Bao visited the camp at the end of Neya's first week in Shara to assess the situation and appeared satisfied with what he saw. He didn't actually say anything as he surveyed the boys and received Neya's and Mintel's reports, but she assumed it meant they were doing a good job, otherwise the Forsaken would have said something.

Bao was accompanied by a slender Sharan woman, a non-channeler as far as Neya could tell. She was handsome rather than beautiful, and in her late thirties. She bore no tattoos – a sign that she was neither an Ayyad nor a former slave. The woman spent the entire time she was there fixing Neya with appraising eyes, although she never said a word. As he finished his round, Bao approached Neya, leaving the other woman behind. "A word, please?" he said, gesturing toward the tent Neya had taken as her own. He was quite polite, she had to give him that.

When they were settled – sitting cross-legged on the floor; apparently, chairs were considered an oddity in Shara, at least by the less favoured side of the population – Bao fixed her with a level stare. "Tell me what you know of al'Thor."

"He's the Dragon Reborn," Neya blurted out without thinking. Watch your tongue, woolhead. He's not a man to banter with. He'd warned her that he would use her knowledge of Rand, but Neya hadn't had time to prepare for questioning. She wished she could improvise a few lies on the spot, but she was a terrible liar, and she didn't want to be caught in the act. "I mean," she went on hastily, "he's stubborn. He's kind, and honest. At least that's how he used to be," she amended after a brief hesitation.

"What do you mean?" There was no infliction in his deep voice, no expression on his face. Light, but the man was difficult to read.

Neya considered for a moment before replying. She didn't want to give away too much, if she could help it. "He's changed. When I saw him in Rhuidean six months ago, I barely recognised him. Mostly it was the way he dressed and carried himself, but his behaviour, his manners were different, too. He's… harder… than before. I think he's trying to steel himself for what's coming, except he's going about it the wrong way."

"How so?" Bao asked in all seriousness, as if he was genuinely interested in her opinion.

"He thinks that if he stops caring about what happens around him, it will somehow render him strong enough to do what he must do, which involves people dying for him, involves women dying for him. He hates that, that women might die for him," Neya said, talking almost to herself. Then she realised she probably shouldn't have said that. It was a considerable weakness, one that the Forsaken could easily exploit. Blood and ashes, have my wits deserted me? "But he's wrong," she went on, trying to change the subject. "I think he is, anyway. He's making himself harder, when he should become stronger."

Bao frowned. "What difference is there?"

"Strong endures, hard shatters," she murmured. "The less he allows himself to care, the more he's likely to break. He will break, eventually. He wants to do it all by himself, so that only he will suffer the consequences of his actions. He refuses to trust anyone. After Dumai's Wells, I can't blame him for that. But he can't do it all on his own. He can't win Tarmon Gai'don by himself."

"You make some good points, but I think he has the right of it. What would you do differently? Trust heedlessly? Allow those closest to you to die because you cannot bear to send them away?" The intensity in his voice almost made it tremble; his eyes seemed to glitter. Not in anger, at least Neya didn't think so.

"Of course not," she said matter-of-factly. "He can't afford to trust anyone completely. But he has to rely on others, to an extent at least. And there will be casualties no matter what he does, whether he cares or not. He has to retain some humanity, if he wants to live long enough to even reach the Last Battle. I think it's a matter of balance," she mused. "He hasn't found the right balance yet. He must care, and trust. Not too much, not too little, but enough." She shrugged. "But what do I know? The fate of the world rests on his shoulders. I can't imagine what that's like," she whispered.

Bao was still gazing at her intensely, but it lasted only a moment longer. The next instant his face was stone once more. "What can you tell me about Aybara and Cauthon?"

Neya looked up at him. Did he know that Mat was her brother? Mazrim didn't know – at least, she didn't think he did. Still, Demandred had spies everywhere – all the Forsaken did. "What do you want to know?" she asked, more sharply than she intended. She really had to be more careful.

"They are both ta'veren. That means they are important, somehow. I understand they are friends of al'Thor, but what are they like? What are their skills? Their weaknesses?"

Neya almost chuckled out loud. Apparently, he didn't know much about them. Well, she certainly wasn't about to enlighten him. Vagueness would do, unless Bao realised she was withholding too much information. "They're both good men, reliable and honest. Two Rivers men. Well, Mat likes to gamble, but he never cheats. Or so he claims," she added with a small smile. "Perrin is solid, patient. He's a blacksmith. If he has any other skills, I don't know about them." Neya shrugged, hopefully in a properly detached manner.

"You grew up with them. You can do better than that," Bao warned her, his voice dangerously soft.

Neya swallowed involuntarily. "Mat is good with a quarterstaff and he's a decent bowman, like most Two Rivers men. He's… unwillingly smart. That is, there's more to him than people think. He's the kind of person who would jump right into danger to save you, and deny doing anything out of the ordinary when you thank him afterward. His weaknesses… I don't know. He likes pretty girls, he enjoys a drink or two. I already mentioned the gambling."

"Better. And Aybara?"

"Like I said, he's reliable and patient. He's strong as an ox, so he's always very careful around people, because he's afraid he might hurt them. He's not very talkative, because he likes to think things through before speaking his mind. I don't know what his weaknesses are," Neya said truthfully. She thought about it for a moment. "Maybe he's too careful?" she ventured. "I mean, maybe he might miss an opportunity because he was too busy pondering the consequences. I don't know," she said, shaking her head slowly. "He's a decent archer as well. And he was wielding an axe, last time I saw him, at Dumai's Wells." She didn't mention that he was married, or that he had been appointed Lord of the Two Rivers, or even that his eyes glowed a bright burnished gold. If Bao knew about these facts, he made no mention of them.

The Forsaken nodded briefly. "That will do, for now. What about the al'Vere girl?"

"Egwene?" Light, was he going to demand a detailed report of everyone in Emond's Field? Neya considered what to tell him. "She's smart, capable, self-assured. She's tough as nails. She's maybe a bit… self-righteous. Moralising. But she's practical, and she knows sense when she sees it. Her skills, as far as I know, involve a decent knowledge of herbs and plants, because she was apprentice to our Wisdom. She's a powerful channeler. She learned with both Aes Sedai and Wise Ones and even with the Seanchan, however unwillingly. She hates the Seanchan, by the way," she added, although it seemed self-evident. "And she's the Amyrlin, the leader of the rebel Aes Sedai, but I suppose you already know that."

Bao didn't bother to answer. "And Nynaeve al'Meara?"

The Wisdom? What did she have to do with all this? Neya knew she was part of the group that had left Emond's Field with Rand, but she had no idea what Nynaeve had been up to recently. Was she still in Salidar? Should Neya mention what Logain had said about her Healing him? No, Bao probably knew that already; Mazrim must have recounted Logain's story. "Um… I haven't seen Nynaeve in over two years, and we were never very close. She's fierce, I can tell you that much. That ought to be known across the Westlands, at least. Light, even the Sharans must have heard her throw a fit once or twice," Neya said with a small grin, remembering a few such occasions when it seemed the whole world must be aware than the Wisdom was in a dire mood. Nynaeve could make grown men cower in fear; Neya had always been jealous of that ability. She doubted Nynaeve would have allowed a Forsaken to capture her, let alone three.

Bao looked at her impassively, obviously waiting for more. Tough crowd, she thought wryly. She cleared her throat. "She's a Healer at heart. She will scold you relentlessly for not putting on a scarf and getting a well-deserved cold, but she won't rest easily until she's certain the fever has broken. She's intent on curing everything and will be devastated if she can't help someone. If anyone ever figures a way to Heal death, it will be Nynaeve al'Meara." The Wisdom had already accomplished one seemingly impossible feat; there was no telling what else she would do. All in all, it seemed like a fitting description, although Neya hadn't been lying about not having seen the Wisdom in a long time. She thought Nynaeve was probably the less likely to change, in any case. Bloody stubborn woman.

It seemed to satisfy Bao. He was unfurling from his position on the ground. "Wait," Neya said. He gave her an ominous look. "I mean, please, if I may ask a question before you leave, Bao." That ought to be polite enough without sounding too servile. He sat back and gestured for her to go on. "Why are you so intent on this particular bunch?" He frowned slightly. "The Ayyad, I mean. Most of them are younger than me, and those are not likely to be able to channel anytime soon. I'm not sure when the Last Battle will begin in earnest, but I doubt they'll be anywhere near ready when it does. Besides, how do you even know they will channel at all? The ability does not pass on genetically, does it?" This was something she hadn't thought to ask Elan or Jasin.

Bao was silent for a moment. Neya wasn't sure if he was considering his answer or deciding whether to answer at all. "There is a genetic factor," he told her eventually.

"But most of the channelers out of the Two Rivers didn't have parents who could channel, and look how many channelers were discovered there, both men and women," she pointed out. She didn't say that her own father had had the spark; Mazrim must have mentioned it already.

"It is not a requirement, it simply increases the odds. In my days, what you call the Age of Legends, not many channelers had children."

"Why is that?" she asked curiously.

"Because most of us chose not to settle down. A channeler's lifespan is a long time to spend with the same person. Lews Therin was an exception in that regard. He married young, when he was barely two hundred and sixty, and he was a great-grandfather by the time the War of Power began. It was quite unusual. The few channelers who decided to start a family waited until they were in their later years. But even then, it was uncommon."

"But did they marry channelers or… other people?" She had almost said 'commoners'. Elan and Jasin had often used that term, but she found it a bit pejorative. "It must be difficult to watch your husband or wife die of old age when you still have decades or centuries to live."

"They married one or the other. Sometimes one and then the other. But death did not affect us the way it affects people nowadays. People lived long, full lives, and accepted death as a part of life. It was just a new beginning, a turning of the Wheel. That was before the Collapse, however. As the days grew more sombre, people would often wonder if the Pit of Doom did not await them instead." Bao fell silent once more.

"But about the boys…" Neya prompted him politely. "Even if they all have the spark, it will be years, months at the very least, until they can even touch saidin. So why do you put so much effort into tutoring them?"

"They are my people," Bao replied simply. "They have pledged their lives to me." Well, that wasn't much of an answer. Did he actually care about these people? Neya had assumed he was using them, taking advantage of their ignorance to manipulate them into doing his bidding. Could they have grown on him? It was worth considering. If he did care, it certainly didn't fit the picture Jasin had painted of him. But to be fair, Jay didn't like the man, and he had a tendency to unjustly discredit the people he didn't care for. Elan had mentioned how much Demandred valued loyalty, however.

Neya had more questions, but she could tell from the look on Bao's face that their conversation was at an end. It didn't matter; she would ask Mintel. The Forsaken left without another word, taking his woman with him. The Sharan gave Neya a last calculating glance before stepping through the gateway after Bao.

Kalayaan came to stand by her side after they'd vanished. "What did he say?"

Neya shrugged. "Not much, really. He wanted information. Do you know who the woman is?"

"Shendla."

Neya turned to face him with an arched eyebrow. "That doesn't tell me much."

"That's all I know."

"Is she his…?" She wasn't sure how to put it. She didn't even know why she was asking.

Kal's mouth twisted into an unpleasant smile. "You would think so, the way she follows him around and looks at him as if he'd put the stars in the sky, but I'm not so sure," he told her indifferently. He was the only male Ayyad who didn't seem to consider Bao like a demi-god. "Mintel might tell you more. I think he knows her."

"Kal, what happens to the male channelers who aren't born of the Ayyad? Or the female channelers, for that matter?"

He looked at her blandly. "How would I know?"

"Right." He'd spent his entire life in a compound the size of Emond's Field, a dingy camp lost in the middle of nowhere. Everything he knew came from books. "I suppose I'll have to ask Mintel about that as well." Neya sighed, steeling herself to face the remainder of the day. "Back to work, then."