Chapter 1

The Dragon and the Fox

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose over the forested hills over Stedding Shangtai. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.

North the wind blew, running through the lands that lay between Tear and Cairhien. In places where before bandits and looters and had run rampant, the influence of the Dragon Reborn had caused a tense kind of peace. Towns and villages that had been burned to the ground were slowly being rebuilt, the people banding together with the prospect of Tarmon Gai'don imminent. Old rivalries and bitterness had been put aside in the face of destruction.

The wind blew on, rising higher as it crossed the highlands of Cairhien. Lands that had been both burned and frozen by the Dark One's touch on the world were finally starting to grow again. The supposed second invasion by the Aiel still had a profound affect on the people here, and they would turn in early, afraid to stay out past sunset.

Onward the wind blew, the sun rising steadily behind it as it swept through the Jangai Pass. It was almost stopped when it came upon the dry stillness of the Aiel Waste. But it ploughed on, seemingly determined to reach its goal. And finally it flew over a ridge and descended into the vale where Rhuidean was hidden. It gusted through the apparently empty streets, and having lost most of its power, barely disturbed the shutters that hid the windows.

Rand shot out from beneath the covers of the bed, sweat coming off him in sheets. The sudden movement caused his head to spin. Saidin coursed through him, burning, freezing. He reveled in its purity; the sensation of it without the murk of the Dark One's taint was already soothing him. It brought everything into focus. He could hear the flies buzzing around the ceiling, could see the individual fibers that made up the multicolored curtains, smell the sharp stench of his sweat. It was addictive; dangerous. He took a deep breath, and reluctantly released the One Power.

The dreams had haunted him for several weeks now, ever since the battle in which he had lost his hand. The physical pain had been short-lived. But not even he could hide from the nightmares that plagued his darkest hours. At first he had tried to conceal his worries from Min and Aviendha, but they saw straight through his attempt at deception and demanded to know his secret. They had helped tried to help him, but nothing could completely drive away the horrors that awaited him in his sleep.

The sun glared through the half open windows, temporarily blinding him. It was hot already; he didn't know how the Aiel had survived here in this Waste for over a thousand years. He slowly wandered over to the shuttered window, running a hand through his red hair. His eyes, always different in the morning light, shone blue in the shade as he stared out on the square below.

Aviendha was already among the piles of torn and twisted items, searching out the abilities of the ter'angreal in the early light of the morning sun. Every now and then he would feel a slight prickling on his arms as she grasped saidar. Frustration flowed along the bond that linked them. Once in a while he would experience a twinge of delight coming from her, and she would set one of the apparently useless items aside. As he continued to stare, she looked up and saw him watching. She gave a small smile before turning back to her work.

Min lay across the room from him, her steady breathing calming him more than any other thing. From the insensible string of emotions coming from her, he guessed she was still sleeping deeply. Both she and Aviendha were close enough that the bond constantly pushed them to the forefront of his thoughts.

In the back of his mind, far distant, but ever present, sat two more balls of emotions. One was Elayne, the Queen of Andor and the third love of his life. He couldn't read her emotions at this distance; there was a limit to all things, their bond included.

The other was much less welcome.

The distance between Alanna Mosvani and Rand changed every several hours. From the few times she had managed to get close to him he could sense her rage. And no wonder; Rand had created a temporary shield with saidin that blocked the part of the bond allowing her to see where he was. There was no doubt that the weave would wear off eventually, but he was enjoying the brief respite from the Aes Sedai's presence all the same. Of course, with Alanna blocked off from him, not even Cadsuane could reach him, and for this he was eternally thankful. That Aes Sedai was undoubtedly useful, but amazingly tiresome.

He stretched, being careful not to strain the tender skin on his side. After another moment of gazing out the window he pulled a plain white shirt over his head, being careful not to aggravate the tender skin at the base of his left arm where his hand had once been. He stared at the stump. One of his herons and the head of one Dragon tattoo were gone forever, thanks to Semirhage. It had been the thing that dwelt in his nightmares that led to his defeat. If Nynaeve had not Healed him so quickly, he might not have survived the attack.

Rand picked up a pitcher of water and poured himself a drink. The water had been collected from the large spring that had formed in his fight with Asmodean over the Choedan Kal so long ago. He gulped it down, letting the chilled liquid cool his throat. After a moment he left the room, leaving the blade of Laman leaning against the wall by the door. Aviendha disapproved of swords, even if it was a gift from her.

His footsteps echoed loudly in the empty hallways. Rhuidean had been devoid of life since Rand led the Aiel out of the waste on the Shaido's trail. Nevertheless, the effects of his abilities as a ta'veren could be seen around the abandoned city. Only three days ago Aviendha had accidentally activated one of the ter'angreal she was studying. The result was disastrous. A blast of balefire had shot out of the end of the rod shaped ter'angreal and burned through two buildings before the Aiel woman managed to stop it. But the two stone buildings the blast of flames had struck were leaning over; the only thing holding them up was each other. Aviendha had refrained from activating another ter'angreal since then.

The heat intensified as Rand descended the last of the stairs and looked out the doorway into the courtyard. He shaded his eyes against the glare of the desert sun. Aviendha was still sorting the ter'angreal in the centre of the piles of junk. Four piles had been set up to the side of the larger mounds of discarded items.

The larger of the four was piled high with what Rand assumed was the garbage that Aviendha had found no use for. It almost reached his shoulder. Obviously some of the ter'angreal had lost their power or been damaged over the millennia. He felt a pang of fear, hoping what he was searching for was not one of these.

The second pile was considerably smaller, although still a great deal larger than the last two stacks. These were no doubt the ter'angreal that Aviendha had found reacted to the touch of saidar. They were all different shapes and sizes, and with a start Rand recognized the rod-shaped ter'angreal that generated balefire.

The last two mounds were equally diminutive, each only about a foot in height. One was made up of the objects Aviendha had set aside for Rand because she suspected they required saidin. But it was the other small pile interested Rand the most. These were the ter'angreal that the Aiel thought needed both halves of the One Power to use.

Aviendha smiled warmly as Rand watched her from the shade of the doorway. She lifted up a cane basket from the ground and made her way to him. She was wearing the bulky skirts and heavy blouse of an Aiel Wise One. The thorny bracelet he had given her in Cold Rocks Hold when she was still his instructor in the ways of the Aiel and ji'e'toh was clipped firmly onto her wrist.

"I collected some food from the country around Caemlyn," she told him as he accepted a wizened apple from the open basket. Through the gap in the sheet he could see several loaves of bread and a dozen apples.

"You didn't steal these I hope," he growled. Aviendha looked surprised for a moment, and then shrugged.

"I do what is necessary," she said simply. Rand gave her a penetrating look, and she sighed, "Well, Min Farshaw did convince me to take the bread from the baker's sill," she confessed, "But the apples and grapes were in the open."

Rand was about to reply when he felt a change in the soft ball of emotions that was Min. He glanced up, looking directly at her through the stone walls. Aviendha saw the direction of his gaze and seized the opportunity to change the course of the conversation.

"She is coming then," she said quickly. Rand gave her one more sharp look but decided to let the matter drop. They did need food, and they couldn't afford to risk being seen within any of the cities. In the end, Min and Aviendha had acted in the way they thought best.

The two of them sat without talking, the silence broken only by the quiet crunching noises made by the two red haired people as they ate their breakfast. Soon the clicking of Min's high heeled boots was echoing down the stone stairs, and moments later the woman herself appeared, her hips shaking with every step in what most other ladies would see as an exceptionally indecent fashion. She wore her usual rose coloured coat and breeches, which somehow managed to conceal an assortment of weapons.

"How goes the search?" she said cheerfully, sitting down next to Aviendha and seizing a small piece of bread and nibbling on the crust. Despite his earlier grim mood, a ghost of a smile crossed his stony features. Min and Aviendha were two of the only three people in the world who could make him smile, and he had both of them at his side.

"Not so well as could be hoped," replied Aviendha, a glum look on her proud face, "More than half of the things piled out there are worthless junk." She looked back wistfully at the mound of twisted objects lying, as if she wished she could find direction and suddenly know where the ter'angreal she was searching for was.

Your plan won't succeed, a new voice said suddenly.

Silence, Rand roared in his mind. Lews Therin, the chief terror in his dreams, hadn't spoken to him for several days now. He should have known that the silence would only last so long. The two women had obviously noticed the shift in his mood; they were both watching him with a concern that had not been there before.

"Come on," Rand said to Aviendha, his face dour once more, "We had better continue looking." The Wise One gave him one more anxious look before nodding briskly and packing up the basket, placing it on a small stone table that sat by the door. The two of them strode out into the courtyard, both wrapping a piece of cloth around their heads to protect them from the blasting heat of the sun. And then they continued their work.

Rand carefully examined each of the objects in the small pile Aviendha had put aside for him. Elation filled him as he embraced saidin, and performed the complex weave that allowed him to see the purpose of the ter'angreal. He held a perfectly round jade stone in the palm of his hand, but after a moment, determined it to be nothing more than an angreal. He sighed, wishing that for once he had an easy time completing his mission. Even so, he pulled a piece of cloth from his pocket and carefully wrapped the focus up. Angreal were rare, and even the weakest could sway the odds in a battle. He hurried back to the building and handed the wrapped stone to Min, who had been reading in the shade. She took it and in seconds had disappeared upstairs, gone to put it in a sack in Rand's room. With a weary sigh, the Dragon turned back to his duties.

The search had begun just over a month ago. Rand's left hand had only been severed for several hours. Semirhage was waging a war of wills against Cadsuane, but had finally turned her attention to the Dragon Reborn long enough to tell him that his ability to converse and share knowledge with Lews Therin Telamon was a direct result of insanity. But she had let something slip. As she was pulled away to be put under guard, heavily shielded, she had not been able to resist a parting jibe.

"I doubt even the Torl'mien could save you now, Dragon Reborn!"

The Forsaken's words had been scornful, full of malice and hate, but his enemy had unknowingly fed Rand a piece of information that held great interest for him. Rand had pored over ancient texts for hours afterwards, at last finding a tiny bit of information that had confirmed his suspicions; a rough translation from the Old Tongue told him that the Torl'mien was in some way related to the Talent of Healing. He had shared his discoveries with both Cadsuane and Min. Both women had been skeptical at first. The elderly Aes Sedai was in charge of watching the Forsaken, and had been reluctant to expose her to Rand, in case the Dragon Reborn decided to seek retribution on her. But, after managing to extract an oath from him that he would not harm Semirhage, Cadsuane had found no reason to doubt him any longer, and had allowed him access to the Forsaken.

After many days of interrogation, in which Semirhage refused to speak further on the matter of the Torl'mien, Rand had come to a crossroads. It was obvious that he could continue to question her in the way he was for weeks and she would not budge. He didn't have time for this; the world didn't have time. Bubbles of evil had been appearing more frequently as Tarmon Gai'don approached. Rand had received word that an entire village in the Borderlands had been consumed by the power of the Dark One. And so he had resorted to desperate measures.

The memory shone in his mind as bright as the sun. His face had been as hard as stone, yet he remembered the dread that filled his stomach as he drew near the door to the chambers where Semirhage was caught. Cadsuane had disapproved. Instead Min had agreed to accompany him, even though the most she could do was try to interpret the auras that surrounded the Forsaken. He waved aside the six Aes Sedai standing guard. They had been tight-lipped, but had let him pass. The door swung open before him.

Upon seeing the now familiar dark eyes boring into his in an impassive stare, Rand had instantly grasped saidin. He hated to admit it, but the woman unnerved him. She was the prisoner of the Dragon Reborn, the man who was destined to defeat the Dark One, and she showed no signs of breaking her composure yet.

"Back again I see," Semirhage said, her voice emotionless.

Rand had not replied, but he steeled himself to do what he had come to do. With that he began the complex weaves that were necessary to form a web of Compulsion. Min kept casting him sideways glances, traces of fear and worry in her beautiful features. He didn't react, he couldn't react. The weaves felt dirty, disgusting, foreign. He pulled out the small angreal he had taken from Cadsuane's stash and used it to focus the One Power and bend it to his purposes.

It was as if Semirhage knew what he was doing. Her lips curved in a twisted smile, and her voice was low with malice when she spoke again, "Resorting to more desperate measures are we, al'Thor?"

"Silence!" roared Rand, trying to disregard the self-loathing gnawing at his insides. The weaves burned him as he prepared to finish off the last sequence in the weaving.

"But one would wonder," Semirhage continued, ignoring Rand's order, "Where the Dragon Reborn would learn such a weave." She looked Rand in the eye and murmured, "As far as I am aware, none of your Asha'man know the form of such a weave."

With a snarl, Rand forced the web of Compulsion onto her, and was sickened by what he discovered. A sudden feeling of possession over the Forsaken took him. Her mind was his to control. In that moment he felt something stretching out toward his link to saidin. He roared at Lews Therin, sending the spirit into the shadowy recesses of his mind.

Regaining control, he had noticed Min watching him anxiously. Semirhage sat upright on the bed's edge, unmoving, her eyes vacant; devoid of life. Taking a deep, calming breath, Rand had forced himself on.

"What is the Torl'mien?" he said through gritted teeth, "Tell me all you know!"

With the vacant look still in her eyes, Semirhage began, "The Torl'mien was a ter'angreal created by the Light during the War of Power. Its purpose was to have the ability to Heal anything short of death without the need for channeling."

Rand heard a faint muttering in the back of his mind, but shoved it away, "Tell me more about this ter'angreal."

"It was not created until I, Nemene Damendar Boann, had already joined the Shadow. Before then it was merely a theory that was being revised in the Hall of Servants by the Healers. After I had become what I am now, the Great Lord's servant, I discovered in my own way that Lews Therin Telamon had indeed gone ahead with the construction of the Torl'mien. In spite of my new position, I found myself wanting to find this ter'angreal. A thread from my former life demanded it. After months of planning and questioning, I discovered that the Torl'mien was in the possession of Hulrin Greth Sedai, one of the most powerful Healers of that time."

She stopped, but Rand pushed her relentlessly, "What did you do about the things you discovered? Did you share your knowledge with the other Chosen?"

Even in her state of Compulsion, Semirhage gave a dry laugh, "I couldn't afford to share what I knew with the others; we were all attempting to outdo each other at every turn, each of us striving to earn the title of Nae'blis. I kept my knowledge to myself." Her voice slipped back into the vacant tone as she continued her narrative, "I led a raid on the city where Greth was said to be staying. I ordered every citizen to be tortured before his eyes. He refused to give me what I sought. Finally, I tortured him myself. At the last, he told me that he had given the Torl'mien to the Dragon for safe-keeping. But before I could act on this knowledge, the Bore was sealed, and I was trapped within Shayol Ghul."

He had returned to his chambers later, sick with himself. Not even Min could wipe away the horrors that had confronted him as he held Semirhage in his grasp. But for the first time in months, Rand had felt something he had not known for months; hope.

And so the search had begun. He had constructed the weave to hide from Alanna and Cadsuane, and had taken Min with him when he went to Caemlyn to tell Elayne of his discoveries. However, her duties to Andor had taken her away from the city, and Rand was forced to leave a message with Dyelin. That he would be going away for a time but hoped to see her soon. From one of the Wise Ones that had been left in Caemlyn, he had discovered that Aviendha was in Arad Doman. He had Traveled to the Aiel camp there and told her his news. The Wise Ones had argued long and hard, but had relented at last, and Aviendha had joined Min and him on their search.

Rand had explained that they already knew where to look. According to Semirhage, Lews Therin had been the last possessor of the Torl'mien, and most of his things had been collected by the last of the Aes Sedai before the Breaking in the hope that they could save something from the destructive power of the now mad men. And the angreal, sa'angreal and ter'angreal collected in that time had been taken by the People of the Dragon to one place; Rhuidean.

Rand was jerked out of his reverie by a poke in the side. Aviendha was nudging him, telling him to get back to work. He chuckled dryly and ran the weave of saidin over a hand-length statue of black marble; nothing more than a worthless piece of junk. He threw it aside in frustration. He had wanted to bring Narishma and Logain, but the two Asha'man were bonded to Aes Sedai, and he needed to avoid the wielders of saidar at all costs.

But he continued his search. After all, if the Torl'mien could cure all but death, he was willing to bet it could Heal his madness. And for that he would search until Tarmon Gai'don.

------------------

The rain hadn't stopped since they entered Murandy. The sky had not appeared; it was continually hiding behind a sheet of black clouds. Mat Cauthon pulled the wide brimmed hat further down over his eyes as he stepped out into the drenched streets of Lugard. He nodded to Vanin as he passed; the former horse-thief was dressed as a peasant and standing guard in front of the inn. After a moment, Vanin spat and fell into step behind him.

Trudging up the street, he whistled a little tune without thought, but grimaced when he realised it was Jak o' the Shadows. He heard that song enough from the soldiers in the Band. It was exasperating. You'd think that among thousands of soldiers, that they'd bloody well find at least one new song. But no, they decide to sing the same bloody song Mat bloody Cauthon taught them in the aftermath of their formation.

The puddles were ankle deep, and soaked through his boots. Hunched figures standing in the shadows leered at him as he passed, but didn't do any more than glare. The ease with which Mat walked with the spear at his side was more than enough of a warning for the sneering eyes that followed him as he strode up the avenue.

To his left, several houses lay in crumbling ruins, a direct result of one of the bubbles of evil that had reportedly been going on all over the world. The last had been in the form of a terrifying downpour of flames from the skies, which had reduced houses and inns all over this district to burning ashes. Mat had been caught in the centre of it, and had barely gotten out alive. The bloody dice had been rolling like mad the whole time, and had only stopped once he was safely back in the inn, with the door locked and barred behind him.

Mat approached the city gates, stopping only for a moment to speak to one of the city guards on duty there. A second later he was on his way out, he had an assurance that the gates would be kept open until he returned and one member of the city guard was several silver pieces richer. The man with the wide brimmed hat paid well, and thus would be treated well.

It was outside the city walls that the rain had the worst effect. The dirt road leading away toward the north had turned into thick mud, making it harder to move as swiftly as could be hoped. When the Band moved on, it would have a hard time making its way to Caemlyn and beyond.

Up ahead and slightly off the road, barely visible in the pouring rain, a white flag with a bright red hand painted on it was flapping wildly in the roaring winds. It stood straight as a spear in a soldier's hand and refused to bend to the tempest that surrounded it. Behind it, hundreds of white tents had been set up on a stony hillside. Every now and then one of the tents would come loose, and shadowy figures would chase it across the ground before hurrying to put it back up.

Mat and Vanin entered the encampment directly under the banner. As they passed between the tents soldiers waved and called out to Mat, some of them breaking out in a loud rendition of Jak o' the Shadows. The head of the Band of the Red Hand scowled inwardly, but managed to keep a blank face and wave heartily at his men. After all he had to look his part as their leader, and as the Prince of Ravens.

That last thought only made his scowl deepen. After all of his efforts to keep the Daughter of the Nine Moons with him, Mat had finally let her go, and she had bloody well ended up marrying him. Now he was just another bloody noble. Not just any noble, he reminded himself, but the second highest ranking Seanchan noble in the whole bloody world. Tuon had left him with a fair bit to come to terms with. He didn't even want to consider the new rules that came with married life yet.

Talmanes' pavilion was in the centre of the camp; a tent not much bigger than the soldiers' themselves, with a smaller version of the Band's banner hoisted out front. Two heavily armored guards were standing in front of the entrance, their spears held high. They moved to allow Mat and Vanin to pass before moving back to their cold and no doubt uncomfortable duties.

The Cairhienin was sitting writing at his desk, but rose to greet them, "It's good to see you again, Lord Mat. I take it you received my message?" The man's tone was respectful, but Mat was still irked by the thought of someone naming him a Lord as he gave a jerky nod. "We have some news from the north." The Cairhienin hesitated, as if worried about the reception his news would get.

Mat stomped his foot impatiently, at the same time pulling off his hat and wringing some of the water out of it, "Out with it man. The Light knows I want to get back to the blasted city before the bloody rain turns the farm plains into flood lands."

Talmanes nodded, "Firthen got back this morning; he has reported that Elayne Trakand is the new Queen of Andor." And again the Cairhienin paused.

"Bloody hell!" Mat sighed, "Am I ever going to hear the news? Or am I going to have to sit here like a vegetable for a few hours while you work up the nerve to tell me the worst of it?"

"Queen Elayne is refusing us entry into Andor," Talmanes said finally, both his face and voice neutral, "She tells us that if we wish to pass on to the north, that we must skirt her land and find another route. Under no circumstance is a single member of the Band to be seen on Andoran soil."

"Blood and ashes," Mat swore, "Bloody nobles; always have to make things difficult." He glanced apologetically at the Cairhienin who had a slight smile on his face, "Sorry about that."

"It's no problem," said Talmanes mildly, "Of course you have to count yourself as a noble; now that you are the Prince of the Ravens."

"That title is never to be used where I can here it," Mat growled, shooting both Vanin and Talmanes a warning look each. The Cairhienin noble looked amused. Vanin just spat; he wouldn't have called Mat by any of his 'titles' in any case. The man didn't have much respect for authority, which was why Mat liked the man so much.

There was silence as Mat thought for a moment. He had heard it several times since he arrived in Lugard; Tarmon Gai'don was approaching, and all of the armies of the world were on the march to Tarwin's Gap. Mat's first thought had been to find Rand, but he had no way of contacting his old friend from their time growing up in the Two Rivers. His original plan had been to take the Band up through Murandy, and then onto Andor where he would ask Elayne where the Dragon Reborn was. This refusal by Elayne to allow him to even get near her was going to be a thorn in his side. A very sharp thorn.

Mat considered his alternatives. He could march the Band east, and then follow the river Erinin north to the Borderlands. From there it would be a relatively easy journey to Tarwin's Gap. On the other hand, that trip would take the Band dangerously close to Tar Valon, where his informants told him a siege was holding sway. Yet if he went west, he would have to take the Band through the Mountains of Mist, which were treacherous at best at this time of year. He wanted to meet the Domani man known as Rodel Ituralde, who he had heard was causing destruction behind the lines of the Seanchan forces. But was it worth the risk of losing hundreds of men to the dangerous passes in the mountains? So much was at stake and he had to make the right decision.

It was as if Talmanes could read his mind, "The majority of Illianers and Tairens are heading north, leaving only the Asha'man stopping the Seanchan from crossing the mountains and entering Illian. Even the Cairhienins are gathering together for the march to Tarwin's Gap, and you know how suspicious my people are of each other." The man took a deep breath, "The Last Battle must truly be imminent for so many to make such a direct route for the Blight."

Mat stood in thought for one moment, and suddenly knew what he must do.

"Vanin, take one of the horses and get back to the Golden Moon," he ordered, "I want Pips saddled and ready to leave in an hour." The former horse-thief gave a short nod, spat again and disappeared into the soaked morning. Mat turned to his other friend, "Talmanes, I want you to get the men together and start moving the Band. In two weeks I want you on the southern border of Andor."

Talmanes nodded and moved toward the tent flap. He stopped just before slipping out into the roaring wind and turned back to Mat, "If you don't mind my asking, what are you going to do?"

Mat's face grim, "I'm going to have a talk with a Queen."

If the Cairhienin was surprised he didn't show it. He nodded and followed Vanin out into the heavy rain. Mat looked around the tent one more time before picking up his spear from where he had dropped it. After a second he slipped out into the downpour.

He didn't even hear the shouts of the soldiers as they called out to him on his journey back to the edge of the camp. The falling droplets had become so heavy and numerous that he could no longer see the black stone walls of Lugard only several hundred feet away. Once his spear got caught in the mud as he leant on it, and he cursed as he tugged at it in frustration. When it came loose, it flicked droplets of mud all over the front of his shirt, serving only to make his mood worse.

But his mind wasn't really on the water soaked morning, nor the mud that sucked at his boots. No, his thoughts were on bloody Elayne Trakand and what he would have to say to her to convince her of his plight. A meeting with one such as the Queen of Andor would have to be well planned out. But he expected his position as one of the best friends of the Dragon Reborn would work in his favor this time, especially with his luck thrown in.

The gates of Lugard loomed suddenly out of the deluge. A few guards could be seen patrolling along the top of it, but several dozen were gathered in the shade beneath the arch, protected from the rain. Some were casting nervous glances out into the open as if expecting an attack. Which they probably were, Mat reminded himself. Nobody can march a group of thousands of soldiers across a country expecting an open-armed greeting. Indeed, King Roedran had come down to the inn and told Mat in no uncertain terms that the Band was unwelcome where it was. It had taken Mat several hours to persuade the monarch that he would only stay until the rains ended, and wasn't here to start a siege.

Mat nodded at the guard he had bribed earlier and moved on down the street. A few game merchants had decided to set up stalls even in this torrent that fell from the heavens. They were sitting in the shelter of the carriages that had brought them to Lugard, their wares clutched in their bony hands. Some were selling what looked to be shriveled up fruit, while others had large piles of hats and trinkets and the like.

A sudden feeling gripped Mat, as if a trickle of icy water was running down his spine. As if he was being watched. He whirled around, but saw no one but an old beggar on the corner nearest, holding up a small cup to drop coins in when anybody came near. Unsettled, Mat continued on his way to the inn a little more warily, his grip on the shaft of his spear tightening.

Almost involuntarily, he started scanning all the people that he passed. A few people eyed him curiously; with his tall, raven engraved spear and floppy farmer's hat, he stood out in any crowd. They all turned away after a second, but Mat didn't let his guard down. A few of the memories that weren't his remembered dark and rain drenched streets, with a knife blade flashing out of seemingly nowhere, striking him down as he stood. Mat shivered. He had no intention of being assassinated here or anywhere else.

This time it was Thom Merrilin who was sitting out the front of the inn when Mat arrived. The sign over the doorway had the name 'The Golden Moon' painted in big silver letters, above which a large picture of the full moon sat. The colour had faded over the years, and now the sphere's face had been reduced to a dull yellow. As he approached the gleeman got to his feet, a pensive look plastered across his elderly features.

"Vanin told me to tell you that he would be out the back if you arrived," Thom murmured, his voice oddly stiff, Mat glanced at him inquiringly, and waved the old man into the shelter of the inn. They found a table in the corner of the room and Mat ordered a mug of ale. If he was going to be on the road for a week, he wanted to enjoy his last hour in comfort.

"What's the matter?" he finally asked Thom. The unease that had gripped him in the street had barely changed. It was not like the rattling of the dice in his head that warned him of large events that were bound to occur. It was more like a subtle fear that kept him in suspense, waiting until he let his guard down before it struck. He glanced out the window and for a moment felt a stab of terror as he saw what seemed to be a tall, shadowed shape standing in the entrance to an alleyway across the road. But a second glance revealed nothing more than three members of the city guard, standing in the shadow of another pub and puffing on lit pipes.

"Where do you plan to go from here?" Thom said quietly. And with a twinge of guilt, Mat finally realised what the man was talking about. He felt ashamed that he had forgotten the man's plight.

"Listen, Thom," he said, speaking quickly and earnestly, "We will find Moiraine, but first we have to get the Band on its way to Tarmon Gai'don. After that, I promise you that I will take you to the Tower of Ghenjei, and we will save her."

Thom didn't look as if he had been appeased. He just grunted and gave a grudging nod. He spoke suddenly, "I suppose that will have to do for now." Then he looked up, his bright blue eyes gleaming, "So how do you plan to convince Elayne of your plight?"

Mat stared at the gleeman in shock for a moment, but couldn't help but give a weak laugh, "It's impossible to keep things from you isn't it, gleeman?" These words seemed to break Thom out of his grim mood, for the older man gave a wry laugh. Mat continued, "I really don't know how I'll put it to her. When that girl puts her mind to something, it's like trying to reason with a rock."

"Sort of like reasoning with the Dragon Reborn," Thom said, a hint of amusement in his voice, "I traveled with her for a while, and let me tell you, if you put her back up at all, it won't be very easy to persuade her that your predicament is worth listening to."

Mat grimaced, "What should I say? The only one that bloody woman really listens to is Rand himself, and he's gone and disappeared on us." Thoughts of his old friend caused a flash of light in Mat's mind, and there was a sudden image of the Dragon standing in a bright, sunlit courtyard, sorting through endless piles of junk. He forced the image from his mind, feeling the verge of a painful headache coming on.

Thom looked thoughtful, "If you have something to bargain with, your chances of coming out on top would be higher." The man continued to look considerate before giving a firm nod, "I will have to come along."

Mat stared at him, "I was only planning on taking Vanin and some of the other Redarms; I was hoping that you would stay back here with the rest of the Band and ride with Olver. I didn't want him to be surrounded by the members of the so-called snobby classes of society."

"Don't forget you're one of them now," Thom said, not attempting to hide his mirth.

Mat glared at him, "So people keep reminding me." He downed the rest of his ale, and stood, picking up his spear from where he had laid it against the table's edge, "I'm going to check on Vanin, Pips should be ready to go soon." He glanced out the window one more time, and having seen nothing, strolled through the throng toward the back of the inn.

"Have my horse saddled when you get there," Thom's voice rang out over the din. Mat scowled, but didn't turn around. He was so annoyed that he didn't notice when he almost knocked over a tall fellow sitting at the bar.

The innkeeper, a plump woman with a pretty face whose name was Erine Yrhia, smiled warmly at him as he approached the door to the stable. He almost threw her one of his trademark cheeky grins, but stopped himself when he remembered Tuon. Curse the bloody Seanchan marriage traditions. With several obscene words on his lips, he gave a slight nod to the innkeeper and pushed through into the back of the inn.

Vanin was standing in front of a fully saddled Pips. He just spat when Mat entered the room, and handed over the bridles to the Band's leader before moving over to his own horse and beginning to prepare it for the ride ahead. Mat stroked Pips' nose for a moment before turning to the former horse-thief, "Could you saddle Thom's horse for me? He and Olver have decided to come along."

Vanin only grunted in reply, which Mat took to mean yes. He was annoyed with the delay that the gleeman's presence would cause, but if Mat was honest with himself, he knew he needed Thom to deal with Elayne. And the leaders among the Band treated Olver like an adopted nephew anyway. It would have been very difficult for them to leave the boy behind.

"Mat," Vanin said suddenly, but paused. Mat turned to him curiously; it was a rare day that Chel Vanin would hesitate to speak his mind. The Redarm turned to look at him, "Do you want me to saddle a horse for young Olver as well." The man's face was blank, but Mat thought he saw a hopeful look in Vanin's eye.

Mat shrugged, "I suppose he will ride with whoever he chooses." Vanin just nodded, but he seemed to work with a bit more enthusiasm when he turned back to his own animal.

Within an hour everyone had gathered their things and were ready to go. Mat rode at the front of the group, with Noal on one side and Vanin with Olver on the other. A little behind them was Thom and half a dozen of the Redarms, each with a sword at his belt. The gates swung open as they trotted forward, and they nodded to the city guards a last time before riding out into the downpour. It wasn't even noon yet, but the day was as dark as twilight. For Mat, the feeling of unease that had been with him all day hadn't entirely faded, and didn't until they were well out of sight of the city walls.

A pair of black eyes watched from the top of the wall as Mat and the Redarms rode out of Lugard. The twisted mind behind the eyes thought furiously, struggling to conjure a plan to track the man with the spear. Moridin had promised him an endless supply of subjects to feed upon if he accomplished this task. The reward was too much to pass.

But he had to be careful; if he pursued the man with the spear to the city in the north, his feeds would become small and far between. He had become careless; twice he was sure his prey had almost seen him. And his target had a weapon to use against him, one that most others did not. He pressed a single finger against the scar shaped like a fox's head and hissed in pain.

He would have to follow the spear bearer, of that there was no doubt. But first, he had to feed. And with that thought in mind, the gholam slid from the ramparts in search of new prey.

Thanks for the reviews.

Sorry it took awhile but I wanted to get it right. I finished reading the series a couple of months ago and had to check on some things. Anyway, I hope you like it.

Red.