. "I think you got it wrong, Ingtar. Moiraine Sedai was definitely the one that seduced Rand. He folded to her like a wet piece of a paper, didn't even wait a week to let her tie a leash around his neck. No way someone like him seduced her."

I held my tongue as Moiraine finished speaking with Masema, and set about coming over to us, my anger simmering. I needed to speak with Mat, alone and soon. He could not keep his dumb mouth shut. Ingtar spoke for me, after glancing at my face. "It would have to be a man braver than me to deny an Aes Sedai and her desires, professional or personal. Braver or more foolish. Lord Drake does not seem a fool, and he dueled a Myrddraal to the death. Aes Sedai get what they want. It is simply easier to let them have it, then try futilely fighting against the rockslide."

"Bah, lord this, lord that. We did not have lords back in the Two Rivers and we did just fine. Didn't have bloody Aes Sedai either, telling us where to hop and how fast to run. Better that way, more natural. Rand is stubborn, yes, but he used to be stubbornly independent, not stubbornly the blasted pet of some woman. Bloody Aes Sedai changed him." He muttered the last bit as Moiraine stepped into our circle near the tree, face cold and imperious, annoyance and anger softly simmering in the bond, twin to my own.

Her eyes flashed as she spoke, quiet and cold. "Matrim Cauthon, someday soon you'll have to realize you aren't in the Two Rivers anymore, that the world is far larger and more dangerous than you could ever know. Most other lords or ladies hear you talking that way, most Aes Sedai hear those words out of your mouth, and the only noise you'll make is a cry as you are whipped or paddled, maybe even hung for treason by an overzealous noble. Whatever issue you have with Rand, you need to deal with it soon. If you get caught saying such things about Rand in Illian, I may not be able to protect you like I have been. The two of you can go out a hundred paces and you will work it out before you return to sleep tonight. Both of you, Rand," She stared piercingly at both of us and I felt indignant; it wasn't as if I had done anything truly wrong to Mat. I realized though that it was probably the best choice, and she was most likely upset with Mat and not me, but it still felt targeted.

In the silence that followed Mat went to mutter something then thought better of it, glancing back at the Aes Sedai but not moving. Perrin stood up, "I'll come with them, make sure they talk things out, Moiraine Sedai. With me there they'll have to speak."

Moiraine smiled a beautiful smile, radiant even in the deepening twilight, that made Perrin blush, and a sense of relief calmed her annoyance and anger. "Thank you, Perrin. I would appreciate it greatly. Make sure these two young fools don't come to blows. Mat would not survive." And with that blow landed, she ate.

After we finished eating we left, leaving Moiraine and Lord Ingtar in quiet discussion as Mat moved quickly ahead of me and Perrin, leaving us behind, his torch weaving between tree trunks. Night had truly fallen, and nightbirds called out their evening songs, while nearby bushes occasionally rustled with the movement of nocturnal animals. The stars were spangled above us, visible through the gaps in the trees.

"I'm really sorry about Mat. I've tried to explain to him, why I think you're doing what you are doing, but he doesn't listen. I think the dagger…" He trailed off, his golden eyes shining in the torchlight.

When he did not continue, I finished. "It changed him, the same way this journey has changed us. He's harsher, easier to make mad, different. But I'm different, and even you're different, with as solid and reliable you can be."

Perrin nodded. "He knows too. It scares him what the dagger did. How it changed him."

I snorted. "If anyone should be scared, it is me. I'm the bloody Dragon, and the Dark One wants to kill me. I think he just wants someone to be mad at, and I'm the easiest, the one who changed the most. I'm the one whose embraced my fate rather than running, and the Wheel rewarded me as much as its cursed me."

Perrin didn't reply, a thoughtful look on his face.

Mat finally stopped in a clearing with a small patch of sleepingbells and berry bushes with clusters of tiny black fruit, shining in the light of three torches.

He stood, leaning against a tree, in a lazy slouch with none of the killing grace of a Warder, anger radiating. "Let's get this over with." He stood up, walking closer, arms crossed. "Why do you do whatever she says? She doesn't love you. She probably doesn't even like you. The Rand I knew would never have let her truss him up like a feastday pig, ready for slaughter. You bloody ran from Egwene for a year rather than let her tie you down, yet this Aes Sedai comes around and you roll over like a dog? You cannot trust her, or any flaming Aes Sedai Rand, you should know that! Did you forget that too? I asked Loial about those names, the ones from the dreams. They're all false Dragons, Rand. And I know he lies, but not everything he says is a lie. There's some truth to it. She's trussing you up for slaughter, Rand, I just know it." He sounded desperate by the end, something lurking in his eyes.

"And instead of bloody fighting, instead of trying to get away, you let her dress you up like a dandy and flit into your bed like a flaming milk-faced looseskirt, letting her cloud your mind and heart. Are you an idiot who simply believes every word out of her mouth simply because she cannot lie? You let her name you Lord—Rand al'Thor, a shepherd and tabac farmer, Lord—let these good Shienaran folks think you're actually nobility, all because she said so. I tried telling them otherwise, but no, the Aes Sedai said you were a lord and that's all they hear." He flung his hands in the air in frustration. "Mother's milk in a cup, Rand, will you meekly kneel because she asks when she gentles you? Yes, I know you can channel. It is pretty obvious when you think about it. What else would Moiraine be teaching both Egwene and you that leaves you so exhausted after a supposedly 'romantic' picnic? It's like I'm the only one who can see what is happening here ends with your death. Maybe I don't want my friend to commit suicide by Aes Sedai, or die of madness." His cheeks were red and perspiration covered his forehead.

I understood now. I was angry, but I understood. He did not know the binding that wove her tight and snug to me, preventing her from harming me. He did not know I could channel without the Taint touching me, when I was a chinnar'veren. That dagger had poisoned him, the evil within it making him harsher and more paranoid, as did the dreams he probably still had, not protected by sleeping next to a woman who could channel. He saw what he saw and drew the obvious conclusion from what information he knew; the tales told in the Two Rivers, and what the gleeman told us, merchant's guard horror stories and the tantalizing clues left by Ba'alzamon.

"She cannot harm me." I said, and the words spilled out. "She searched for me for nineteen years, spent all her adult life preparing to guide me. She cannot harm me, cannot even order someone else to hurt me. She could never gentle me, never even take part. There is a binding that ties us together, it has a Compulsion. It uses the One Power to make sure she can never hurt me, cannot even try. It even… it even makes her care for me, romantically. That's why she acts like… that around me. She is the only Aes Sedai I can ever truly trust because of it."

Perrin and Mat looked at me strangely, before Mat burst out laughing, and Perrin frowned at him.

I took a deep calming breath, before I looked Mat straight in the eyes. "What's so fucking funny?" Maybe I wasn't so calm.

"All these… All these soldiers…" Mat laughs more, wheezing and wiping his eyes of tears. "They think you're this romantic genius, this paragon of manhood who plucked the forbidden fruit of the Aes Sedia! And it just fell into your flaming lap, just like everything else." He wheezed again. "Oh my, that is funny. I had wondered what she had done to you, what witchery she had entangled your heart in, and it turns out the witchery is all yours!"

"Yes, yes, the witchery is all mine. Moiraine cannot hurt me and the bond forces her to care for me. It's wonderful," I said sarcastically. "Does that assuage your fears that you took out by getting angry with me?"

He frowned and made to speak but Perrin interrupted him. "I think that's a reasonable question Mat."

Mat harrumphed and walked backwards, leaning against the tree once more, giving me a serious look. "I guess you are the one holding the leash, romantically. Doesn't change she trying to make you a False Dragon though, just like those other men. Loial says 'History dooms those who do not know it to repeat it.' I read about the False Dragons, I read histories in Fal Dara that Loial recommended, and two had at least one woman by their side with young faces and knowing eyes. He lies with the truth, and the truth is Aes Sedai assisted some of the False Dragons. I don't want to see my friend hanged or killed for an Aes Sedai plot that he just allows to happen."

"I am no False Dragon, Mat. Since you have not already figured it out like Perrin and Loial, I am the Dragon Reborn." Mat's face soured and he remained skeptical. "Truly. I am. The banner, you remember? I transform into that animal, into a dragon. That's why I listen when she says jump, why I work so hard at the sword, and let everyone call me Lord Rand. I will be a lord one day, for true, hell I'll be a King soon enough, and I need to learn, need to adjust, need to become more than just Rand al'Thor, shepherd and tabac farmer. I need to grow up. She is not leading me down some garden path to my death, but trying to help me win the Last Battle, Mat."

Perrin spoke up, earnest. "He is the Dragon Reborn, Mat. I… I spent some time in the library, reading the Karatheon Cycle with Loial." Perrin glanced at me, then away. "He's fulfilled prophecy already, Mat. 'Twice and twice shall he be marked, twice to live, and twice to die. Once the heron, to set his path, twice the heron, to name him true. Once the Dragon, for remembrance lost, twice the Dragon, for the price he must pay,'" he quoted. "Show Mat your right hand, Rand."

So that is what Moiraine was muttering about the morning I fought Ba'alzamon a second time, I realized. I would have to ask more about this Karatheon Cycle. I needed to know at least some prophecy, even if Moiraine had yet to tell me of any. I showed off the burn scar, in the perfect shape of a heron, then I pulled up my sleeve, showing off the coiling dragon.

"The Pattern has marked me twice already, when I bound Egwene the night after waking up with gaping holes in my memory, and last week when I fought Ba'alzamon in a dream. I am the Dragon. You can fight and whine and gnash your teeth, you can be angry or frustrated or scared, but do not be a wool-headed fool and deny the truth. I decided to not be a wool-headed fool and sought help from Moiraine Sedai. That's why I listen to her."

Mat looked sullen, then just tired. "I'm tired of all this storybook nonsense Rand. The dagger… I… I just want to go home. Watching you somehow get both Moiraine Sedai and Egwene to fall all over themselves for you, the Warder training you, dressing up all noble-like, always secreted away with the Aes Sedai, on your 'picnics', never visiting the barracks or us in our quarters. It's like you forgot where we came from, forgot who you were."

Perrin nodded, staring off into the distance south. "I miss home too, Mat, and some things Rand does made little sense to me, but I trust he knows what he was doing. I think he deserves that trust from you too, not scorn or disdain. And how could he have visited you, when you were the one who rejected him so swiftly after the reveal of his status as a shapechanger?"

"In case you've disregarded what I've said before, I forgot most of home, Mat, and who I am. It's not something I like to think of, the huge gaping holes in my memory where most of Emond's Field and my history lies. I am sorry I am not the Rand you think I should be, but I can only be who I am now, and that Rand is the Dragon Reborn," I said with a note of finality.

Looking this way and that, as if to make sure no one else was listening, Mat spoke quietly, embarrassed. "The dagger, it… it made me forget things too. Light, I forgot my youngest sister's name. I can see her, the wild brown hair and the dirty skirt of her dress after she comes home from playing with the al'Carr boy, but I cannot remember her name. Other things, like the taste of my mother's gooseberry pie, or huge swathes of my childhood, ages seven and eight, are just gone."

"I cannot remember what Egwene's father looks like, and in the memories I watched everyone's voice was like the hissing of snakes. I did not even know you had sisters, or that the al'Carr's were a family. We all have changed Mat. Me, you, even Perrin, he did not use to have golden eyes. Lan told me it was okay to change, that everyone changes. I think its better to accept that change, then long for something you are not and never can be again." I stared firmly at Mat, hoping my words would get through to him.

Perrin squirmed uncomfortably to the side, looking away.

Mat stared into my face, searching for something and seeming to find it. He nodded slowly. "She really cannot hurt you, cannot gentle you? You are certain."

"I may still die from the Dark One, the Creator's Hand shelter me from his wrath, but I plan on living a long and fruitful life with my wives, Mat. I am not walking straight into a noose smiling."

"Wives?" Perrin asked, confused.

I scratch the back of my head, twisting my expression. "Yeah… That whole binding thing with Moiraine Sedai? I did it to Egwene as well, and I have to do it to with four other women. It is a prophecy a spirit of the Creator gave me."

Perrin looked frustrated. "How do you get all the luck with women? Girls have always loved you, you understand them, and now you get six women set on a platter like a feastday cake, including the prettiest girl in the village, and a beautiful Aes Sedai. You really have all the luck, Rand. All I got are these stupid eyes."

"How is it lucky!?" I exclaimed, confused. Did Perrin really think that about me?

"I'm with Rand, I don't know if having six wives can count as luck or a curse, Perrin," Mat said, snickering. "Light, six women. Nightmare, definitely."

"Vindication!" I replied, before laughing at the absurdity of my romantic situation. "Six bloody women. Definitely a lucky curse, or I have cursed luck."

"I still think you're lucky, Rand. And you know they'll love you now, so it is like you cannot even have an unhappy marriage," Perrin said. "I wish I had that," he grumbled in a low voice, frowning.

As I was about to reply I suddenly felt an oily sensation on my skin. I sensed shadowspawn—a dozen Trollocs—north of us, moving swiftly south. "Light, speaking of cursed luck, Trollocs! I feel them north of here." Mat looked around uneasily, and Perrin thumbed the haft of his axe. "Return to camp, I'll hold them off," I continued. This was my chance, I thought, to test my skill against shadowspawn.

Mat booked it immediately, Perrin hesitating until I glared at him. "Do you want to die, Perrin? There's a dozen of them. Let Moiraine Sedai know I'll be back as soon as I'm able." He finally turned and ran after Mat.

I pulled on the energy beneath my skin and transformed in a moment that stretched like taffy, and waited a long minute for the enemy. When a dozen Trollocs came loping through the treeline into the clearing I was in so'shan, standing regal in the Lord Form, a contemptuous look on my face. I had achieved ko'di, finding the Oneness in me and my surroundings, holding the hilt of my sheathed blade. The shadowspawn came to a stumbling pause at the sight of me, some atavistic fear that had lain in wait since the last chinnar'veren died. No Myrddraal led them.

"Come at me, twisted beasts. I will ease your suffering." There was an eagerness in my voice and eyes, and a Trolloc with a wolf's head stepped forward, seemingly just as eager after shaking off the fear and drawing his jagged black blade.

"Kark will drink lizard man blood tonight. Kark fights alone."

The other Trollocs backed off, save a Trolloc with a bull's head who stubbornly joined this Kark, a massive axe in hand. "Tor joins," the Trolloc stubbornly bellowed.

Kark considered Tor, then nodded, a cruel smile on its snout. "Tor join, Kark share half."

I stepped forward, seemingly casually but with a measure of the grace of a Warder or other killing men, as they spoke, content to ignore me and argue over 'sharing', until I was close enough to move with one swift motion. Unfolding the Fan swept my Power-wrought blade out and across, slicing through Kark's guard with a peal of metal and a shower of blue sparks, tearing a ragged hole through the Trolloc's armored stomach and spilling hot, wet, coiling intestines onto the forest floor. Kark howled in agony, and Tor roared, bringing its great axe over its head and down on me. I danced away, like a Cat On Hot Sand, and dashed for the other Trollocs who stood nearby, stunned at my lethality. After the third dead Trolloc on my blade, they attempted to swarm me, their hairy sweating bodies bunching up around me, weapons swinging wildly and even hitting each other as I ducked and dodged and leapt back, only taking glancing blows, their blades barely cutting me.

That was when I blew my dragonfire, tinged with the Flame Imperishable, the Light of the Creator. Trollocs melted like wax in my breath, the Shadow that created them failing before the gentle rainbow fire of Light that flowed from my mouth. When the last Trolloc fled, I almost let them go. Instead, I picked up a Trolloc's hand axe and with the Oneness I threw it perfectly into the Trolloc's back, before walking over to its raggedly breathing body and beheaded it.

Over the smoldering prismatic fires that lit the melted corpses I heard the clashing of steel to the south and finally noticed the increasing worry of Moiraine. Shit, I got too distracted by this group of Trollocs I did not even consider they would attack in multiple directions. Using the unburnt rags of a former Trolloc, I cleaned off my blade and headed back to camp as quick as I could.

Around forty Trollocs fought the Shienaran soldiers, some in armor, some half clothed getting ready to sleep, that formed a tightly packed square. Arrows of lightning ringed Moiraine's staff before swiftly seeking the closest Trollocs and electrocuting them to death. Farther on, at the edge of camp Lan and Ingtar fought together against a Myrddraal, blue sparks filling the air every time Lan and the Halfman's sword met. Mat and Perrin lay within the square, Mat's quarterstaff poking out to disrupt a swing, or bonk a Trolloc every few seconds, while Perrin's axe bit and cleaved.

I headed for the closest concentration of Trollocs, a dozen who pressed the eastern wall of the soldier's square, and roasted them. Moiraine's worry faded like fog on a sunny day, replaced with a swift frustration tinged with anger and relief.

Twice more I concentrated on the densest groups, each time breaking the Trollocs with the encroaching flames, some dying as they turned their backs on the Shienarans, and the rest of the Trollocs fled. By this time the Myrddraal lay flailing on the ground, its legs and arms stumps, spitting invectives and curses at Lan and Ingtar.

Soldiers sat, catching their breath and resting on the ground, ignoring or even sitting on the corpses of Trollocs. Moiraine tended to injured men, speaking softly. Mat and Perrin stood staring at me, Mat with a considering look, but Perrin looked simply happy I was alive and waved to me. Three men lay on the ground, grievous wounds on their bodies and cloths over their eyes. I stared, wondering why Moiraine wasn't treating them until I realized something and my stomach dropped.

I should have run. I shouldn't have acted the hero. I should have been here to save those three men. I could have killed those dozen Trollocs with saidin in a dozen seconds. I could have been here sooner, but I wanted to fight them, wanted to test my skills. It was my fault they died. They were only here because of me, because I needed to be the one that delivered the Horn of Valere. And I was supposed to be a Warder. I was supposed to be with my Aes Sedai. I had made a mistake, waiting for the shadowspawn.

"Scales, care to light this snake up?"

I started, the interruption chasing away the thoughts that boiled in my mind, that had broken the Oneness so easily. I looked at Lan for a moment—What's with the new nickname—before nodding, and walking with him over to the writhing corpse of the Myrddraal. Its pale skin seemed even more sallow, jets of ink-black blood pumping from the wounds and tainting the surrounding plantlife, turning them sickly and brown. I blew a tongue of flame and the Myrddraal caught on fire as if someone had doused it in oil, the blood and plants burning with it.

I turned to look at the Warder, ignoring Ingtar's wide-eyed staring. "I messed up, Lan Gaidin."

He nodded. "Pride is a failing swordsmen of all skill must guard against. What will you do differently next time?"

"Retreat to Moiraine Sedai and guard her, following her orders," I said immediately.

He nodded once more. "Good. You understand your greatest mistake. You are a Warder now, Rand al'Thor. Your Aes Sedai is above your life, your pride and certainly above testing your skill. I trust you will not make this mistake again."

My stomach churned. I really had messed up. I glanced to Moiraine, and she gave me an inscrutable look, the bond muffled. "Never, Lan Gaidin. Never."

He nodded once more. "Good. Be sure to make up with Moiraine Sedai as soon as possible. She can be insufferable when she sulks, and she appreciates a grand gesture." He smiled to himself for a moment.

"Thank you, Lan. I will speak with her as soon as possible." And as I turned to go, Ingtar called out.

"Did your flame really kill men without touching their skin?" He trembled briefly, glancing at the pile of white ash that used to be a Myrddraal, and a momentary look of fear crossed his face.

I paused, wondering on what to tell Ingtar. He was in command of the Shienaran soldiers, and would soon enough know I am Dragon Reborn. I could lay the foundations for that tale by telling him about the Iridescent Flame. I looked to Lan. "Can I tell him about the Iridescent Flame?"

Lan shrugged, face bland. "That is your choice, Rand. But whatever you tell him, remember that I will tell Moiraine Sedai."

I did not think simply telling him about the Creator's Sacred Fire, and the spirit would be an issue. They were important, as who would not welcome the news of the Creator's intervention in the world of man?

"What is the Iridescent Flame?" Ingtar asked, suddenly wary.

"When I became chinnar'veren, a spirit of the Creator visited me, calling themself the Iridescent Flame. They spoke to me of many things, and gifted me an ember of the Creator's Sacred Fire, that they named the Flame Imperishable. It glows with the Light of the Creator. This is the truth behind my seemingly miraculous flames. And when those flames touch a Darkfriend, they burnt the Shadow in their heart, rather than in the body like shadowspawn."

A myriad of emotions go through Ingtar's face: disbelief, longing, fear, shame, regret. I don't understand it, but it must have something to do with his men that turned out to be Darkfriends, I decided.

"You truly are a miracle of the Creator, Lord Drake." Ingtar finally said, before he bowed, his sword behind him and clasped in both hands. "Thank you for saving my men today, for saving the Horn last night, and for every time you will save us going forward. I can rest easy, knowing your flame will zealously guard the Horn, even from Darkfriends." He gave me a smile that relaxed his stern face, the worry creases smoothing, and the hardness melting away. "Truly Rand, thank you. Without you, without Moiraine Sedai and Lan, those Trollocs would have slaughtered us and put us in the cook pots, and the Horn would in the hands of the Shadow. But I have taken enough of your time, go, and apologize to your Aes Sedai. Lan is right that women appreciate grand gestures, and I'll add swift apologies to that list." He then left us to corral the soldiers to move the corpses of the Trollocs that were not burnt.

Moiraine had finished healing by then, and simply stood near Mat and Perrin, watching me with those hawk eyes of hers. I met them when I walked forward, assuming the Cat Crossing The Courtyard stance as I did. My limbs were limber and loose, back straight but body relaxed. When I was a few feet in front of her, I bowed the way Lan taught me—left hand on hilt, swinging the sword back behind me and grabbing the sheathe with my right hand, and bending over, arms straight.

I adopted a formal tone. "I apologize for my prideful behavior tonight, and the abandonment of my sworn duties to you, Moiraine Sedai, and I swear as Lord Drake to never let such ignoble actions happen again. My punishment is yours to decide," I said, loud enough for those nearby camp to hear, and stop to watch. Soon the whole camp had eyes on us.

The frustration and anger with had been brewing in the bond popped like a bubble, surprise filling it instead, then amusement and a bright, soft fondness. I held my pose for a long minute, while Moiraine, I presumed, stared imperiously at me while her fondness waxed even greater. I could feel the eyes of every soldier staring at my antics, and Mat muttering softly to Perrin. Finally she walked close and lifted my head. Her face and voice was as cold as the bond was warm.

"You may share my heart but you will never fight off alone like that without my strict orders, as an Aes Sedai to her Warder. Do you understand, Rand Gaidin?" Her hand still held my chin as I nodded, not having let go of my bow. Her voice warmed some. "Good. Now release that silly bow. There will be no punishment. You made a simple mistake many young Warders make. Everything was fine in the woods, yes? No issues?"

As I stood, releasing my bow, her hand trailed down my neck and arm to my hand and she laced our fingers together, her hand soft and cool in mine. "No issues. Dealt with them fast, but could have been faster," I said, more than a little guiltily. Ingtar yelled at his men to quit watching us, but I ignored it.

"Well, now you know what to do next time," she said. "But soldiers die, Rand. It is simply a risk of the life they lead."

I frowned at the cold reality of the statement, but I could not deny its truth. Still, I did not have to like it. "I could have kept them alive if I was here instead of in the woods playing at sword fighter and hero like I was ten years old."

She agreed, "Perhaps. Maybe even likely so, but we cannot know that, and it is a futile exercise to relive 'what ifs'. I do not mean to be callous, but I have lived an eventful life, Rand. Three dead soldiers is a good price to pay for a dead Myrddraal and half a fist of Trolloc corpses." And it was. I could not deny that truth either. There certainly could have been a lot more dead soldiers, without us. Still did not feel good, knowing there could have been no dead if I had arrived with Mat and Perrin.

"Next time I won't make the same mistake," I said, as I watched Masema and another soldier, short and solid, quietly digging graves next to a large oak.

"I'm sure you will not," Moiraine said confidently, squeezing my hand before letting it go.

I slept poorly, dreaming of dead bodies. Sometimes it was Moiraine laying on the ground, blood staining her dress purple and that damn cloth over her eyes. I woke up every time to find her snug as a bug, her head nestled into the crook of my arm, and Lan awake and standing watch over us.

The funeral ceremony was short, held in the predawn with torches and few words said. The bodies lay naked in the holes dug for them, without even a burial shroud.

"Tora Wengui, may you shelter in the palm of the Creator's hand, and may the last embrace of the mother welcome you home." Soldiers filled the hole. My fault, I thought as I stared at the holes in the ground.

"Jae Toyame, may you shelter in the palm of the Creator's hand, and may the last embrace of the mother welcome you home." Soldiers filled the next hole. Shouldn't have died. The thought drifted in like a leaf on the wind.

"Urun Sisuan, may you shelter in the palm of the Creator's hand, and may the last embrace of the mother welcome you home." Soldiers filled the last hole and everyone turned to get ready to move on, muttering quietly amongst themselves. I promise I will do better next time, I swore in my head.

Moiraine swiftly mounted her mare, announcing, "We will turn back east, and seek the Amyrlin Seat's party, joining them on their journey to Medo," much to everyone's surprise, including my own, but there were little complaints, even Ingtar simply accepting Moiraine's words as an order.

I had the privilege and desire to ask why, and she explained as we rode in the dawn's light. "If the Shadow will waste half a fist and a Myrddraal simply trying our defenses, the next attack will be even stronger. Maybe magnitudes stronger. We must seek the shelter of the Amyrlin and my fourteen sisters, to defend the Horn until we reach Medo in the next five days. I am sorry, but our training will have to wait a while longer, until we have safely left Tar Valon."

I worried about spending five more days amongst the Aes Sedai, but I would also see Egwene again, hopefully. If things turned out well.

 

[Haruchai]

Leaving Shienar Part 3

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Great chapter! One of my favorites so far. Mainly because it is full of original content and starts showing more and more divergence from the OG plot.

All well-made, well-cut tailored clothing for a lord and not clothes for me, just Rand.

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Yes, I just remembered that 25% of WOT was spent describing clothes and everyone's expressions. LOL

 

[Adullahan]

Contains excerpts from the Great Hunt by Robert Jordan

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Amadaine 3-9, 998 NE (June 10th-16th)

Egwene hurried after Nynaeve toward the knot of Aes Sedai around the Amyrlin Seat's horse-borne palanquin, her desire to know what had caused the turmoil in Fal Dara kept outweighing even her sadness over Rand leaving. He was beyond her reach, for the moment, maybe even for months and years and she had to accept that. All she had of him was Bela, her shaggy mare, which was with the Aes Sedai's horses.

The Warders, hands on sword hilts and eyes searching everywhere, made a steel circle around the Aes Sedai and the palanquin. They were an island of relative calm in the courtyard, where Shienaran soldiers still ran amid the keep's horrified inhabitants. Egwene pushed in beside Nynaeve—the two of them all but ignored after a single sharp glance from the Warders; all knew they would be leaving with the Amyrlin—and caught enough in the crowd's murmurs to learn of an arrow that had flashed seemingly from nowhere and a bowman yet uncaught.

Egwene stopped, wide-eyed, too shocked even to think that she was surrounded by Aes Sedai. An attempt on the life of the Amyrlin Seat. It went beyond thinking of. Thank the Light Rand wasn't the target.

The Amyrlin sat in her palanquin with the curtains drawn back, the bloodstained rip in her sleeve drawing all eyes, and faced down Lord Agelmar. "You will find the bowman or you will not, my son. Either way, my business in Tar Valon is as urgent as that of Ingtar and Lord Drake on their quest. I leave now."

"But, Mother," Agelmar protested, "this attempt on your life changes everything. We still do not know who sent the man, or why. An hour more, and I will have the bowman and the answers for you."

The Amyrlin barked a laugh with no amusement in it. "You'll need slyer bait or finer nets to catch this fish, my son. By the time you have the man, it will be too late in the day for leaving. There are too many who would cheer to see me dead for me to worry overmuch about this one. You may send me news of what you find, if you find anything at all." Her eyes traveled around the towers overlooking the courtyard, and the ramparts and archers' balconies, still jammed with people, though silent now. The arrow had to have come from one of those places. "I think this bowman is already fled from Fal Dara."

"But, Mother—"

The woman in the palanquin cut him off with a sharp gesture of finality. Not even the Lord of Fal Dara could press the Amyrlin Seat too far. Her eyes came to rest on Egwene and Nynaeve, piercing eyes that seemed to Egwene to be seeing everything about herself that she wanted to keep secret. Rand spoke with her today, before he left. Does she know I am his wife too? Does she know what he is? Egwene took a step back, then caught herself and dropped a curtsy, wondering if that were proper; no one had ever explained to her the protocol of meeting the Amyrlin Seat. Moiraine should have, she thought with a little bitterness. Nynaeve kept her back straight and returned the Amyrlin's stare, but she fumbled for Egwene's hand and gripped as hard as Egwene did.

"So these are your two, Moiraine," the Amyrlin said. Moiraine Sedai gave the barest nod, and the other Aes Sedai turned to stare at the two women from Emond's Field. Egwene swallowed. They all looked as if they knew things, things other people did not, and it was no help at all to know that they truly did. "Yes, I sense a fine spark in each of them. But what will kindle from it? That's the question, isn't it?"

Egwene's mouth felt dry as dust. She had seen Master Padwhin, the carpenter back home, look at his tools much the same way as the Amyrlin was looking at the two of them. This one for this purpose, that one for that. Did she look at Rand that way, just this morning?

The Amyrlin said abruptly, "It is time we were gone. To horse. Lord Agelmar and I can say what needs be said without you all gawking like novices on a freeday. To horse!"

At her command the Warders scattered to their mounts, still wary, and the Aes Sedai, all but Leane, glided away from the palanquin to their own horses. As Egwene and Nynaeve turned to obey, a servant appeared at Lord Agelmar's shoulder with a silver chalice. Agelmar took it with a dissatisfied twist to his mouth.

"With this cup from my hand, Mother, take my wish that you fare well on this day, and every..."

Whatever else they said was lost to Egwene as she scrambled onto Bela. By the time she had given the shaggy mare a pat, and arranged her skirts, the palanquin was already moving toward the open gates, its horses stepping without rein or lead. Leane rode beside the palanquin, her staff propped at her stirrup. Egwene and Nynaeve brought their horses along behind with the rest of the Aes Sedai.

Roars and cheers from the crowds lining the town streets greeted the procession, all but drowning the thunder of the drummers and the blare of the trumpeters. Warders led the column, with the banner bearing the White Flame waving in ripples, and rode guard around the Aes Sedai, keeping the mass of people back; archers and pikemen, the Flame blazoned on their chests, followed behind in precise ranks. The trumpets fell silent as the column wound its way out of the town and turned southward, yet the sounds of cheering from within the town followed still. Egwene glanced back often, until trees and hills hid Fal Dara's walls and towers.

Nynaeve, riding alongside, shook her head. "Rand will be all right. He has Lord Ingtar and twenty lances with him. In any case, there is nothing you can do about it. Nothing either of us can do." She glanced toward Moiraine; the Aes Sedai's trim white mare and Lan's tall black stallion made an odd pair off to one side talking to a Green Sister. Why had she not left with Rand? "Not yet."

The column angled westward as it traveled, and it did not cover the ground quickly. Even footmen in half armor could not move fast through the Shienaran hills, not and maintain the pace for long. Still, they pushed as hard as they could.

Camps came late each night, the Amyrlin allowing no stop until barely enough light remained to pitch the tents, flattened white domes just tall enough to stand in. Each pair of Aes Sedai from the same Ajah had one, while the Amyrlin and the Keeper had tents to themselves, as did Moiraine and Rand when they arrived the next day—in the morning, after they had been attacked by half a fist of Trollocs and a Myrddraal, Egwene was horrified to learn—rather than sharing the tent of her two Sisters of the Blue. Of course she would keep Rand to herself, Egwene had fumed silently when she learned.

The soldiers slept on the ground in their own encampment, and the Warders wrapped themselves in their cloaks near the tents of the Aes Sedai to whom they were bonded. The tent shared by the Red Sisters looked oddly lonely without any Warders, while that of the Greens seemed almost festive, the two Aes Sedai often sitting outside long past dark to talk with the four Warders they had brought between them.

Lan came once—the second evening—to the tent Egwene shared with Nynaeve, taking the Wisdom into the night a little distance away. Egwene peered around the tent flap to watch. She could not hear what they said, except that Nynaeve eventually erupted in anger and came stalking back to wrap herself in her blankets and refuse to talk at all. Egwene thought her cheeks were wet, though she hid her face with a corner of her blanket. Lan stood watching the tent from the darkness for a long time before he went away. After that he did not come again.

Rand only visited rarely, in the first few days. She told herself it was merely that he was busy training, and not Moiraine keeping him away from her. She could feel him in camp, over by the Shienarans some nights, and on the ride she saw him running up and down in that new armor of his, over and over, when he wasn't engaged in a running spar with Lan that inevitably landed him in the dirt. Moiraine did not come near Egwene and Nynnaeve, giving them only a nod in passing. She seemed to spend her waking hours speaking with the other Aes Sedai, all but the Red sisters, drawing them aside one by one as they rode. The Amyrlin allowed few stops for rest, and those short times were the only time she spent time with Rand mostly alone. Moiraine never precisely there, usually a little ways elsewhere speaking to another Aes Sedai, but she was always watching them with those eyes of hers.

The closest they could get was a hug, in front of the Aes Sedai, and Egwene took advantage, slotting into Rand's arms and squeezing for dear life. It wasn't like she could actually squeeze too hard, after Rand had gotten so nice and muscley from all the training. And if her hands occasionally slipped to cup his toned behind, who could blame a wife? His gasps were, as always, a delight, as was the blush, and the mixture of surprise, enjoyment and fond annoyance that it evoked. Egwene was really going to miss Rand, but especially… They had had a wonderful month together, after Moiraine gave her the push to assert her rights as wife.

Sometimes they sat against a tree, as Rand played the flute, strange but catchy songs the gleeman must have taught at some point, except no one nearby would sing along. One Brown Sister, Verin Sedai, came every time he played the flute, making musical notation as she watched Rand's fingers, like a bird eyeing a juicy worm. Other times they walked around the camp as she told him about one of the endless pranks he and Mat pulled, or the training they each were doing or they talked about the future in oblique terms when no one was nearby and Rand didn't feel the chill of saidar. It seems silly to think that in just two or three months, Rand could be a King, and I a Queen. She had giggled at the thought. Rand was, of course, nervous about it all, feeling unprepared but stubbornly pushing through. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same, and Rand al'Thor would always be a stubborn mule about something, Egwene thought with fondness.

"Maybe she doesn't have time for us anymore," Egwene had observed, sadly, one night as Moiraine once more did not show up to teach her. Moiraine Sedai was the only Aes Sedai she knew, and though she did not like to admit it, the only one she was sure she could trust. Mostly.. The bond will protect Rand. And she showed me the Door weave, as Rand calls it. Traveling is what Moiraine called it, out of his earshot. Egwene had memorized the Weave after seeing it a couple times, but did not even try to make it yet, for it was much too complicated for her. When I can, no Moiraine Sedai will keep me from Rand's side. "She found us, and we are on our way to Tar Valon. I suppose she has other things to concern her now."

Nynaeve snorted softly. "I'll believe she is done with us when she's dead, or we are. She is sly, that one. Your Rand better count his fingers and toes everytime he gets out of bed."

Egwene laughed. "Oh she's not that bad."

Other Aes Sedai came to their tent. Egwene almost jumped out of her skin that first night out of Fal Dara, when the tent flap was pushed aside and a plump, square-faced Aes Sedai, with graying hair and a vaguely distracted look in her dark eyes, ducked into their tent. She glanced at the lantern hanging at the highest point of the tent, and the flame rose a little higher. Egwene thought she felt something, thought she almost saw something about the Aes Sedai when the flame grew brighter. Moiraine had told her that one day—someday soon, Moiraine had guessed—she would be able to see when another woman channeled, and to tell a woman who could channel even if she did nothing.

"I am Verin Mathwin," the woman said with a smile. "And you are Egwene al'Vere and Nynaeve al'Maera. From the Two Rivers, which was once Manetheren. Strong blood, that. It sings."

Egwene exchanged glances with Nynaeve as they got to their feet.

"Is this a summons to the Amyrlin Seat?" Egwene asked.

Verin laughed. The Aes Sedai had a smudge of ink on her nose. "Oh, my, no. The Amyrlin has more important things to deal with than two young women who are not even novices yet. Although, you never can tell. You both have considerable potential, especially you, Nynaeve. One day...." She paused, rubbing a finger thoughtfully right atop the ink smudge. "But this is not one day. I am here to give you a lesson, Egwene. You have been poking in ahead of yourself, I fear."

Nervously, Egwene looked at Nynaeve. "What have I done? Nothing that I'm aware of."

"Oh, nothing wrong. Not exactly. Somewhat dangerous, perhaps, but not exactly wrong." Verin lowered herself to the canvas floor, folding her legs under her. "Sit, both of you. Sit. I don't mean to crane my neck." She shifted around until she had a comfortable position. "Sit."

Egwene settled cross-legged across from the Aes Sedai and did her best not to look at Nynaeve. No need to look guilty until I know if I am. And maybe not then. "What is it I've done that's dangerous but not exactly wrong?"

"Why, you've been channeling the Power, child."

Egwene could only gape. Nynaeve burst out, "That is ridiculous. Why are we going to Tar Valon, if not for that?"

"Moiraine has... I mean, Moiraine Sedai has been giving me lessons," Egwene managed.

Verin held up her hands for quiet, and they fell silent. She might seem vague, but she was Aes Sedai, after all. "Child, do you think Aes Sedai immediately teach every girl who says she wants to be one of us how to channel? Well, I suppose you are not exactly every girl, but just the same..." She shook her head gravely.

"Then why did she?" Nynaeve demanded. There had been no lessons for her, and Egwene was still not sure if it rankled Nynaeve or not.

"Because Egwene had already channeled," Verin said patiently.

"So... So have I." Nynaeve did not sound happy about it.

"Your circumstances are different, child. That you are still alive shows you weathered the various crises, and did it on your own. I think you know how lucky you are. Of every four women forced to do what you did, only one survives. Of course, wilders—" Verin grimaced. "Forgive me, but I am afraid that is what we in the White Tower often call women who, without any training, have managed some rough control—random, and barely enough to be called control, usually, like you, but still control of a sort. Wilders have difficulties, it is true. Almost always they have built up walls to keep themselves from knowing what it was they were doing, and those walls interfere with conscious control. The longer those walls have to build, the harder it is to tear them down, but if they can be demolished—well, some of the most adept sisters ever have been wilders."

Nynaeve shifted irritably, and looked at the entrance as if thinking of leaving.

"I don't see what any of that has to do with me," Egwene said.

Verin blinked at her, almost as if wondering where she had come from. "With you? Why, nothing. Your problem is quite different. Most girls who want to become Aes Sedai, even most girls with the seed inside them, like you, are afraid of it, too. Even after they reach the Tower, even after they've learned what to do and how, for months they need to be led, step by step, by a sister, or by one of the Accepted. But not you. From what Moiraine tells me, you leaped into it as soon as you knew you could, fumbling your way through the dark with never a thought of whether there was a bottomless pit under your next step. Oh, there have been others like you; you are not unique. Moiraine was one herself. Once she knew what you had done, there was nothing for it but for her to begin teaching you. Did Moiraine never explain any of this to you?"

"Never." Egwene wished her voice was not so breathless. "She had... other matters to deal with." Nynaeve snorted softly.

"Well, Moiraine has never believed in telling anyone anything they did not need to know. Knowing serves no real purpose, but then, neither does not knowing. Myself, I always prefer knowing to not."

"Is there one? A pit, I mean?"

"Obviously not so far," Verin said, tilting her head. "But the next step?" She shrugged. "You see, child, the more you try to touch the True Source, the more you try to channel the One Power, the easier it becomes to actually do it. Yes, in the beginning, you stretch out to the Source and more often than not it is like grasping at air. Or you actually touch saidar, but even when you feel the One Power flowing through you, you find you can do nothing with it. Or you do something, and it isn't what you intended at all. That is the danger. Usually, with guidance and training—and the girl's own fear slowing her down—the ability to touch the Source and the ability to channel the Power come together with the ability to control what she is doing. But you began trying to channel without anyone there to teach you any control at all of what you do. I know you don't think you're very far along, and you are not, but you are like someone who has taught herself to run up hills, sometimes, at least, without ever learning how to run down the other side, or to walk. Sooner or later you are going to fall, if you don't learn the rest of it. Now, I am not talking about anything like what happens when one of those poor men begins channeling—you will not go mad; you won't die, not with sisters to teach and guide you—but what might you do entirely by accident, never meaning to?"

For an instant the vagueness had dropped from Verin's eyes. For an instant, it seemed, the Aes Sedai's gaze had flicked from Egwene to Nynaeve as sharply as the Amyrlin's had. "Your innate abilities are strong, child, and they will grow stronger. You must learn to control them before you harm yourself, or someone else, or a great many people. That is what Moiraine was trying to teach you. That is what I will try to help you with tonight, and what a sister will help you with every night until we put you into Sheriam's most capable hands. She is Mistress of Novices."

Egwene thought, Can she know about Rand? It isn't possible. She'd never have let him leave Fal Dara if she even suspected. But she was sure she had not imagined what she saw. "Thank you, Verin Sedai. I will try."

Nynaeve rose smoothly to her feet. "I will go sit by the fire and leave you two alone."

"You should stay," Verin said. "You could profit by it. From what Moiraine has told me, it should take only a little training for you to be raised to the Accepted."

Nynaeve hesitated only a moment before shaking her head firmly. "I thank you for the offer, but I can wait until we reach Tar Valon. Egwene, if you need me, I will be—"

"By any gauge," Verin cut in, "you are a woman grown, Nynaeve. Usually, the younger a novice, the better she does. Not with the training necessarily, but because a novice is expected to do as she is told, when she is told and without question. It is really only of use once the actual training has reached a certain point—a hesitation in the wrong place then, or a doubt of what you have been told to do, can have tragic consequences—but it is better to follow the discipline all the time. The Accepted, on the other hand, are expected to question things, as it is felt they know enough to know what questions to ask and when. Which do you think you would prefer?"

Nynaeve's hands tightened on her skirt, and she looked at the tent flap again, frowning. Finally she gave a short nod and settled back down on the floor. "I suppose I might as well," she said.

"Good," Verin said. "Now. You already know this part, Egwene, but for Nynaeve's sake I will take you through it step by step. In time, it will become second nature—you will do it all faster than you can think of it—but now it is best to go slowly. Close your eyes, please. It goes better in the beginning if you have no distractions at all." Egwene closed her eyes. There was a pause. "Nynaeve," Verin said, "please close your eyes. It will really go better." Another pause. "Thank you, child. Now, you must empty yourself. Empty your thoughts. There is only one thing in your mind. The bud of a flower. Only that. Only the bud. You can see it in every detail. You can smell it. You can feel it. Every vein of every leaf, every curve of every petal. You can feel the sap pulsing. Feel it. Know it. Be it. You and the bud are the same. You are one. You are the bud."

Her voice droned on hypnotically, but Egwene no longer really heard; she had done this exercise before, with Moiraine. It was slow, but Moiraine had said it would come more quickly with practice. Inside herself, she was a rosebud, red petals curled tightly. Yet suddenly there was something else. Light. Light pressing on the petals. Slowly the petals unfolded, turning toward the light, absorbing the light. The rose and the light were one. Egwene and the light were one. She could feel the merest trickle of it seeping through her. She stretched for more, strained for more....

In an instant it was all gone, rose and light. Moiraine had also said it could not be forced. With a sigh, she opened her eyes. Nynaeve had a grim look on her face. Verin was as calm as ever.

"You cannot make it happen," the Aes Sedai was saying. "You must let it happen. You must surrender to the Power before you can control it."

"This is complete foolishness," Nynaeve muttered. "I don't feel like a flower. If anything, I feel like a blackthorn bush. I think I will wait by the fire after all."

"As you wish," Verin said. "Did I mention that novices do chores? They wash dishes, scrub floors, do laundry, serve at table, all sorts of things. I myself think the servants do a better job of it by far, but it is generally felt that such labor builds character. Oh, you are staying? Good. Well, child, remember that even a blackthorn bush has flowers sometimes, beautiful and white among the thorns. We will try it one at a time. Now, from the beginning, Egwene. Close your eyes."

Several times before Verin left, Egwene felt the flow of the Power through her, but it was never very strong, and the most she managed with it was to produce a stir in the air that made the tent flap stir slightly. She was sure a sneeze could have done as much. She had done better with Moiraine; sometimes, at least. She wished it was Moiraine doing the teaching, and that Rand was there to encourage her like he always did.

Nynaeve never even felt a glimmer, or so she said. By the end her eyes were set and her mouth so tight that Egwene was afraid she was about to begin berating Verin as if the Aes Sedai were a village woman intruding on her privacy. But Verin simply told her to close her eyes once again, this time without Egwene.

Egwene was sitting, watching the other two between her yawns. The night had grown late, well past the time she would usually be asleep. Nynaeve wore a face like week-old death, her eyes clamped shut as if she never meant to open them and her hands white-knuckled fists in her lap. Egwene hoped the Wisdom's temper did not break loose, not after she had held it this long.

"Feel the flow through you," Verin was saying. Her voice did not change, but suddenly there was a gleam in her eyes. "Feel the flow. Flow of the Power. Flow like a breeze, a gentle stirring in the air." Egwene sat up straight. This was how Verin had guided her each time she had actually had the Power flowing through her. "A soft breeze, the slightest movement of air. Soft."

Abruptly the stacked blankets burst into flame like fatwood.

Nynaeve opened her eyes with a yell. Egwene was not sure if she screamed or not. All Egwene knew was that she was on her feet, trying to kick the burning blankets outside before they set the tent on fire. Before she managed a second kick, the flames vanished, leaving wispy smoke rising from a charred mass and the smell of burned wool.

"Well," Verin said. "Well. I did not expect to have to douse a fire. Don't faint on me, child. It's all right now. I took care of it."

"I—I was angry." Nynaeve spoke through trembling lips in a bloodless face. "I heard you talking about a breeze, telling me what to do, and fire just popped into my head. I—I didn't mean to burn anything. It was just a small fire, in—in my head." She shuddered.

"I suppose it was a small fire, at that." Verin barked a laugh that was gone with another look at Nynaeve's face. "Are you all right, child? If you feel ill, I can..." Nynaeve shook her head, and Verin nodded. "Rest is what you need. Both of you. I've worked you too hard. You must rest. The Amyrlin will have us all up and away before first light." Standing, she toed the charred blankets. "I will have some more blankets brought to you. I hope this shows both of you how important control is. You must learn to do what you mean to do, and nothing more. Aside from harming someone else, if you draw more of the Power than you can safely handle—and you cannot handle much, yet; but it will grow—if you draw too much, you can destroy yourself. You can die. Or you can burn yourself out, destroy what ability you have." As if she had not told them they were walking a knife edge, she added a cheerful "Sleep well." With that, she was gone.

Egwene put her arms around Nynaeve and hugged her tight. "It is all right, Nynaeve. There is no need to be frightened. Once you learn to control—"

Nynaeve gave a croaking laugh. "I am not frightened." She glanced sideways at the smoking blankets and twitched her eyes away. "It takes more than a little fire to frighten me." But she did not look at the blankets again, even when a Warder came to take them away and leave new.

Verin did not come again, as she had said she would not. Indeed, as they journeyed on, south and west, day by day, as fast as the footmen could move, Verin paid the two women from Emond's Field no more mind than Moiraine did, than did any of the Aes Sedai. They were not precisely unfriendly, the Aes Sedai, but rather distant and aloof, as if preoccupied. Their coolness heightened Egwene's unease, and brought back all the tales she had heard as a child.

Her mother had always told her the tales about Aes Sedai were a lot of fool men's nonsense, but neither her mother nor any other woman in Emond's Field had ever met an Aes Sedai before Moiraine came there. She herself had spent a good deal of time with Moiraine, and Moiraine was proof to her that not all Aes Sedai were like the tales, though they held some truth. Cold manipulators and merciless destroyers. Breakers of the World. She knew now that those, at least—the Breakers of the World—had been male Aes Sedai, when there were such, in the Age of Legends, but it did not help a great deal. Not all Aes Sedai were like the tales, but how many, and which?

The Aes Sedai who came to the tent each night were so mixed that they did not help at all in clearing her thoughts. Alviarin was as cool and businesslike as a merchant come to buy wool and tabac, surprised that Nynaeve was part of the lesson but accepting, sharp in her criticisms but always ready to try again. Alanna Mosvani laughed and spent as much time talking about the world, and men, as she did teaching. Alanna showed too much interest in Rand and Perrin and Mat for Egwene's comfort, though. Especially Rand. Worst of all was Liandrin, the only one who wore her shawl; the others had all packed them away before leaving Fal Dara. Liandrin sat fingering her red fringe and taught little, and reluctantly at that. She questioned Egwene and Nynaeve as if they had been accused of a crime, and her questions were all about the three boys. She kept it up until Nynaeve threw her out—Egwene was not sure why Nynaeve did so—and then she left with a warning.

"Watch yourselves, my daughters. You are in your village no longer. Now you dabble your toes where there are things to bite you."

The only trouble came the third night, but was dealt with quickly before Egwene had even woken up. Nynaeve described the lights in the sky with a worried awe, and all the camp could talk about the next day was about Lord Drake leading the Warders to rout the shadowspawn and Moiraine Sedai throwing bolts of lightning, but Rand was not with them anymore, having left sometime before she woke in the next morning.

Finally the column reached the village of Medo, on the banks of the Mora, which ran along the border between Shienar and Arafel and so into the River Erinin.

Egwene was sure it was the Aes Sedai's questions about Rand that had made her start dreaming of him, that and worrying about him, about whether he and the others would be attacked again, like they were on the first night and the third night after they left Fal Dara. The dreams were always bad, but at first they were just the ordinary sort of nightmare. By the night they reached Medo, the dreams had changed, though.

"Pardon, Aes Sedai," Egwene asked diffidently, "but have you seen Moiraine Sedai?" Egwene had not seen her since the second attack, but that did not mean she had left with Rand, or that she wasn't waiting at the village, Egwene told herself. The slender Aes Sedai waved her away and hurried on down the crowded, torch-lit village street, calling for someone to be careful with her horse. The woman was of the Yellow Ajah, though not wearing her shawl now; Egwene knew no more of her than that, not even her name.

Medo was a small village—though Egwene was shocked to realize that what she now thought of as a "small village" was as big as Emond's Field—and it was overwhelmed now with many more outsiders than there were inhabitants. Horses and people filled the narrow streets, jostling to the docks past villagers who knelt whenever an unseeing Aes Sedai sped by. Harsh torchlight lit everything. The two docks jutted out into the River Mora like stone fingers, and each hosted a pair of small, two-masted ships. There, horses were being hoisted on board by booms and cables and canvas cradles under their bellies. More of the ships—high-sided and stout, with lanterns topping their masts—crowded the moon-streaked river, already loaded or waiting their turn. Rowboats ferried out archers and pikemen, the raised pikes making the boats look like gigantic pricklebacks swimming on the surface.

On the left-hand dock Egwene found Anaiya Sedai, watching the loading and chivvying those who were not moving fast enough. Though she had never said more than two words to Egwene, Anaiya seemed different from the others, more like a woman from home. Egwene could picture her baking in her kitchen; she could not see any of the others so. "Anaiya Sedai, have you seen Moiraine Sedai? I need to talk to her."

The Aes Sedai looked around with an absent frown. "What? Oh, it's you, child. Moiraine is gone. And your friend, Nynaeve, is already out on the River Queen. I had to bundle her onto a boat myself, shouting that she would not go without you. Light, what a scramble! You should be aboard, yourself. Find a boat going out to the River Queen. You two will be traveling with the Amyrlin Seat, so mind yourself once you're on board. No scenes or tantrums."

"Which ship is Moiraine Sedai's?"

"Moiraine isn't on a ship, girl. She's gone, two days gone, and the Amyrlin is in a taking over it." Anaiya grimaced and shook her head, though most of her attention was still on the workers. "First Moiraine vanishes with Lan, her new Warder, and those twenty Shienarans, then Liandrin right on Moiraine's heels, and then Verin, none of them with so much as a word for anyone. Verin did not even take her Warder; Tomas is chewing nails with worry over her." The Aes Sedai glanced at the sky. The waxing moon shone without the hindrance of clouds. "We will have to call the wind again, and the Amyrlin will not be pleased with that, either. She says she wants us on our way to Tar Valon within an hour, and she will brook no delays. I would not want to be Moiraine, or Liandrin, or Verin, when she sees them next. They'll wish they were novices again. Why, child, what's the matter?"

Egwene drew a deep breath, her worry unsettling her. It seems it was foolish to hope she'd be here. I have to tell someone, someone who won't laugh at me. She imagined Anaiya back in Emond's Field, listening to her daughter's problems; the woman fit the picture. "Anaiya Sedai, Rand is in trouble."

Anaiya gave her a considering look. "The Lord Drake? That tall boy from your village? Missing him already, are you? Well, I shouldn't be surprised if he is in trouble. Young men his age usually are. Moiraine will keep him on track, though. Do not worry about that.. Though it was the other one—Mat?—who had the look of trouble. Very well, child. I don't mean to mock you or make light. What kind of trouble, and how do you know? He and Lord Ingtar have the Horn, it was gone that morning after they left. They must simply be ahead of us, having already taken a ship."

"I… I had a dream." She said it half defiantly. It sounded silly when she said it, but it had seemed so real. A nightmare for true, but real. First there had been a man with a mask over his face, and fire in place of his eyes. Despite the mask, she had thought he was surprised to see her. His look had frightened her till she thought her bones would break from shivering, but suddenly he vanished, and she saw Rand sleeping on the ground, wrapped in a cloak. A woman had been standing over him, looking down. Her face was in shadow, but her eyes seemed to shine like the moon, and Egwene had known she was evil. Then there was a flash of light, and they were gone. Both of them. And behind it all, almost like another thing altogether, was the feel of danger, as if a trap was just beginning to snap shut on an unsuspecting lamb, a trap with many jaws. As though time had slowed, and she could watch the iron jaws creep closer together. The dream had not faded with waking, the way dreams did. And the danger felt so strong she still wanted to look over her shoulder—only somehow she knew that it was aimed at Rand, not at her.

She wondered if the woman had been Moiraine, and upbraided herself for the thought. It could not have been Moiraine. Liandrin fit that part better. Or perhaps Alanna; she had been interested in Rand, too. They aren't any of the six women he is fated for, or Rand would have said something.

She could not bring herself to tell Anaiya. Formally, she said, "Anaiya Sedai, I know it sounds foolish, but he is in danger. Great danger. I know it. I could feel it. I still can."

Anaiya wore a thoughtful look. "Well, now," she said softly, "that's a possibility I'll wager no one has considered. You may be a Dreamer. It is a small chance, child, but... We haven't had one of those in—oh—four or five hundred years. And Dreaming is closely linked to Foretelling. If you really can Dream, it may be that you can Foretell, as well. That would be a finger in the Reds' eye. Of course, it could be just an ordinary nightmare, brought on by a late night, and cold food, and us traveling so hard since we left Fal Dara. And you missing your young man. Much more likely. Yes, yes, child, I know. You are worried about him. Did your dream indicate what kind of danger?"

Egwene shook her head. "He just vanished, and I felt danger. And evil. I felt it even before he vanished." She shivered and rubbed her hands together. "I can still feel it."

"Well, we will talk about it more on the River Queen. If you are a Dreamer, I will see you have the training Moiraine should be here to... You there!" the Aes Sedai barked suddenly, and Egwene jumped. A tall man, who had just sat down on a cask of wine, jumped, too. Several others quickened their step. "That's for loading aboard, not resting on! We will talk on the boat, child. No, you fool! You can't carry it by yourself! Do you want to hurt yourself?" Anaiya went striding off down the dock, giving the unfortunate villagers a rougher side of her tongue than Egwene would have suspected she had.

Egwene peered into the dark, toward the south. He was out there, somewhere. Hold on, you wool-headed idiot. If you get yourself killed before I can get you out of this, I will skin you alive. It did not occur to her to ask how she was going to get him out of anything, going to Tar Valon as she was.

Snugging her cloak around her, she set out to find a boat to the River Queen.

---

Amadaine 13, 998 NE (June 20th)

Egwene balanced on the heeling deck as the River Queen sped down the wide Erinin under cloud-dark skies, sails full-bellied, White Flame banner whipping furiously at the mainmast. The wind had risen as soon as the last of them was aboard the ships, back in Medo, and it had not failed or flagged for an instant since, day or night. The river had begun to race in flood, as it still did, slapping the ships about while it drove them onward. Wind and river had not slowed, and neither had the ships, all clustered together. The River Queen led, only right for the vessel that carried the Amyrlin Seat.

The helmsman held his tiller grimly, feet planted and spread, and sailors padded barefoot at their work, intent on what they did; when they glanced at the sky or the river, they tore their eyes away with low mutters. A village was just fading from view behind, and a boy raced along the bank; he had kept up with the ships for a short distance, but now they were leaving him behind. When he vanished, Egwene made her way below.

In the small cabin they shared, Nynaeve glared up at her from her narrow bed. "They say we'll reach Tar Valon today. The Light help me, but I'll be glad to put foot on land again even if it is in Tar Valon." The ship lurched with wind and current, and Nynaeve swallowed. "I'll never step on a boat again," she said breathlessly.

Egwene shook the river spray out of her cloak and hung it on a peg by the door. It was not a big cabin—there were no big cabins on the ship, it seemed, not even the one the Amyrlin had taken over from the captain, though that was larger than the rest. With its two beds built into the walls, shelves beneath them and cabinets above, everything lay close to hand.

Except for keeping her balance, the movements of the ship did not bother her the way they did Nynaeve; she had given up offering Nynaeve food after the third time the Wisdom threw the bowl at her. "I'm worried about Rand," she said.

"I'm worried about all of them," Nynaeve replied dully. After a moment, she said, "Another dream last night? The way you've been staring at nothing since you got up..."

Egwene nodded. She had never been very good at keeping things from Nynaeve, and she had not tried with the dreams. Nynaeve had tried to dose her at first, until she heard one of the Aes Sedai was interested; then she began to believe. "It was like the others. Different, but the same. Rand is in some kind of danger. I know it. And it is getting worse. He's done something, or he's going to do something, that puts him in..."

She dropped down on her bed and leaned toward the other woman. "I just wish I could make some sense of it."

"Channeling?" Nynaeve said softly.

Despite herself, Egwene looked around to see if anyone was there to hear. They were alone, with the door closed, but still she spoke just as softly. "I don't know. Maybe." There was no telling what Aes Sedai could do—she had seen enough already to make her believe every story of their powers—and she would not risk eavesdropping. I won't risk Rand. If I wanted to be a good Aes Sedai, I'd tell them, but Moiraine knows, and she hasn't said anything. She trains him for Light's sake! And it's Rand! I can't risk his life. He's the Dragon Reborn. He was headed south again, after stopping two days ago, far enough away she only felt the strongest emotions, affection that made Egwene almost shiver from how hard she missed feeling him close to her, his lips and hands and... "I don't know what to do."

"Has Anaiya said anything more about these dreams?" Nynaeve seemed to make it a point never to add the honorific Sedai, even when the two of them were alone. Most of the Aes Sedai appeared not to care, but the habit had earned a few strange looks, and some hard ones; she was going to train in the White Tower, after all.

" 'The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills,' " Egwene quoted Anaiya. " 'The boy is far away, child, and there's nothing we can do until we know more. I will see to testing you myself once we reach the White Tower, child.' Aaagh! She knows there is something in these dreams. I can tell she does. I like the woman, Nynaeve; I do. But she won't tell me what I want to know. And I can't tell her everything. Maybe if I could..."

"The man in the mask again?"

Egwene nodded. Somehow, she was sure it was better not to tell Anaiya about him. She could not imagine why, but she was sure. Three times the man whose eyes were fire had been in her dreams each time when she dreamed a dream that convinced her Rand was in danger. He always wore a mask across his face; sometimes she could see his eyes, and sometimes she could only see fire where they should be. "He laughed at me. It was so... contemptuous. As though I were a puppy he was going to have to push out of his way with his foot. It frightens me. He frightens me. I think… I think he's…"

"Are you sure it has anything to do with the other dreams, with Rand? Sometimes a dream is just a dream."

Egwene threw up her hands. "And sometimes, Nynaeve, you sound just like Anaiya Sedai!" She put a special emphasis on the title, and was pleased to see Nynaeve grimace.

"If I ever get out of this bed, Egwene—"

A knock at the door cut off whatever Nynaeve had been going to say. Before Egwene could speak or move, the Amyrlin herself came in and shut the door behind her. She was alone, for a wonder; she seldom left her cabin, and then always with Leane at her side, and maybe another of the Aes Sedai.

Egwene sprang to her feet. The room was a little crowded, with three of them in it.

"Both of you feeling well?" the Amyrlin said cheerily. She tilted her head at Nynaeve. "Eating well, too, I trust? In good temper?"

Nynaeve struggled to a sitting position, with her back against the wall. "My temper is just fine, thank you."

"We are honored, Mother," Egwene began, but the Amyrlin waved her to silence.

"It's good to be on the water again, but it grows boring as a mill pond after a while with nothing to do." The ship heeled, and she shifted her balance without seeming to notice. "I will give you your lesson today." She folded herself onto the end of Egwene's bed, feet tucked under her. "Sit, child."

Egwene sat, but Nynaeve began trying to push herself to her feet. "I think I will go on deck."

"I said, sit!" The Amyrlin's voice cracked like a whip, but Nynaeve kept rising, wavering. She still had both hands on the bed, but she was almost upright. Egwene held herself ready to catch her when she fell.

Closing her eyes, Nynaeve slowly lowered herself back to the bed. "Perhaps I will stay. It is no doubt windy up there."

The Amyrlin barked a laugh. "They told me you had a temper in you like a fisher-bird with a bone in its throat. Some of them, child, say you'd do well for some time as a novice, no matter how old you are. I say, if you have the ability I hear of, you deserve to be one of the Accepted." She gave another laugh. "I always believe in giving people what they deserve. Yes. I suspect you will learn a great deal once you reach the White Tower."

"I'd rather one of the Warders taught me how to use a sword," Nynaeve growled. She swallowed convulsively, and opened her eyes. "There is someone I'd like to use it on." Egwene looked at her sharply; did Nynaeve mean the Amyrlin—which was stupid, and dangerous besides—or Lan? She snapped at Egwene every time Lan was mentioned.

"A sword?" the Amyrlin said. "I never thought swords were much use—even if you have the skill, child, there are always men who have as much, and a deal more strength—but if you want a sword..." She held up her hand—Egwene gasped, and even Nynaeve's eyes bulged—and there was a sword in it. With blade and hilt of an odd bluish white, it looked somehow... cold. "Made from the air, child, with Air. It's as good as most steel blades, better than most, but still not much use." The sword became a paring knife. There was no shrinking; it just was one thing, then the other. "This, now, is useful." The paring knife turned to mist, and the mist faded away. The Amyrlin put her empty hand back in her lap. "But either takes more effort than it is worth. Better, easier, simply to carry a good knife with you. You have to learn when to use your ability, as well as how, and when it's better to do things the way any other woman would. Let a blacksmith make knives for gutting fish. Use the One Power too often and too freely, and you can come to like it too much. That way lies danger. You begin to want more of it, and sooner or later you run the risk of drawing more than you've learned to handle. And that can burn you out like a guttered candle, or—"

"If I must learn all this," Nynaeve broke in stiffly, "I would as soon learn something useful. All this… this 'Make the air stir, Nynaeve. Light the candle, Nynaeve. Now put it out. Light it again.' Paah!"

Egwene closed her eyes for a moment. Please, Nynaeve. Please keep a check on your temper for once. She bit her lip to keep from saying it out loud.

The Amyrlin was silent for a moment. "Useful," she said at last. "Something useful. You wanted a sword. Suppose a man came at me with a sword. What would I do? Something useful, you can be sure. This, I think."

For an instant, Egwene thought she saw a glow around the woman at the other end of her bed. Then the air seemed to thicken; nothing changed that Egwene could see, but she could surely feel it. She tried to lift her arm; it did not budge any more than if she were buried to her neck in thick jelly. Nothing could move except her head.

"Release me!" Nynaeve grated. Her eyes glared, and her head jerked from side to side, but the rest of her sat as rigidly as a statue. Egwene realized that she was not the only one held. "Let me go!"

"Useful, wouldn't you say? And it is nothing but Air." The Amyrlin spoke in a conversational tone, as if they were all chatting over tea. "Big man, with his muscles and his sword, and the sword does him as much good as the hair on his chest."

"Let me go, I say!"

"And if I don't like where he is, why, I can pick him up." Nynaeve squawked furiously as she slowly rose, still in a sitting position, until her head almost touched the ceiling. The Amyrlin smiled. "I've often wished I could use this to fly. The records say Aes Sedai could fly, in the Age of Legends, but they aren't clear on how, exactly. Not this way, though. It doesn't work like that. You might reach out with your hands and pick up a chest that weighs as much as you do; you look strong. But take hold of yourself however you will, you cannot pick yourself up."

Nynaeve's head jerked furiously, but not another muscle of her twitched. "The Light burn you, let me go!"

Egwene swallowed hard and hoped she was not also to be lifted.

"So," the Amyrlin continued, "big, hairy man, and so forth. He can do nothing to me, while I can do anything at all to him. Why, if I had a mind to"—she leaned forward, her eyes intent on Nynaeve; suddenly her smile did not seem very friendly—"I could turn him upside down and paddle his bottom. Just like—" Suddenly the Amyrlin flew backwards so hard her head rebounded from the wall, and there she stayed, as if something were pressing against her.

Egwene stared, her mouth dry. This isn't happening. It isn't.

"They were right," the Amyrlin said. Her voice sounded strained, as though she found it hard to breathe. "They said you learned quickly. And they said it took your temper burning to get to the heart of what you can do." She took a struggling breath.

"Shall we release each other together, child?"

Nynaeve, floating in the air with her eyes ablaze, said, "You let me go right now, or I'll—" Abruptly a look of amazement came over her face, a look of loss. Her mouth worked silently.

The Amyrlin sat up, working her shoulders. "You don't know everything yet, do you, child? Not the hundredth part of everything. You did not suspect I could cut you off from the True Source. You can still feel it there, but you can't touch it any more than a fish can touch the moon. When you learn enough to be raised to full sisterhood, no one woman will be able to do that to you. The stronger you become, the more Aes Sedai it will take to shield you against your will. Do you think, now, you want to learn?" Nynaeve pressed her mouth shut in a thin line and stared her in the eye grimly. The Amyrlin sighed. "If you had a hair less potential than you do, child, I would send you to the Mistress of Novices and tell her to keep you the rest of your life. But you will get what you deserve."

Nynaeve's eyes widened, and she had just time to start a yell before she dropped, hitting her bed with a loud thud. Egwene winced; the mattresses were thin, and the wood beneath hard. Nynaeve's face stayed frozen as she shifted the way she sat, just a fraction.

"And now," the Amyrlin said firmly, "unless you would like further demonstration, we will get on with your lesson. Continue your lesson, we might say."

"Mother?" Egwene said faintly. She still could not twitch below her chin.

The Amyrlin looked at her questioningly, then smiled. "Oh. I am sorry, child. Your friend was occupying my attention, I'm afraid." Suddenly Egwene could move again; she raised her arms, just to convince herself that she could. "Are you both ready to learn?"

"Yes, Mother," Egwene said quickly.

The Amyrlin raised an eyebrow at Nynaeve.

After a moment, Nynaeve said in a tight voice, "Yes, Mother."

Egwene heaved a sigh of relief.

"Good. Now, then. Empty your thoughts of everything but a flower bud."

Egwene was sweating by the time the Amyrlin left. She had thought some of the other Aes Sedai had been hard teachers, but that smiling, plain-faced woman coaxed out every last drop of effort, drew it out, and when there was nothing left, she seemed to reach into you and pulled it out. It had gone well, though. As the door closed behind the Amyrlin, Egwene raised one hand; a tiny flame sprang to life, balanced a hairbreadth above the tip of her forefinger, then danced from fingertip to fingertip. She was not supposed to do this without a teacher—one of the Accepted, at the very least—to watch over her, but she was too excited at her progress to pay any mind to that.

Nynaeve bounded to her feet and threw her pillow at the closing door. "That… that vile, contemptible, miserable hag! The Light burn her! I'd like to feed her to the fish. I'd like to dose her with things that would turn her green for the rest of her life! I don't care if she's old enough to be my mother, if I had her in Emond's Field, she wouldn't sit down comfortably for..." Her teeth ground so loudly that Egwene jumped.

Letting the flame die, Egwene put her eyes firmly on her lap. She wished she could think of a way to sneak out of the room without catching Nynaeve's eye.

The lesson had not gone well for Nynaeve, because she had held her temper on a tight lead until the Amyrlin was gone. She never could do very much unless she was angry, and then it all burst out of her. After failure upon failure, the Amyrlin had done everything she could to rouse her again. Egwene wished Nynaeve could forget she had been there to see or hear any of it.

Nynaeve stalked stiffly to her bed and stood staring at the wall behind it, her fist clenched at her side. Egwene looked longingly at the door.

"It was not your fault," Nynaeve said, and Egwene gave a start.

"Nynaeve, I—"

Nynaeve turned to look down at her. "It was not your fault," she repeated, sounding unconvinced. "But if you ever breathe one word, I'll—I'll..."

"Not a word, not even to Rand," Egwene said quickly. "I don't even remember anything to breathe a word about."

Nynaeve stared at her a moment longer, then nodded. Abruptly she grimaced. "Light, I did not think anything tasted worse than raw sheepstongue root. I'll remember that, the next time you act the goose, so watch yourself."

Egwene winced. That had been the first thing the Amyrlin had done trying to rouse Nynaeve's anger. A dark glob of something that glistened like grease and smelled vile had suddenly appeared and, while the Amyrlin held Nynaeve with the Power, had been forced into the Wisdom's mouth. The Amyrlin had even held her nose to make her swallow. And Nynaeve remembered things, if she had seen them done once. Egwene did not think there was any way of stopping her if she took it into her mind to do it; for all her own success in making a flame dance, she could never have held the Amyrlin against a wall. "At least being on the ship isn't making you sick anymore."

Nynaeve grunted, then gave a short, sharp laugh. "I'm too angry to be sick." With another mirthless laugh, she shook her head. "I'm too miserable to be sick. Light, I feel as if I've been dragged through a knothole backwards. If that is what novice training is like, you will have incentive to learn quickly."

Egwene scowled at her knees. Compared to Nynaeve, the Amyrlin had only coaxed her, smiled at her successes, sympathized with her failures, then coaxed again. But all the Aes Sedai had said things would be different in the White Tower; harder, though they would not say how. If she had to go through what Nynaeve had, day after day, she did not think she could stand it.

Something changed in the motion of the ship. The rocking eased, and feet thumped on the deck above their heads. A man shouted something Egwene could not quite make out.

She looked up at Nynaeve. "Do you think... Tar Valon?"

"There is only one way to find out," Nynaeve replied, and determinedly took her cloak from its peg.

When they reached the deck, sailors were running everywhere, heaving at lines, shortening sail, readying long sweeps. The wind had died to a breeze, and the clouds were scattering, now.

Egwene rushed to the rail. "It is! It is Tar Valon!" Nynaeve joined her with an expressionless face.

The island was so big it looked more as if the river split in two than contained a bit of land. Bridges that seemed to be made of lace arched from either bank to the island, crossing marshy ground as well as the river. The walls of the city, the Shining Walls of Tar Valon, glistened white as the sun broke through the clouds. And on the west bank, its broken top leaking a thin wisp of smoke, Dragonmount reared black against the sky, one mountain standing among flat lands and rolling hills. Dragonmount, where the Dragon had died. Dragonmount, made by the Dragon's dying.

Egwene wished she did not think of Rand when she looked at the mountain. Think of his death. He will not go mad, he won't.

The River Queen passed through a wide opening in a tall, circular wall that thrust out into the river. Inside, one long wharf surrounded a round harbor. Sailors furled the last sails and used sweeps alone to move the ship stern-first to its docking. Around the long wharf, the other ships that had come downriver were now being snugged into their berths among the ships already there. The White Flame banner set workers scurrying along the already busy wharf.

The Amyrlin came on deck before the shore lines were tied off, but dockworkers ran a gangplank aboard as soon as she appeared. Leane walked at her side, flame-tipped staff in hand, and the other Aes Sedai on the ship followed them ashore. None of them so much as glanced at Egwene or Nynaeve. On the wharf a delegation greeted the Amyrlin—shawled Aes Sedai, bowing formally, kissing the Amyrlin's ring. The wharf bustled, between ships unloading and the Amyrlin Seat arriving; soldiers formed up on disembarking, men set booms for cargo; trumpet flourishes rang from the walls, competing with cheers from the onlookers.

Nynaeve gave a loud sniff. "It seems they've forgotten us. Come along. We'll see to ourselves."

Egwene was reluctant to leave her first sight of Tar Valon, but she followed Nynaeve below to gather their things. When they came back topside, bundles in their arms, soldiers and trumpets were gone—and Aes Sedai, too. Men were swinging back hatches along the deck and lowering cables into the holds.

On the deck, Nynaeve caught a dockman's arm, a burly fellow in a coarse brown shirt with no sleeves. "Our horses," she began.

"I'm busy," he growled, pulling free. "Horses'll all be took to the White Tower." He looked them up and down. "If you've business with the Tower, best you take yourselves on. Aes Sedai don't hold with newlings being tardy." Another man, wrestling with a bale being swung out of the hold on a cable, shouted to him, and he left the women without a backwards glance.

Egwene exchanged looks with Nynaeve. It seemed they really were on their own.

Nynaeve stalked off the ship with grim determination on her face, but Egwene made her way dejectedly down the gangplank and through the tarry smell that hung over the wharf. All that talk about wanting us here, and now they don't seem to care.

Broad stairs led up from the dock to a wide arch of dark redstone. On reaching it, Egwene and Nynaeve stopped to stare.

Every building seemed a palace, though most of those close to the arch seemed to contain inns or shops, from the signs over the doors. Fanciful stonework was everywhere, and the lines of one structure seemed designed to complement and set off the next, leading the eye along as if everything were part of one vast design. Some structures did not look like buildings at all, but like gigantic waves breaking, or huge shells, or fanciful, wind-sculpted cliffs. Right in front of the arch lay a broad square, with a fountain and trees, and Egwene could see another square further on. Above everything rose the towers, tall and graceful, some with sweeping bridges between them, high in the sky. And over all rose one tower, higher and wider than all the rest, as white as the Shining Walls themselves.

"Fair takes the breath at first sight," said a woman's voice behind them. "At tenth sight, for that. And at hundredth."

Egwene turned. The woman was Aes Sedai; Egwene was sure of it, though she wore no shawl. No one else had that ageless look; and she held herself with an assurance, a confidence that seemed to confirm it. A glance at her hand showed the golden ring, the serpent biting its own tail. The Aes Sedai was a little plump, with a warm smile, and one of the oddest-appearing women Egwene had ever seen. Her plumpness could not hide high cheekbones, her eyes had a tilt to them and were the clearest, palest green, and her hair was almost the color of fire. Egwene barely stopped herself from goggling at that hair, those slightly slanted eyes.

"Ogier built, of course," the Aes Sedai went on, "and their best work ever, some say. One of the first cities built after the Breaking. There weren't half a thousand people here altogether then—no more than twenty sisters—but they built for what would be needed."

"It is a lovely city," Nynaeve said. "We are supposed to go to the White Tower. We came here for training, but no one seems to care if we go or stay."

"They care," the woman said, smiling. "I came here to meet you, but I was delayed speaking with the Amyrlin. I am Sheriam, the Mistress of Novices."

"I am not to be a novice," Nynaeve said in a firm voice, but a little too quickly. "The Amyrlin herself said I was to be one of the Accepted."

"So I was told." Sheriam sounded amused. "I have never heard of it being done so before, but they say you are... exceptional. Remember, though, even one of the Accepted can be called to my study. It requires more breaking of the rules than for a novice, but it has been known to happen." She turned to Egwene as if she had not seen Nynaeve frown. "And you are our new novice. It is always good to see a novice come. We have too few, these days. You will make forty. Only forty. And no more than eight or nine of those will be raised to the Accepted. Though I don't think you will have to worry about that too much, if you work hard and apply yourself. The work is hard, and even for one with the potential they tell me you have, it will not be made any easier. If you cannot stick to it, no matter how hard it is, or if you will break under the strain, better we find it out now, and let you go on your way, than wait until you are a full sister and others are depending on you. An Aes Sedai's life is not easy. Here, we will prepare you for it, if you have in you what is required."

Egwene swallowed. Break under the strain? "I will try, Sheriam Sedai," she said faintly. And I will not break.

Nynaeve looked at her worriedly. "Sheriam..." She stopped and took a deep breath. "Sheriam Sedai"—she seemed to force the honorific out—"does it have to be so hard on her? Flesh and blood can only take so much. I know… something… of what novices must go through. Surely there's no need to try to break her just to find out how strong she is."

"You mean what the Amyrlin did to you today?" Nynaeve's back stiffened; Sheriam looked as though she were trying to keep amusement from her face. "I told you I spoke with the Amyrlin. Rest your worries for your friend. Novice training is hard, but not that hard. That is for the first few weeks of being one of the Accepted." Nynaeve's mouth fell open; Egwene thought the Wisdom's eyes were going to come right out of her head. "To catch the few who might have slipped through novice training when they should not have. We cannot risk having one of our number—a full Aes Sedai—who will break under the stress of the world outside." The Aes Sedai gathered them both up, an arm around the shoulders of each. Nynaeve hardly seemed to realize where she was going. "Come," Sheriam said, "I will see you settled in your rooms. The White Tower awaits."

 

[Haruchai]

From Shienar to Tar Valon Part 1

Click to shrink...

Thanks for the chapter! No new content this time unfortunately. Based on my recollections this is almost the same as the OG.

 

[Adullahan]

Amadaine 4-10, 998 NE (June 11th-17th)

I should not have worried about it. Moiraine had Lan keep me busy during the day to keep her sisters from bothering me, making me train constantly on the slow march, taking advantage of my supernatural stamina as a Warder and a chinnar'veren.

That first morning after the attack, as we met up with the Amyrlin's party and Moiraine was sucked into the orbit of her sisters, Lan lead me to the pannier of one of our horses, a brown, stolid creature who eyed us with boredom before he snorted and continued grazing. Inside was armor; a simple chainmail shirt, a stiff cream quilted gambeson to wear underneath, emblazoned with a sinuous red and gold dragon over my breast, steel faulds with leather tassets meant to protect my waist and upper thighs, a pair of chain legging and a pair quilted cuisse and greaves to protect my legs. The steel was bright and shining, well-formed, the leather tassets dark red like dried blood and the quilt of the greaves and cuisse a cream with red and yellow tongues of flame embroidered on the edges, the mail tight and even. This was the work of a castle's armorer. Lord Agelmar's blacksmiths must have made this.

"I had this made for you," Lan explained. "You're ready for it. Moiraine added the heraldry last minute, and we left quicker than I could have expected, so I had to wait behind for them to finish her silly decorations. There was to be a helm, but with the way your head changes when you become so'shan I reconsidered. We will have to figure out something. Head injuries are dangerous, scales," Lan spoke quietly beside me, any of the usual gruffness gone, his voice as placid as a winter pond.

I felt a fondness for the Warder then, happy for the gift, at the same time a little sad. It was another step further from Rand al'Thor, Two Rivers Shepherd, and another step close to Rand al'Thor, Lord Dragon, but that was the path I had chosen when I embraced Moiraine's plan. I should move forward without any regret. I shook my head, chasing away such thoughts.

"Thank you, Lan Gaidin," I said formally, bowing simply at the waist, before standing straight and grinning. "Can I try it on? The chain looks very fine."

Lan smiled briefly, which sent a warning bell ringing in my head. "Of course, Rand Gaidin." It sounded more than a little mocking. "As your brother Warder it is my place to guide you. And that is why you will put this armor on, and not take it off until we stop for camp. Nor will you be riding, you will be running." I grimaced. "I must get you used to moving in your armor as much, and as fast, as possible. Stamina is one thing you do not lack, but I can always train it more."

And so that started my training on our slow journey westward to Medo, I would run up and down the snake of the hundreds of soldiers, their pikes glinting in the early summer sun. After the first day of simple running, Lan showed up throughout the day to engage me in running spars where I could not stop for over three seconds, which ended up being mostly me desperately dodging attacks and glancing blows until Lan knocked me into the grass or the dirt road or against a tree. It was brutal training, more intense than Lan had been in Fal Dara, and when he ran me ragged, there would be Moiraine, ready to top me back up and Heal my bruises with a slim hand on my cheek and a smile. I always did better when Lan let me become so'shan, the Lord Form elevating my strength and stamina to go toe to toe with Lan, with a true Warder, but then he would simply beat me with an unstoppable skill that I could not hope to match yet. Some day, but not yet. I told myself it had been less than two months since we started, but some small part of me still felt a sting with every loss.

The Warders watched me with the same eyes that Lan had early on—and sometimes still did—as if I were a child, playing make-believe. Some, at least, seemed to approve how I always got back up. One Warder—he said his name was Tomas but did not offer his Aes Sedai's name—stopped by our tent the first night and told me with time and blood, the others would open up, that they treated all 'wild' Warders the same until they proved themselves to be the match of any 'tower' Warder. I think I would have been angry about the ostracization if I hadn't proved I didn't act like a Warder just last night. Instead, I thanked him for the advice and wished him well.

The Aes Sedai pretended to not watch, but there were always a couple—different assortments of Ajah every time, but never Red—that would watch the beatdowns Lan gave me. They made me tense at first, caused me to slip up and make mistakes until Lan asked me, quite loudly, if I was finished playing around for the ladies and would get serious. The laughter from nearby soldiers and the contemptuous snort of a blond, mustachioed Warder set steel in my spine and forced the Aes Sedai out of my mind.

For brief moments, I could see Egwene, who rode beside a Nynaeve that alternated between cool disdain and glaring stares. It was mostly when we stopped for rest or meals, as Lan would make sure I ended up near Egwene, I assumed so we could speak together, sometimes off alone. It was kind of him, though Moiraine was always nearby us in those times as well, eyes sharp while she spoke with a sister of hers—different every time—but with a sense of contentment in the bond. When I questioned her the first night, she simply smiled and said, "You look softer around her, and I would rather spend my rest with the both of you, but I must keep up appearances with my sisters. Hovering like a mother hen around a new Warder is considered quite normal, especially when he seeks out a young woman. Myrelle thinks I am being overly permissive, but I told her I trust you." And that was that.

I told Egwene of Mat as soon as I could, when we were far enough away to speak of such things, away from the prying ears of Warders and where I did not feel the chill of saidar that signaled a woman channeling. We sat nestled in against the moss-covered roots of an old oak, whispering. My chainmail lay draped over a nearby root and Egwene lay her head on my gambeson, content to ignore how sweaty I was. I had been explaining the situation before the attack, the conversation with Ingtar—glossing over the Aiel situation—and Mat's big mouth and how Moiraine made us talk it out.

"It is not like Mat apologized, but he seems to understand my reasoning now. He finds the fact that I am not a romantic genius, and that the 'witchery is all mine', hilarious." I grumbled quietly. "If he can keep his mouth shut, and actually treat me like the friend I supposedly am, I'll know things are better."

Egwene wore a stout green riding dress, with brown divided skirts and red roses embroidered on the hem and the cuffs. Her voice had a curious lilt. "While I'm glad you and Mat are on speaking terms again, you told them about the bond? With how you vilify it in your mind, I wouldn't think you'd tell anyone who wasn't one of us, a wife or wife-to-be."

"How else would I explain how Moiraine did not hold my leash? That whatever she did to me, whatever twisty plans she makes, she could not hurt me, could not seek me gentled, that we are bound together for better and worse. Mat was quite worried I was being made a False Dragon, set up to be used, gentled and die. Perrin and I set him straight."

Egwene shivered and snuggled closer to me, her voice barely audible, "Being made the true Dragon is not much better, Rand…"

"It is the truth, though. Soon enough I will be known to all. Light, I will be king of my own country. It seems silly to say out loud, but I've known it ever since spoke to that spirit, the Iridescent Flame. I just don't like to think about it too much."

"You're letting her push that on you. You don't need to be king. You can just be Rand al'Thor, and be the Dragon without becoming a lord. You don't need to change that much, do you?" Her voice sounded a little desperate, muffled as it was by her speaking into my chest.

I was a little shocked hearing this from her. I had not realized she felt that strongly. "Egwene," I pleaded a little, "my lessons with Moiraine have taught me the Westlands are a mess of squabbling, slowly dying nations born from the horrors of the War of the Hundred Years, and empty lands of former nations, abandoned by humanity. Our lands need a single leader to stand behind, to lead them and that is going to be me, whether or not I like it. I am the Dragon Reborn, and I will bind and break nations to my will. It is inevitable, so I do not fight it, just like with Moiraine."

Egwene harrumphed, and raised her head, eyes gleaming. "You were always stubborn. Don't get too big an ego when I'm not there to pop it. You may become High King, but for all I care, you'll always be that boy scrambling in the mud for worms, jumping off the highest branch into the pools of the Waterwood, getting your behind spanked red for drinking a bottle of apple brandy when you were thirteen. You'll be the boy that made me flower crowns, clumsy and lopsided as they were, and let me join the other boys in their games even when they didn't want me there. Remember that. Don't forget it down south, where you came from."

I held her tighter and darted down for a quick kiss, "I'll remember every word you speak, Egwene al'Thor." Her face turned red as a tomato, still unused to hearing those words. "And I will miss you when we must part. I wish you could come with us."

That was the only moment we got to speak of such things, away from the Aes Sedai and the watchful eyes of Warders, and I did not see her again after the second attack. This attack was composed of two fists of Trollocs, led by three Myrddraal seemed to know exactly where to attack the camp to capture the Horn. They failed, of course, but Moiraine had us leave in secret in the early morning of the 7th of Amadine while the camp was still in chaos.

The battle had been fierce, the shouts of "Shadowspawn!" and "Trolloc raid!" in the distance woke Moiraine and I up from travel cot we slept on. I had sprung out of the too small bed I'd spent the last two nights sleeping on, hitting my head and shoulders on the top of the white tent and nearly lifting it off the ground and tearing out the stakes. Moiraine could hide her amusement from her face, but not the brief frisson in the bond.

Embarrassed, I knelt and put on the armor Lan had given me, shrugging the gambeson over my bare chest and tying my quilted cuisse and greaves tight before putting on the faulds and tassets, the soft sound of leather slapping quilted armor. I pulled the chain leggings carefully over my legs, slipping into my boots and belted my sword, as Lan helped Moiraine into her riding dress. I hadn't even heard him come in, yawning despite my fear and the worry I sensed from Moiraine. I slapped my cheeks, and then assumed ko'di, burning away everything that worried and gnawed at me, until I was One with myself, with my blade, and with the moment. I am to be a Warder, I told myself, even if Lan himself does not believe it yet.

I pulled on the energy beneath my skin and changed, transforming into the so'shan, the Lord Form of a shapechanger, with my mane of red-gold hair bracketed by sweptback golden antlers and long, pointed ears. Scarlet and gold scales dusted my jaw and around my eyes and covered my fingers, which ended with golden claws. My teeth were sharp and pointed and a flicker of rainbow flame could be seen in the back of my throat.

As we left the tent, we followed a stream of other Aes Sedai who exited their tents with their Warders as well, all alert and calm in their faces, though some Aes Sedai were betrayed by nervous tics and mannerism, like tapping their arm or clenching their fingers white. Every pair seemed to turn whenever I got near, catching themselves staring before the urgency of the night moved them. In the distance I could hear the soldiers of the camp began waking up, the rustling of hundreds of men putting on armor and grabbing weapons filling the air. The Shienarans were on the far side of camp and I did not see any close by, but I assumed Ingtar was gathering his lancers.

"We must find the Amyrlin," Moiraine said as we moved to the edge of camp, close to the Horn, and I felt the oily feeling of shadowspawn, like rancid fat dripping down my arms, growing with intensity. "But if we cannot, Lan will protect me as I guard the Horn, and Rand, you will deal with the Trollocs with your flames. Leave the Myrddraal for experienced Warders."

Soon enough we moved to the edge of the camp, the sound of clashing steel and the crackling of fire filled the night as Trollocs poured out of the forest meeting the closest Warders blade with blade, while fireballs the size of a pony landed amongst the horde. They were lead by three Myrddraal who seemed to ignore the Warders closest to them. They strode with a sure step in sinuous movement, sallow eyeless faces scanning the camp before them, rippling black cloaks as solid as night. They strode easily through the chaos, a destination in mind. Soldiers in knots of two and three, some only half-armored, trickled in from behind us, joining the frontline of Warders.

Moiraine's worry intensified, and she stopped where she was. "No time, that's at least two fists if not three. Rand."

That was all she had to say. I seized saidin, weaving the Gentle Feather in a harness around me in quick, familiar motions, before I took off sprinting. A knot of Aes Sedai surrounded a normal tent amongst the many others—a tent that guarded the Horn of Valere—and three Warders guarded them, each facing a Myrddraal that seemed to zero in on them immediately, dismissively ignoring and dodging attack against them by the Warders who tore paths through the Trollocs to reach the Myrddraal. Other Aes Sedai were scattered about in pairs and foursomes, presumably each in a circle, the chill on my skin frigid. The Warders of the frontline worked in pairs and threesomes, back to back as they carved trenches of death through the shadowspawn attack, the Amyrlin's soldier behind them holding the line with their pikes, sticking any Trolloc that survived to reach them. I leapt into the air with my powerful legs, flying over Aes Sedai and soldier, Warder and stinking Trolloc, before releasing the weave and letting myself fall like a rock in a pond in the middle of the horde, releasing my dragonfire to clear my landing.

I Unfolded the Fan, unsheathing my sword and bringing out and across the chest of the closest unburnt Trolloc, and then blew a tongue of flame, grasping the Flame Imperishable with a thread of Fire and infusing my blade. The Power-wrought sword shone opalescent, a pleasant warmth radiating from the blade and the closest shadowspawn began screaming at the sight. My blade was swift to end the sound as it cut through it like a hot knife through butter and it melted like wax. The Oneness was with me.

Then the horde rushed in. It was chaos, the push and pull of tides of hulking bodies that threatened to overwhelm the Oneness as I swung and swung and swung and swung and swung and swung. My sword killed every Trolloc it bit, but they just kept coming. I'm glad Lan had me train swinging the sword so much, came the thought skittering across the Void. I blew my dragonfire in long sweeps, burning rank beastmen until they melted like wax, my throat throbbing. I was hot and sweaty in my gambeson by the time I realized other Warders had been cutting through the Trollocs to join me, shouting "Lord Drake!", eyes bright with fervor. I glanced behind me at the camp, seeing an expanse of dead Trollocs, by blade and by flame, and near the Horn's tent I saw a single Myrddraal, bleeding black blood, dancing amongst three Warders and Lan as they dealt glancing blows, slowing it with each cut. The two other Halfmen were weakly writhing on the ground, limbs shorn from their bodies. In an instant, almost faster than I could see, Lan Plucks The Low-Hanging Apple, his own Power-wrought sword sliced cleanly through the Myrddraal's neck, and he pulled his blade out just as quickly—a flick clearing the black acidic blood off the blade—letting the Myrddraal's head tumble to the ground. Any surviving Trollocs fall to the ground, struck dead. The attack had been foiled. I stumbled a little, throat sore, and arm heavy.

I had wished to say goodbye to Egwene, but we had to leave in secret, so no Darkfriends hidden in the camp would know when we had left, or how fast we moved. The corpse bonfires tended by wary soldiers lit the forest as every guardian of the Horn of Valere all slipped away in pairs and threesomes westward to a small clearing maybe half an hour from where the Amyrlin had made camp. Once everyone was ready—the Horn having been secured to Loial's large shaggy horse while he would run beside it—we left, riding at far too early an hour, any hope of sleep gone.

In the quiet pre-dawn of the 7th of Amadine, the Shienarans dead quiet and only the sound of jangling harness and horses breathing broke the night—Mat and Perrin quiet and uneasy after the second attack—until Moiraine started whispering quietly to me, loud enough that my chinnar'veren ears could hear easily but no one else nearby would notice much. I had yet to release the Lord Form, anticipating another attack, and just feeling safer, more secure, as a so'shan.

"I fear I must warn you even further of my sisters. We do not talk it about, and you should never mention it to another Aes Sedai, but the Black Ajah exists, and is an active threat to our goals. That is to say, both the goals of the White Tower, and us as a couple, Rand. I speculate that a Black Sister is who told the Myrddraal where to find the Horn. They knew where to go to before they even saw it, heading right for its general direction, even though every night the Amyrlin had it moved to a different tent and only Aes Sedai and Warders knew which." She grimaced, the next words she spoke souring her expression. "These Black Ajah, they are Darkfriends amongst the White Tower, our hidden shame. Somehow, some way, they have figured out how to circumvent the Three Oaths. They lie, they build weapons in secret, they use the One Power for violence freely. I have fought them myself, before. They are as dangerous a foe for you as can be, below a Forsaken, and at least one of them was in the Amyrlin's party. They have decades if not centuries of channeling experience under their belt, Rand." She sighed quietly, though it was loud in the surrounding silence. "If I was feeling petty, I'd name Liandrin Sedai a Black Sister, but such things are beneath me. Do not trust any Aes Sedai that is not me."

Coincidence, or the Pattern, amplified that warning when not an hour later, Verin Sedai, the absent-minded Brown Sister who knew I was the Dragon Reborn, came out of the trees riding from behind us, sitting as regal as a queen on her piebald mare. How did she know how to follow us? And where is her Warder?

"Oh Moiraine," she called out, as soldiers warily let her pass once they realised she was an Aes Sedai. "I do wish you had told me you were leaving. I told you I was taking notes to start a book on the Horn and on your interesting young man. I have so much to write already, it will be a blessing once we reach Medo and I can sit down snug on the ship and get some thoughts down." She absently rubbed her nose, and her eyes seemed a thousand leagues away. "He was quite a sight earlier, your new Warder, leaping high enough he almost seemed to fly, and his sword turning that opalescent color. Quite a sight, like one out of a tale. They'll certainly be speaking of him for weeks in the Tower gossip. All the Green Sisters will be out of their mind with jealousy, you know." Verin absently smiled at me with eyes that did not seem to truly see me, before turning back to Moiraine, eyes much sharper for a moment. "One would think you didn't wish me to join you, leaving in secret without even telling Siuan." Then they're back to absently roaming the soldiers, lighting on Mat and Perrin who both squirm under their lazy gaze. "It will be a book about all your young men, Moiraine. They're all so interesting. The golden eyes are quite striking in the moonlight. I have seen their like before. Something new, or something old, that is the question." What does she mean?

She only broke her gaze on Perrin when Ingtar rode back from his place at the front, calling out to the Brown Sister. "You would honor me, Verin Sedai, to have another Aes Sedai willing to guard and see the Horn to Illian, for the journey has been deadly already. But I must ask, where is your Warder? Will he be arriving soon?"

Verin frowned, a look of mild frustration darting across her absent expression. "Tomas has other business to attend to that unfortunately cannot wait, but I will accompany you all on your journey. An Aes Sedai alone is surely worth more than a warder, Lord Shinowa, even bound by the Three Oaths? While I will mostly act as historiographer for this quest, I will certainly act in defense of the party and its goal. You will have your two channelers guarding the Horn." It was her Warder that visited me. Coincidence?

Moiraine stared her sister, a feeling of foreboding and resignation resonating with my own. Verin Sedai seemed to do as she wished in her absent-minded way, even in front of the Amyrlin Seat. Is it because she is a Black Sister, I could not help wondering, is it all a ruse? "It is a stronger woman than I that can keep you from your research topics, Verin, nor do I wish to. There would be no better sister of mine to take down the annals of our journey, and the truth of the matter. Ride with me, we have much to speak of, if you truly intend to stick with us."

The ride to Medo took all day and into the night, only stopping for brief rests and an hour for lunch, during which Moiraine washed away the fatigue of the horses. In the village itself Moiraine interrupted the quiet evening, making clear her desire for passage came from the Amyrlin Seat wishing to see her swiftly off which allowed her to commandeer a ship, one of the several that anchored in the river for the Amyrlin's party to return.

A purple-grey predawn of the 8th of Amadine lit the sky by the time we finally left, and I felt fine despite not sleeping over four hours in the last thirty-something hours, my throat having healed quickly and the soreness in my sword arm already gone. My ability to recover is extraordinary, days of running in twenty, thirty pounds of armor, and a battle, yet I feel as fit as a fiddle. I had yet to see how long I could truly go without rest, but I knew Lan could be awake for days. Moiraine, Verin Sedai and I stood on the deck of a large boat, lit by glass-walled lanterns and the predawn, called the Seamaid's Kiss. It was stout enough to take all twenty-six of our horses, but only barely, and the sailors worked the crane for hours lifting horses into the hold.

"Oh, oh my," Verin said quietly as she joined us in a circle and drunk deeper of the One Power than she ever had before. Moiraine was planning on weaving the wind to carry us as rapidly as possible, using saidar and her rudimentary control over saidin, changing into the so'shan so she wouldn't have to touch tainted saidin. "This is… I can see why you are so affectionate with your young man. The kinds of weaves that we could work with this amount of Power, with saidin as clean as saidar…" Verin's eye were wide and aware, seeming to take in everything before her as a new sight, a calculating look that made me want to shiver but I stood tall. "Yes, I certainly can see. You best treat this young man right. He is a gift in this benighted Age, a gift indeed."

There were few sailors awake, and none paid us any attention if they knew what was good for them. None stood close enough to hear us, nor even looked at us. Paying attention to Aes Sedai meant they paid attention to you, and even Tar Valon sailors would rather not have to deal with an Aes Sedai questioning you, maintaining that cool, collected calm even as their tongue cut you into pieces. Or at least, that was how Moiraine explained their obeisance to me.

Moiraine wrapped a hand around my neck, pulling me down closer to her and giving me another soft kiss, looking me straight in the eyes, as something that I dare not call love filled her heart. My heart beat fast as I sunk into the moment of intimacy, letting the weight of my future, and my nervousness of channeling around another Aes Sedai, disappear. She had been doing that recently, kissing me. Around others they were soft, and sweet but short. Alone… Alone, my Aes Sedai had revealed a hunger for kisses that rivaled Egwene's. Deep kisses, soft kisses, hard kisses, biting kisses, she sought them all. Her neck bloomed with bruises that I quietly Healed each morning when I woke for training. My own hickies Moiraine left visible, not deigning to remove her marks on me. Egwene had called it obnoxious, but… I kind of liked it.

Moiraine's voice interrupted my thoughts, sounding as satisfied as a cat's purr. "I am lucky, for several reasons, and I treat him quite well. He gets privileges that no man would think of taking with an Aes Sedai, but in their secret hearts, and he gets trained by one of the greatest Warder's of our time. What more could he ask for?"

Verin rolled her eyes and smiled indulgently at her, like an older sister with a younger sibling. "Yes, yes. You love your man." Moiraine blushed for a brief second, protest rising and dying in her throat, turning into a whine, and I squirmed. Does she, truly? I questioned, is this love? Or merely two people finding comfort in one another. "You have made that abundantly clear to everyone. I swear, Lord Drake is turning you Green, Moiraine. You were always so prim and proper, when you weren't planning those horrid pranks of yours. The gossip about you in the Tower is going to explode when the Amyrlin Seat returns. Moiraine Damodred, the first Blue Sister to ever bond two Warders."

Moiraine flushed again with a sort of embarrassed pride. "I had wanted to be Green, when I was a novice. I will settle for Turquoise."

Verin laughed, a cackle in the early morning that alarmed several nearby sailors, who stared before quickly looking away. "A Turquoise Sister, are you? The love of men and battle, with the unstoppable drive for your cause. I can see it, yes, I can see it very well. I think Siuan and Leane would join you in finding and bonding man they love, if they could, if the Hall wouldn't pull them from their positions in shock at the flagrant disregard for rules and tradition and propriety."

"I am not improper," Moiraine protested, to which Verin simply raised an eyebrow and glanced at me. "It is a silly rule anyway, that an Aes Sedai can only bond one Warder unless she is Green."

I spoke up, finding that a safe topic to speak on. "Why is it that Aes Sedai only bond one Warder?"

Verin started, and stared at me owlishly, as if she had not realized I could speak. "Oh, a number of reasons," Verin Sedai explained. "Early in the White Tower, before traditions and strictures were set down in Tower Law, many sisters had more than one Warder. They even would bond men without their consent, a horrid action that is akin to rape these days, for a man can no more resist the bond than a young farm girl could resist a large man cornering her in the barn. Over the centuries, as the Ajahs became more strict with what Aes Sedai could and could not do, those who sought more Warders inevitably joined the less restrictive Ajahs which allowed sisters to bond multiple men. By the time the Trolloc Wars were over the loss of menfolk and population after centuries of genocidal war, and the constant loss of Warders that sisters suffered, meant that every Ajah but the Green had restricted bonding to a single man. That tradition held through the flowering of the Free Years, and the collapse of Artur Hawkwings Empire into the New Era, now."

"You can give him more history lessons later, after we set the weave, Verin."

"Oh, truly?" Verin blinked rapidly, her mouth forming a wide smile that made her square, placid face beautiful. "You will let me teach him? Truly?"

"Who should teach Rand history if not a Brown Sister? Focus on the here and now, though, Verin. Watch as I weave."

And without further ado, Moiraine pulled on the deep well of saidin I channeled, seizing threads of yellow Air and blue Water, to mix with their flows of saidar. She wove a great funnel, delicate threads of saidar interwoven around thick, supporting threads of saidin, until the weave looked as if a great horn stretched into the sky. She tied it off, and almost immediately a strong wind blew against the sails, filling them, and our ship almost leapt into the air it began to move swiftly down the river, at speed. Soon enough the ship stabilized, and we were on our way down the river, on our way to Tar Valon, home of the White Tower and the Aes Sedai, as the sun rose.

Once the sun was above the horizon, I went down below deck to find Mat and Perrin's cabin. Both lay sleeping, Perrin snoring in a low rumble and Mat with a pillow over his head. I glanced up and down the hallway, spotting no one, so I wove a torchflare and closed the cabin door. After a few seconds a bright flash lined the door, and shouts filled the air, of worry and surprise.

"Blood and ashes, what was that!" Mat exclaimed as I opened the door and walked back in, closing it quickly behind me.

"That was a torchflare weave, my loving friends. The sun is up, and so are you, now," I said with a grin.

Mat went stiff. "You…" he glanced around uneasily, as if it were possible for someone else to hear. "You channeled?!" he whispered sharply.

"It's a part of who I am. Get used to it," I replied bluntly. "Soon enough I'll be able to do it in public."

"Don't get into a fight so soon. Rand, why did you wake us up so early," Perrin moaned. "I feel like I've just got to sleep." He rolled over in his bed, smothering his face in the pillow.

"You've seen how dangerous our journey will be, you knew it before we returned to Fal Dara, yet neither of you have been training. That ends now. Every morning you'll join me and Lan for Warder training, you'll do the stretches, you'll do the running, you'll do the exercises, as much as we can aboard this ship."

"Burn me, the Warder must have infected you like the Aes Sedai has. You think I'll be wasting a good sleep in on this cramped boat with training, like I'm some fancy Lord's son prancing about with a sword, or a stolid Shienar soldier? I'm not you. Light, Rand, I know it's dangerous, but that is what Lan is for."

I gave him a dismissive look which had Mat frowning, turning to Perrin. "And you Perrin?"

For a long minute there was quiet as Perrin lay face down, either sleeping or taking his time to form his words. When he sat up, and turned to face us, the words were slow and steady out his mouth, and caused Mat to frown deeper. "I think Rand is right. We should have been training with the Warder, like we did on the journey north. Trollocs attacked us twice in a week, and each time I felt absolutely useless, while the Shienaran's and Rand seemed to know exactly what to do." Perrin's voice firms, and a determined look crosses his face. "I will join you Rand. I need to learn how to fight."

Mat looked between us and grumbled, before standing up and rummaging through the small dresser, tossing a shirt to Perrin, before putting one on himself. "Well, you going to stand and watch us change?"

I flushed with annoyed embarrassment, and swiftly exited the room, heading back upstairs to the foredeck to where Lan stood waiting, his face a stone mask, all sharp lines and hard edges. His brown hair, tinged at the root with gray, stood blowing in the strong wind. I called out to him as I approached. "Lan Gaidin, Mat and Perrin will join us this morning."

He grunted affirmatively, but said nothing else, instead swiftly moving to a chest I had not noticed tucked underneath the stairs to the half-deck, pulling out a short spear with a simple leaf-shaped spearhead and a haft of ash wood. Perrin came up first, nervously fiddling with the shaft of his half-moon axe, while Mat used his quarterstaff as a walking stick.

"No, farmboy. You need a weapon with lethality. Take this," Lan ordered Mat, tossing the haft of the spear at him. Mat reached to catch it, dropping his quarterstaff which clattered on the deck. He held it awkwardly, as if it might bite him, staring warily at the shining steel point of the spear. The rest of the morning involved Lan forcing me to teach Mat and Perrin how to stretch, brief sprints back and forth across the deck, and weapon drills. It was even harder than normal, on a deck that moved. Lan told me to consider it more training.

"Unfolding The Fan, to The Ox Lowers His Horns," Lan called out, "then The Moon On The Water." I did as he asked. "More thrust, scales. You want to make sure your point is set straight and true. Farmboy," he called out to Mat, "the same goes for you, I want you to thrust straight and true a dozen times in a row from the waist. I'll tell you when you need to start over. And blacksmith, no more feeble slashes. These will be Trollocs you face, you will need all that strength of yours the tear that axe through their armor and into their bellies. Put that hammer arm to work."

And that was how the mornings of the 8th through the 10th went. I woke Mat and Perrin up with a torchflare, to no one's amusement but mine own, yet it got them moving. We each got our weapons and tramped up the stairs to the deck, meeting Lan near the bow in the early purple-gray pre-dawn. And then we would stretch, exercise and drill, Lan barking orders that Mat and Perrin learned to follow as quickly as possible, unless they wanted to be knocked down by Lan, who would then narrate some horrible death by shadowspawn while they lay sprawled on the wooden deck.

"They'll break your legs and tie you to a spit still screaming," was one favorite image of Lan's, as were the cookpots. "They're big enough to fit a person inside, with room to stew them. It's a delicacy to some bands of Trolloc's, something they do for their twisted version of feastdays." It made me, Mat, and Perrin ill, to hear of such things, and the sailors stayed far away once they heard the topic of conversation. These were Tar Valon sailors, they knew how real shadowspawn were. It did, however, seem to encourage the two, as much as it upset and angered us all. We had battled shadowspawn, escaped haunted cities, traveled the cursed Ways, and fought Forsaken, but we were still callow youths before Lan, as he loved to remind us.

In the late morning, with Perrin and Mat exhausted, Lan would let them rest as he had me spar every Shienaran soldier that wished to try 'Lord Drake', a number that increased each day. I never won a spar legitimately—some soldiers seemed to think I would appreciate them giving me a win—but I was closer and closer each day, as I got used to reacting to how the Shienaran's fought. They fought stolid, with a vicious edge, often the only emotion they showed was mild enjoyment in the heat of the spar. Despite my losses, Lan said little as he watched these spars, besides occasionally pointing out things I did wrong, and even less often, what I did right. Once again I had to tell myself it had been less than two months since we started, but part of me still felt that sting with every loss, and every ill-gained win.

Verin Sedai would watch the spars with Moiraine, and as they spoke quietly Verin wrote notes in a spidery hand on a writing board that held her papers with a clip. After Lan was finished with me, I spent the afternoon with Verin Sedai in her cabin, learning of Illian, the kingdom I would rule soon enough. It was a proud southern nation on the coast of the Sea of Storms, born out of the end of the War of the Hundred Years, and named for the city that was its capitol and main city, a great trading port. The rest of the nation was mostly sprawling olive groves, and farming villages that fed Illian, with occasional small towns on the main roads, that cater to travelers and merchant trains, and were often the seats of the Council of Nine. Because, as it turned out, the King of Illian is not all powerful like a king in a tale. There were two different groups of people, citizens of the nation of Illian, that the King was beholden to listen to: the Council of Nine, comprising nine powerful nobles of Illian, and the Assemblage, a group chosen by and from Illian's merchant and ship owners.

"This three-way struggle for power, between the King, the Council of Nine, and the Assemblage is what some claim is a system free of tyranny, and others call it inefficient and slow, unable to act swiftly. The granting of simple merchant's and captain's a say in the government of Illian is met with derision elsewhere, especially in Tear, but Illian's wealth and trade proves their value. You cannot ignore them, nor should you. They are the weathervane of the common people, just as the Council of Nine is the weathervane for the nobility. Neither will ever be completely satisfied with you, young man, not ever, but it will be your job to navigate such treacherous currents." Her eyes suddenly took on a serious gleam. "Be glad you have Moiraine Sedai to help you, she grew up in even murkier waters."