Amadine 2, 998 NE (June 9th)

We sat in silence for maybe ten minutes. I was meditating on the Oneness with the cart, examining its quite realistic construction, while Egwene had been writing something in the notebook Moiraine gave to her, charcoal pencil scratches like ripping paper in the silence. Something about it seemed so real, yet I knew it wasn't. Not really. It did not have to be a cart at all, It could be a giant bird or a boulder or even a ship. It could be any vehicle at all, and everyone knows ships travel the fastest.

I spoke up. "I think I can change the cart into a boat. Do you mind if I try?"

Egwene peered over the book and tried her best Aes Sedai look, the cool, calculating calm that said I was obviously being a fool. "What are you talking about?"

"I meditated on the nature of the cart and realized it wasn't a cart. It's a vehicle, that can be anything I consider a vehicle. I thought a ship would be the best way to travel. Or a giant wooden bird. What do you think? I was thinking about the river boat I stayed on until Whitebridge, but with oars rowing it. That would make it faster. I think it was called the Spray? Captain spoke weird, but I don't remember how, I just know that."

Egwene stared as if I were being strange. "Will it risk our lives?"

"It shouldn't. I'll have to test it though. I've never actually tried it, but I think it would be nice. I could make us comfortable seating."

"Are you sure it won't send us spilling into the Darkspace?" She looked nervously over the cart into the pitch blackness that loomed, seeming to fill every space that wasn't their cart or themselves.

"Yes." I lied. I was reasonably sure I could do it.

She nodded, reluctantly and we suddenly sat together on a replica of my father's comfortable couch, on the stern of a ship, watching long oars like spiders' legs row rhythmically into the void of Darkspace. The twin masts held full sails, and glass lanterns hung regularly on the railing, lighting the ship in a warm glow. I leaned back into the couch and put an arm around Egwene. We relaxed and spoke, as I focused on keeping the ship in mind.

"What do you think has made her so worried?"

"Something dangerous, certainly. She would not be worried otherwise." Egwene paused. "Are you really just going to forgive Moiraine if she had a good reason, if she hated what she did as she did it, or regrets it now that the bonds worked on her for a time?"

I sighed "When did anyone ever say anything about that. We're going to speak with her."

She looked at me as if I were a fool. "Rand, you're sweet on her. "

I frowned, annoyed at the implication. I'm not sweet on her. "I can be stern with her. "

"Half the time we're on our picnics, you two are lost in your own world talking of weaves and manipulating them safely, you blushing every time you glance down her cleavage."

I grunted, annoyed even more now. "Am I not allowed to admire my wife? I certainly admire your cleavage as often as I am able and I don't hear much complaining."

"I'm your wife! She's your wife but she's also an Aes Sedai, always working on you with her schemes and her plans, even if she cares now." There it was, the idea that lay at the heart of this.

I tried to brush it off. "She's both, just as you will be soon enough, Egwene." I tried to make light of the situation. "My Aes Sedai wives, able to box my ears with the One Power when I am being foolish or when the sadistic mood stri- Ouch, hey, do not pinch me! Moiraine doesn't pinch me as we travel through Darkspace, risking our lives if my concentration break!"

"Well nobodies perfect, Rand!" Egwene fumed.

I considered that phrase. Nobodies perfect. Even the wise Aes Sedai can react badly and rashly. Even my childhood friend can act petulantly. None of these women will be perfect and neither will I. I certainly acted poorly in my lack of attention with Egwene. I've probably acted poorly in ways I do not even know, but they and I are bonded to each other, in a way that cannot be broken. I really need to talk to Moiraine.

"I'm certainly not perfect. Sorry for comparing you to her."

"It's fine Rand." It obviously wasn't and I felt worse. "I'm sorry for pinching you, in the Darkspace. Elsewhere I reserve the right to."

The hour had passed as I spoke more with Egwene, and I opened the Door right in front of a tall black cloaked man. It took me almost five seconds to realize I stared at a Myrddraal. Pale white skin, greasy black hair, eyeless face staring right at me, it would have chilled me to the bone with fear, if I was not ensconced in the void of the Oneness. The fear felt like a tide of water lapping at the Oneness, but unbidden a thought came. It cannot see me, a valuable insight that caused the fear to recede. To see the Halfman's face is to know fear, or so the Shienaran saying goes. I knew the fear and discarded it as unnecessary.

"Rand… that's a Fade." Egwenes' voice was trembling, her whole body trembling beside me on the couch.

The Myrddraal kneeled, lowering its head in obeisance.

"It is," I nodded, standing up onto the wooden deck and pulling out my sword and infusing it with Fire, the ancient Power-wrought blade turning a dull red-gray, flickering flames running along the edges. "It cannot see us, but if it knows of these Doors, it thinks a Forsaken is coming. That must be why it waits. I can kill it before it even knows who we are."

"Rand… we can keep going. Open up a door elsewhere. I… I don't want to lose you." Fear and worry were as loud, wailing sirens in the bond yet her concern seemed distant in the void, a far off buzzing compared to the fear of a Myrddraal's stare. I readied myself.

"Lan trained me for this, and I have one perfect chance to kill a Halfman and its Trollocs. Do not worry, Egwene, the Wheel will not let me die that easily. I'm the Dragon Reborn."

I walked right up to the Door, and thrust my sword quickly straight for its head. The Myrddraal tried to dodge once it realized the danger, but could not lean back far enough before my sword bit into its face. I burnt a trench through its high sallow cheek and out the other side of its skull, near its brainstem, killing it almost instantly. It writhed on the blade, cutting and burning more flesh, turning its head into a burnt mess unrecognizable as a face. The cursed creature would continue to writhe and flail until the sun set, unwilling to die unless the sun died with it. Egwene gasped, and made a gagging sound at the sight, I noticed absently. I had other tasks to accomplish.

I pull on the energy beneath my skin and become the so'shan, stepping out of the Door to a clearing filled with dying Trollocs and terrified Darkfriends, who look upon my almost human form with fear. I could feel the dying Trollocs like hot oil on my skin, and the rancid fetid stench of Fain is something I feel in my bones. I felt powerful, saidin singing in my blood. I sliced off first one arm of the Myrddraal, then the other, ragged cauterized wounds that seeped acidic black blood, but kept the dying creature from catching me with a flailing blade. Now it would be no risk for me.

"Who's next?" I called out, the sword held out lazily in guard. Some part of me was eager to test my skill against these Darkfriends.

One of the closest men to me, a tired-looking Shienaran nobleman wearing sweaty feast clothes, unsheathed his sword, followed by two others who had the look of soldiers and seemed vaguely familiar. They nervously approached from each side. I focused on what Lan had taught me. Overwhelming force would win the night. The so'shan is stronger than a man, even a Warder when I go full out and my Power-wrought sword should deal any weapon or armor that gets in my way.

I charge with Boar Rushes Down The Mountain into Apple Blossoms in the Wind. The first strike cleaved through the sword with a spray of molten steel, removing his forearm with a sizzle of cauterization and a horrific scream that rent the night air. The Oneness trembled at the sight but I held on to it. Darkfriends deserve it, whispers a thought from the corner of my mind.

Second, third and fourth strikes finish off the other two, one lying dead near split in two, burnt internal organs spilling onto the ground, the other on the ground weeping wetly, holding their ruined sword-hand, mottled with burn scars, as blood filled their lungs. I could not hold back the natural, bodily reaction of throwing up at the sight, but I held onto the Oneness for dear life, and shakily wiped my mouth off with the back of my hand and readied my sword once more. A thought slid across the void like a pebble over pond ice. Light, Lan did not prepare me for the stench.

Darkfriends fled in pairs and groups into the night, as another man approached me, accepting my offer, stepping carefully amongst the dead Trollocs. An older Shienaran nobleman, with a gray topknot and a jagged scar through one milky eye. He bowed, speaking no words, as more and more Darkfriends chose to escape, simply holding the bow. Then he unsheathed his sword and swiftly charged me in complete silence but for his breathing, crossing the distance between us. He looked trained, and dangerous, far more dangerous than the tired noblemen. Not as dangerous as Lan, not nearly, but enough.

I changed the game on him, and blew dragonfire. Rainbow flames engulfed the man, causing him to burn horrendously. His skin did not burn, his eyes did not pop, no physical injury happened, yet he burnt all the same, screaming, "The Light, it burns, it burns! Great Lord, save me!" He collapsed onto the ground, dead, skin clean of any mark.

The sound had caused the Oneness to shudder like a boat in a storm. I paused to breathe and calm my body down to be as still as my mind. I did not know what just happened, but something inside that man burnt until he died. I feared it was his soul.

"You are, yet you aren't al'Thor. I can smell it on you, a burning fire," came a voice about four paces behind me. An oily voice I remember from a faded memory of Lord Agelmar's office. I turned around to find the pale-faced hook-nosed man who started this whole mess all the way back on Winternight, many months ago: Padan Fain. The man who is the reason why I cannot remember the past, the man who is the reason why I was chased across the continent by the servants of Ba'alzamon, the reason for every curse and every gift. The Oneness popped like a balloon and cold rage filled me. I would kill him tonight. Let us see how he likes dragonfire.

"al'Thor wouldn't burn a man alive, nor slice a man in two with a flaming sword. He does not have antlers, nor scales, nor fire breath. He's a shepherd. What are you? I must have you, if only to cut you open and see how you tick." His voice held fascination and greed in equal measure, eyes pitch black and reflecting the dull red of my blade.

I have to kill him. Focus. You can do this, Rand. You don't need the Oneness. "I'm your death, you twisted little man," I replied, and took a running leap, half stumbling the Hummingbird Kisses the Honeyrose, my sword extended for his chest and time seemed to slow as my eyes caught the ruby-hilt dagger in his hand, his eyes off me and on the tip of my sword. I opened my mouth as wide as I could and vomited forth a torrent of prismatic flame that engulfed Fain as our blades met in a shower of blue sparks, and he fell back, stumbling.

My prismatic flame clung to the thing that used to be a man, causing his flesh to heave and sag and melt, undoing the very taint that bound Padan Fain to Creation. A horrible black fog began to pour out of every orifice, catching fire itself as whatever inhabited Fain's body fled the Flame Imperishable, screeching and howling as it ran away, still burning.

I recoiled in horror at the sight, falling to the ground, the weight of everything I had just done falling upon my shoulders. I just killed four men and a Myrddraal. I killed Padan Fain. A kind of emptiness filled me, but it was not the void. Almost as an afterthought, I wove a thread of Fire and Air to swiftly ignite each corpse, and rid the clearing of the putrid smells of battle. Only the best for Egwene, I thought, giggling. For almost a minute I sat and breathed, calming myself enough to try for the Oneness. Then I thought better, thought of what I had just done in the Oneness and pushed it away.

I called to the door for Egwene to come out, the final few Darkfriends left having fled when Padan Fain began to… melt, leaving us alone in the clearing. When she crossed the threshold. I could feel the chill of saidar on my skin and the Door winked out.

"Rand?" she asked carefully, a hint of fear and much more of concern filling the bond. I would be scared too if I saw Perrin or Mat go on a killing spree like I just did, stuck inside Darkspace alone. Light damn my fool head.

"Egwene, I'd hug you but…." Blood and ash and bodily fluids stained my clothing. "Light… I did not mean to kill them so cruelly. You must believe me. I just had to make sure. Lan said overwhelming force wins against the shaken, and I thought… I don't know what I thought. I just moved." My skin felt clammy and sticky, my breath a little fast.

"Oh Rand, I know." She walked gingerly over a pile of ash, and around dead Trollocs to where I stood and embraced me anyway. "You survived, and that's what matters. That's all that matters. I don't care about Darkfriends, I care about you, Rand."

Questions started to fill my mind. "Why were they even here? How did Padan Fain escape?"

"I think we found out what Moiraine was worried about," Egwene replied, grimly.

Maybe half an hour later, Moiraine arrived, her horse picking its way delicately amongst the corpses, to where we sat leaning against each other on the heavy golden chest that protected the Horn of Valere, the ruby-hilted dagger of Shadar Logoth wrapped in a length of cloth beside our feet.

She breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of us. "Even though you felt fine, I worried… Nevermind that. What happened here?" She gracefully dismounted and walked closer.

"When I opened up a Door to the clearing we chose, a Myrddraal stood right before it, and kneeled waiting, as if it had seen a Door before and knew someone should come out. I think they expected a Forsaken, not the Dragon Reborn."

"And you slew it, I can see, from the Trolloc corpses."

"It was the perfect opportunity and ko'di leaves no room for fear. I slew four Darkfriends after, while the others, dozens of them, fled until only Padan Fain remained. I burnt him alive, and he melted like wax, but something fled him, something like a black fog that poured from his mouth and nose and ears as I killed him."

"Mordeth…" she muttered, quiet enough that I do not believe she meant me to hear, but did not say anything else, fear creeping like a spider in the bond.

"We wondered why they were even here until we found the chest with the Horn," Egwene added.

"Not even two hours ago traitors let a fist of Trollocs into the Fortress of Fal Dara itself, and stole the Horn of Valere, Padan Fain released, and Mat badly hurt with his dagger stolen. The Amyrlin and Lord Agelmar will be delighted beyond measure to learn that Lord Drake has rescued the Horn once again. We may even need to have a ceremony." She said the last sentence with a smile like a cat who caught the rat, preparing to settle in for a meal.

"Moiraine… I'm glad we saved the Horn, and I guess I am excited about seeing what a Shienaran ceremony is like, but I spoke with my father tonight, and I think we need to talk."


Hours later, in the very early morning of the 3rd of Amadine, we sat in my bed, just Moiraine and I. The canopy pulled around us and the soft light of saidar lit the bed in tiny white-blue globes. Moiraine had woven a ward against eavesdropping round the bed, worried about her sisters wondering what we were up to.

The whole fortress had been in controlled chaos when I first arrived, Trollocs lying in great mounds out in the stableyard, waiting to be tossed onto corpse fires. Servants cleaning blood stains on stone floors with soap and brushes, and corpses covered in white blankets lining certain corridors. Soldiers guarded every corner and gave a start when they saw us, me in my so'shan and Moiraine Sedai openly channeling. Aes Sedai seemed to pop up like mushrooms around us as Moiraine carried the chest on a platform of solid Air, pale-blue white and cold, until we all gathered with the Amyrlin Seat and Lord Agelmar in his office.

I was a hot commodity now, the Aes Sedai spending hours asking me all kinds of things, about how I killed the Fade—I lied and said I coated my sword in my flames and leapt down atop it from a tree. It isn't like there was a Warder in the room besides me and Lan to verify what I said was right—what I could do, if I ever felt sick while doing it, what my father is like, my mother, extended family, villagers etcetera. All manner of questions, relevant to the night and very much not. The Brown Sisters were so excited about me they very well may try to 'observe me in my natural habitat'. Even the Red Sisters were reluctant to speak against me, merely asking cloaked questions about saidin that I knew to avoid as I was not a clueless country boy anymore.

It had been tiring and long and now I just wanted to sleep, but I knew I could stay up for hours longer and this could not wait.

"Moiraine, my talk with my father brought up some things about our… what you told me the other week, about the bond. I wanted to talk to you about them."

She waited for me to gather my words, probably feeling my nervousness.

"First, why did you try to use that secret weave on me?"

She sighed, feeling regretful. "I thought that if I was to be bound so tightly to you with incessant Compulsion, the least I could do was bind you just as tightly back to me. It was an act of petty revenge, unbecoming of an Aes Sedai. That was before I had accepted the bond and learned to live with it. And you are right. It is Compulsion in all but name. I apologize for dismissing your concerns on it before. I had not considered it for anything but its utility, for years."

That was a rabbit hole I had no desire to jump down. "When you started, as you said, trying to harm me, why was that exactly."

"At first I was concerned, because Compulsion is pretty obvious and must be active done to maintain the commands for any meaningful length of time, yet I could sense no weaves, nothing coming from you, that I could feel with saidar. I thought that if something so insidious could change my mind about you so easily, it could change my mind about other things and I discovered the defensive aspect almost immediately, when I could not write down the note to have Lan beat you up in a spar." She paused, before adding, embarrassed. "Not enough to be permanent, but enough to put you out of commission for a couple of days."

So her first two thoughts when wronged is, 'do it back to them and have my warder beat them up'. Good to know.

"For the first few days, I was merely testing the boundaries, to see how it would react to obvious and not so obvious threats. I forgot about my antipathy to the bond and researched it, finding it fascinating. A One Power-less Compulsion to make me fall in love with the Dragon Reborn, crafted by a spirit of the Creator. Then I realized what I have now feared ever since; what would the Enemy do to circumvent such a defense, for no defense is perfect. Lan already told you about my most intricate scheme, and that almost succeeded. I felt sick doing so. I cried as I wrote the various pieces of the puzzle, but I had to try, had to see if it was possible, Rand. And I paid the price for it. I can feel the bond now, tightly wrapped around me as if I were a fly squirming in a spider's web, unwilling to release me now that I tried to pull so hard away from you, regardless of my good intentions."

She has a fascination with the One Power. It is believable she would go from upset, to curious about the phenomena. I've seen her fascinated by the weaves of saidin as much as she hates to use the male half, only daring to touch it while I burn the Taint off as so'shan."So the bond…. tightened somehow, because it thought you kept trying to kill me, even though it was all actually just to make sure someone else couldn't? And the attempted Compulsion was an act of petty and unbecoming instinctual revenge. I want to make sure I get this right, Moiraine."

She nodded. "That is correct."

"Why did you not just explain this before?"

"I tried to, Rand. I've had to repeat myself tonight. You were upset, and rightfully so, at my attempted Compulsion, and could only focus on that, I believe. Egwene did not help, either. Young men are often hot-headed."

We talked for a little while longer before she admitted what I had feared.

"In the interest of full honesty with you moving forward, I have used that weave on you thrice. Once in the Two Rivers when I handed you the coin, creating a minor bond between us that your resisted instinctually and so I may find you, and twice before you bound me, to ensure that you would not leave me unbound and let Egwene drive a wedge between us. It was a rash action the second time.." Her voice became impassioned and a little desperate. "I saw a way to tie us together, to make sure you would not dismiss me from your side and I had to take it, for the sake of Creation. I am sorry, now, I regret what I did. I wish I had not harmed you. I wish I just had relied on my words to reach you alone, but I cannot change the past. All we can do is change how we treat each other in the future."

I knew, I knew she had used it on me before. I knew it in my bones, even if my mind did not acknowledge it. I knew it already, so instead of feeling angry, I felt empty and sad. A snake lay in my bed. A tamed snake, now, but a snake nonetheless. And despite everything I still cared for her, missed her latching onto me like a limpet when I woke up in the morning, missed our occasional quiet talks at night, or her stories of the bizarre life of growing up a child noble,. Missed the ease with which I took comfort in her, before she tainted it by telling me what she had done. I wanted to get back to that.

Everything she said, it made sense. From a practical, objective standpoint, the Dragon Reborn probably should be under the control of the Aes Sedai, trained and protected. Using the weave would guarantee that for Moiraine, so of course she used it. Aes Sedai used every trick in the book. She was not my teacher then; she did not owe me anything. Yet it still hurts, but a quiet ache now.

I forgave her. It was probably foolish. Egwene certainly wouldn't like it. I'm not sure I did either. But I said the words.

Soon we would be leaving, and soon Egwene would be gone. Everything was changing once again and all I would have is this woman beside me. I put an arm around Moiraine's shoulder and she buried her face in my chest, my skin soon wet with tears, as I spoke soft words into her hair. I slept, but fitfully when she later left the bed.


Moiraine sat with Siuan and Verin, having just finished the arduous task of healing Matrim Cauthon of his abominable connection to the dagger from Shadar Logoth and the evil that dwelt with it as the sun rose. "Now Rand could simply burn the dagger and we will simply be done with it."

"As you say, Daughter." The Amyrlin pressed fingers to her lips to stifle a yawn. "And now, Verin, if you will excuse me, I will just say a few words to Moiraine and then sleep a little. I suppose Agelmar will insist on feasting tonight since last night was spoiled. Your help was invaluable, Daughter. Please remember, say nothing of the nature of the boy's hurt to anyone. There are some of your sisters who would see the Shadow in him instead of a thing men made on their own."

There was no need to name the Red Ajah. And perhaps, Moiraine thought, the Reds were no longer the only ones of whom it was necessary to be wary.

"I will say nothing, of course, Mother." Verin bowed, but made no move toward the door. "I thought you might wish to see this, Mother." She pulled a small notebook, bound in soft, brown leather, from her belt. "What was written on the walls in the dungeon. There were few problems with translation. Most was the usual—blasphemy and boasting; Trollocs seem to know little else—but there was one part done in a better hand. An educated Darkfriend, or perhaps a Myrddraal. It could be only taunting, yet it has the form of poetry, or song, and the sound of prophecy. We know little of prophecies from the Shadow, Mother."

The Amyrlin hesitated only a moment before nodding. Prophecies from the Shadow, dark prophecies, had an unfortunate way of being fulfilled as well as prophecies from the Light. "Read it to me."

Verin ruffled through the pages, then cleared her throat and began in a calm, level voice.

"Daughter of the Night, she walks again.

The ancient war, she yet fights.

Her new lover she seeks, who shall serve her and die, yet serve still.

Who shall stand against her coming?

The Shining Walls shall kneel.

Blood feeds blood.

Blood calls blood.

Blood is, and blood was, and blood shall ever be.

The man who channels stands alone.

He gives his friends for sacrifice.

Two roads before him, one to death beyond dying, one to life eternal.

Which will he choose? Which will he choose?

What hand shelters? What hand slays?

Blood feeds blood.

Blood calls blood.

Blood is, and blood was, and blood shall ever be.

Luc came to the Mountains of Dhoom.

Isam waited in the high passes.

The hunt is now begun. The Shadow's hounds now course, and kill.

One did live, and one did die, but both are.

The Time of Change has come.

Blood feeds blood.

Blood calls blood.

Blood is, and blood was, and blood shall ever be.

The Watchers wait on Toman's Head.

The seed of the Hammer burns the ancient tree.

Death shall sow, and summer burn, before the Great Lord comes.

Death shall reap, and bodies fail, before the Great Lord comes.

Again the seed slays ancient wrong, before the Great Lord comes.

Now the Great Lord comes.

Now the Great Lord comes.

Blood feeds blood.

Blood calls blood.

Blood is, and blood was, and blood shall ever be.

Now the Great Lord comes."

There was a long silence when she finished.

Finally the Amyrlin said, "Who else has seen this, Daughter? Who knows of it?"

"Only Serafelle, Mother. As soon as we had copied it down, I had men scrub the walls. They didn't question; they were eager to be rid of it."

The Amyrlin nodded. "Good. Too many in the Borderlands can puzzle out Trolloc script. No need to give them something else to worry over. They have enough."

"What do you make of it?" Moiraine asked Verin in a careful voice. "Is it prophecy, do you think?"

Verin tilted her head, peering at her notes in thought. "Possibly. It has the form of some of the few dark prophecies we know. And parts of it are clear enough. It could still be only a taunt, though." She rested a finger on one line. " 'Daughter of the Night, she walks again.' That can only mean Lanfear is loose again. Or someone wants us to think she is."

"That would be something to worry us, Daughter," the Amyrlin Seat said, "if it were true. But the Forsaken are still bound." She glanced at Moiraine, looking troubled for an instant before she schooled her features. "Even if the seals are weakening, the Forsaken are still bound."

Lanfear. In the Old Tongue, Daughter of the Night. Nowhere was her real name recorded, but that was the name she had taken for herself, unlike most of the Forsaken, who had been named by those they betrayed. Some said she had really been the most powerful of the Forsaken, next to Ishamael, the Betrayer of Hope, but had kept her powers hidden. Too little was left from that time for any scholar to say for certain.

"With all the false Dragons that are appearing, it is not surprising someone would try to bring Lanfear into it." Moiraine's voice was as unruffled as her face, but inside herself she roiled. Only one thing for certain was known of Lanfear beside the name: before she went over to the Shadow, before Lews Therin Telamon met Ilyena, Lanfear had been his lover. A complication we do not need.

The Amyrlin Seat frowned as if she had had the same thought, but Verin nodded as if it were all just words. "Other names are clear, too, Mother. Lord Luc, of course, was brother to Tigraine, then the Daughter-Heir of Andor, and he vanished in the Blight. Who Isam is, or what he has to do with Luc, I do not know, however."

"We will find out what we need to know in time," Moiraine said smoothly. "There is no proof as yet that this is prophecy." She knew the name. Isam had been the son of Breyan, wife of Lain Mandragoran, whose attempt to seize the throne of Malkier for her husband had brought the Trolloc hordes crashing down. Breyan and her infant son had both vanished when the Trollocs overran Malkier. And Isam had been blood kin to Lan. Or is blood kin? I must keep this from him, until I know how he will react. Until we are away from the Blight. If he thought Isam were alive...

" 'The Watchers wait on Toman Head,' " Verin went on. "There are a few who still cling to the old belief that the armies Artur Hawkwing sent across the Aryth Ocean will return one day, though after all this time..." She gave a disdainful sniff. "The Do Miere A'vron, the Watchers Over the Waves, still have a… community is the best word, I suppose, on Toman Head, at Falme. And one of the old names for Artur Hawkwing was Hammer of the Light."

"Are you suggesting, Daughter," the Amyrlin Seat said, "that Artur Hawkwing's armies, or rather their descendants, might actually return after a thousand years?"

"There are rumors of war on Almoth Plain and Toman Head," Moiraine said slowly. "And Hawkwing sent two of his sons, as well as armies. If they did survive in whatever lands they found, there could well be many descendants of Hawkwing. Or none."

The Amyrlin gave Moiraine a guarded look, obviously wishing they were alone so she could demand to know what Moiraine was up to. Moiraine made a soothing gesture, and her old friend grimaced at her.

Verin, with her nose still buried in her notes, noticed none of it. "I don't know, Mother. I doubt it, though. We know nothing at all of those lands Artur Hawkwing set out to conquer. It's too bad the Sea Folk refuse to cross the Aryth Ocean. They say the Islands of the Dead lie on the other side. I wish I knew what they meant by that, but that accursed Sea Folk closemouthedness..." She sighed, still not raising her head. "All we have is one reference to 'lands under the Shadow, beyond the setting sun, beyond the Aryth Ocean, where the Armies of Night reign.' Nothing there to tell us if the armies Hawkwing sent were enough by themselves to defeat these 'Armies of the Night,' or even to survive Hawkwing's death. Once the War of the Hundred Years started, everyone was too intent on carving out their own part of Hawkwing's empire to spare a thought for his armies across the sea. It seems to me, Mother, that if their descendants still lived, and if they ever intended to return, they would not have waited so long."

"Then you believe it is not prophecy, Daughter?"

"Now, 'the ancient tree,' " Verin said, immersed in her own thoughts. "There have always been rumors—no more than that—that while the nation of Almoth still lived, they had a branch of Avendesora, perhaps even a living sapling. And the banner of Almoth was 'blue for the sky above, black for the earth below, with the spreading Tree of Life to join them.' Of course, Taraboners call themselves the Tree of Man, and claim to be descended from rulers and nobles in the Age of Legends. And Domani claim descent from those who made the Tree of Life in the Age of Legends. There are other possibilities, but you will note, Mother, that at least three center around Almoth Plain and Toman Head."

The Amyrlin's voice became deceptively gentle. "Will you make up your mind, Daughter? If Artur Hawkwing's seed is not returning, then this is not prophecy and doesn't matter a rotted fish head what ancient tree is meant."

"I can only give you what I know, Mother," Verin said, looking up from her notes, "and leave the decision in your hands. I believe the last of Artur Hawkwing's foreign armies died long ago, but because I believe it does not make it so. The Time of Change, of course, refers to the end of an Age, and the Great Lord—"

The Amyrlin slapped the tabletop like a thunderclap. "I know very well who the Great Lord is, Daughter. I think you had better go now." She took a deep breath, and took hold of herself visibly. "Go, Verin. I do not want to become angry with you. I do not want to forget who it was had the cooks leave sweetcakes out at night when I was a novice."

"Mother," Moiraine said, "there is nothing in this to suggest prophecy. Anyone with a little wit and a little knowledge could put together as much, and no one has ever said Myrddraal do not have a sly wit."

"And of course," Verin said calmly, "the man who channels must be one of the three young men traveling with you, Moiraine. Probably the chinnar'veren. I imagine thats how he burnt the corpses of the Darkfriends to white ash, instead of that fire that only burns the Shadow. That young woman he spends time with could not channel a flame that powerful yet."

Moiraine stared in shock. Not aware of the world? I am a fool. Before she realized what she was doing, she had reached out to the pulsing glow she always felt there waiting, to the True Source. The One Power surged along her veins, charging her with energy, muting the sheen of Power from the Amyrlin Seat as she did the same. Moiraine had never before even thought of wielding the Power against another Aes Sedai. We live in perilous times, and the world hangs in the balance, and what must be done, must be done. It must. Oh, Verin, why did you have to put your nose in where it does not belong?

Verin closed her book and slipped it back behind her belt, then looked from one woman to the other. She could not but be aware of the nimbus surrounding each of them, the light that came from touching the True Source. Only someone trained in channeling herself could see the glow, but there was no chance of any Aes Sedai missing it in another woman.

A hint of satisfaction settled on Verin's face, but no sign that she realized she had hurled a lightning bolt. She only looked as if she had found another piece that fit in a puzzle. "Yes, I thought it must be so. Moiraine could not do this alone, and who better to help than her girlhood friend who used to sneak down with her to snitch sweetcakes." She blinked. "Forgive me, Mother. I should not have said that."

"Verin, Verin." The Amyrlin shook her head wonderingly. "You accuse your sister—and me?—of… I won't even say it. And you are worried that you've spoken too familiarly to the Amyrlin Seat? You bore a hole in the boat and worry that it's raining. Think what you are suggesting, Daughter."

It is too late for that, Siuan, Moiraine thought. If we had not panicked and reached for the Source, perhaps then. . . . But she is sure, now. "Why are you telling us this, Verin?" she said aloud. "If you believe what you say, you should be telling it to the other sisters, to the Reds in particular."

Verin's eyes widened in surprise. "Yes. Yes, I suppose I should. I hadn't thought of that. But then, if I did, you would be stilled, Moiraine, and you, Mother, and the man gentled. No one has ever recorded the progression in a man who wields the Power. When does the madness come, exactly, and how does it take him? How quickly does it grow? Can he still function with his body rotting around him? For how long? Unless he is gentled, what will happen to the young man, whichever he is, will happen whether or not I am there to put down the answers. If he is watched and guided, we should be able to keep some record with reasonable safety, for a time, at least. And, too, there is The Karaethon Cycle." She calmly returned their startled looks. "I assume, Mother, that he is the Dragon Reborn? I cannot believe you would do this—leave walking free a man who can channel—unless he was the Dragon."

She thinks only of the knowledge, Moiraine thought wonderingly. The culmination of the direst prophecy the world knows, perhaps the end of the world, and she cares only about the knowledge. But she is still dangerous, for that.

"Who else knows of this?" The Amyrlin's voice was faint, but still sharp. "Serafelle, I suppose. Who else, Verin?"

"No one, Mother. Serafelle is not really interested in anything that someone hasn't already set down in a book, preferably as long ago as possible. She thinks there are enough old books and manuscripts and fragments scattered about, lost or forgotten, to equal ten times what we have gathered in Tar Valon. She feels certain there is enough of the old knowledge still there to be found for—"

"Enough, Sister," Moiraine said. She loosed her hold on the True Source, and after a moment felt the Amyrlin do the same. It was always a loss to feel the Power draining away, like blood and life pouring from an open wound. A part of her wanted to hold on, but unlike some of her sisters, she made it a point of self-discipline not to grow too fond of the feeling. "Sit down, Verin, and tell us what you know and how you found it out. Leave out nothing."

As Verin took a chair—with a look to the Amyrlin for permission to sit in her presence—Moiraine watched her sadly.

"It is unlikely," Verin began, "that anyone who hasn't studied the old records thoroughly would notice anything except that you were behaving oddly. Forgive me, Mother. It was nearly twenty years ago, with Tar Valon besieged, that I had my first clue, and that was only. . . .

Light help me, Verin, how I loved you for those sweetcakes, and for your bosom to weep on. But I will do what I must do. I will. I must.


Pounding on the door woke me up. Moiraine was gone, which hurt a little, but did not surprise me once I realized how light it was outside. "Who is it?" I called out as I sat up in bed.

Lan strode in, pushing the door behind him with his boot heel. As usual, he wore his sword over a plain coat of green that was nearly invisible in the woods. This time, though, he had a wide, golden cord tied high around his left arm, the fringed ends hanging almost to his elbow. On the knot was pinned a golden crane in flight, the symbol of Malkier.

"Up, sheepherder. The Amyrlin Seat wishes to see you."

I froze. She knew what I was and now she sought me out. I had to prepare. I burnt every emotion, every thought, every feeling, even my sense of heat and cold in the fire, and assumed the Oneness while I dressed myself quickly, choosing a scarlet silk shirt. Tangled, long-thorned briars climbed each red sleeve in a thick, gold-embroidered line, and ran around each cuff. Golden herons stood on the collars, which were edged with gold. I put on a pair of trousers, embroidered dark red roses nearly invisible against the black fabric.

"Your colors," he murmured. "Good." Red, Gold and Black. The colors of the Dragon, and the Dragon's Fang. I guess they really are my colors.

"Just to make sure, this is not something I can skip out on, right?"

"You're days and dead Darkfriends too late for that and you know it. Wear your nice black boots, not those mudsplattered ones. Wear a sword too."

"Sorry," I muttered embarrassed, having instinctually reached for my usual pair. As I put the nice ones on I asked him, "Why the sword?"

"It is Warder tradition. A Warder is never without a way to defend his Aes Sedai, even in a meeting with the Amyrlin Seat."

"So I won't get kicked out of the women's apartments?" They had very specific rules, including no weapons allowed.

"No. The Amyrlin is not afraid of any sword," he said with something that could be a smile. "Better hope she is not afraid of you either. Now, when you enter, you will give her proper respect, but you will look her in the eye. Follow the instructions I gave you yesterday and tuck in your shirt."

Lan kept up a running flow of instructions while I shrugged into the red coat and buckled on my sword. What to say and to whom, and what not to say. What to do, and what not. How to move, even.

"But why all this? What does it mean? Why do I put my hand over my heart if the Amyrlin Seat stands up? Why refuse anything but water—not that I want to eat a meal with her—then dribble some on the floor and say 'The land thirsts'? And if she asks how old I am, why tell her how long it is since I was given the sword?"

"Three drops, sheepherder, don't pour it. You sprinkle three drops only. You can understand later so long as you remember now. Think of it as upholding custom. The Amyrlin will do with you as she must. If you believe you can avoid it, then you believe you can fly to the moon like Lenn. You can't escape, but maybe you can hold your own for a while, and perhaps you can keep your pride, at least. The Light burn me, I am probably wasting my time, but I've nothing better to do. Moiraine did her part and I have to do mine. Hold still." From his pocket the Warder produced a long length of wide, fringed golden cord and tied it around my left arm in a complicated knot. On the knot he fastened a red-enameled pin, an eagle with its wings spread. "I had that made to give you, and now is as good a time as any. That will make them think." There was no doubt about it now. The Warder was smiling.

I looked down at the pin curiously. Caldazar. The Red Eagle of Manetheren. The lost kingdom the Two Rivers descends from, two thousand years later. "A thorn to the Dark One's foot," I murmured, "and a bramble to his hand." I looked at the Warder. "Manetheren's long dead and forgotten, Lan. It's just a name in a book, now. There is only the Two Rivers. Whatever else I am, what comes from the Two Rivers is a shepherd and a farmer. That's all."

"Well, the sword that could not be broken was shattered in the end, sheepherder, but it fought the Shadow to the last. There is one rule, above all others, for being a man. Whatever comes, face it on your feet. Now, are you ready? The Amyrlin Seat waits."

I walked stiff-legged and nervous at first, beside the Warder. Face it on your feet. It was easy for Lan to say. He had not been summoned by the Amyrlin Seat. He was not wondering if he would be gentled before the day was done, or worse. I felt as if I had something caught in my throat; I could not swallow, and I wanted to, badly.

Moiraine will not let them gentle me. We will run first. The Amyrlin will not gentle me, she needs me still. I told myself this mantra, over and over, as we walked.

The corridors bustled with people, servants going about their morning chores, warriors wearing swords over lounging robes. A few young boys carrying small practice swords stayed near their elders, imitating the way they walked. No sign remained of the fighting, but an air of alertness clung even to the children. Grown men looked like cats waiting for a pack of rats.

Ingtar gave Rand and Lan a peculiar look, almost troubled, opening his mouth, then saying nothing as they passed him. Kajin, tall and lean and sallow, pumped his fists over his head and shouted, "Tai'shar Malkier! Tai'shar Manetheren!" True blood of Malkier. True blood of Manetheren.

I jumped. Light, why did he say that? Don't be a fool, I told myself. They all know about Manetheren here. They know every old story, if it has fighting in it.

Lan raised his fists in reply. "Tai'shar Shienar!"

As they approached the women's apartments, Lan suddenly snapped, "Cat Crosses the Courtyard!"

I instinctively assumed the walking stance as I had been taught, back straight but every muscle loose, as if I hung from a wire at the top of my head. It was a relaxed, almost arrogant, saunter. Relaxed on the outside; I certainly did not feel it inside. We rounded the last corridor in step with each other.

The women at the entrance to the women's apartments looked up calmly as they came closer. Some sat behind slanted tables, checking large ledgers and sometimes making an entry. Others were knitting, or working with needle and embroidery hoop. Ladies in silks kept this watch, as well as women in livery. The arched doors stood open, unguarded except for the women. No more was needed. No Shienaran man would enter uninvited, but any Shienaran man stood ready to defend that door if needed, and he would be aghast at the need.

One of the Lady Amalisa's attendants, Nisura, a round-faced woman, put aside her embroidery and stood as they came to a stop. Her eyes flickered across their swords, and her mouth tightened, but she did not mention them. All the women stopped what they were doing to watch, silent and intent.

"Honor to you both," Nisura said, bowing her head slightly. "The Amyrlin Seat awaits you." She motioned, and two other ladies—not servants; they were being honored—stepped forward for escorts. The women bowed, a hair more than Nisura had, and motioned them through the archway. They both gave Rand a sidelong glance, then did not look at him again. Guess being chinnar'veren doesn't get you much here, I thought wryly.

Inside, we got the looks I expected—two men in the women's apartments where men were rare—and their swords caused more than one raised eyebrow, but none of the women spoke. We two men left knots of conversation in our path, soft murmurs too low for me to make out. Lan strode along as if he did not even notice. I kept pace behind our escorts and wished I could hear.

And then we reached the Amyrlin Seat's chambers, with three Aes Sedai in the hall outside the door. The tall Aes Sedai, Leane, held her golden-flamed staff. Rand did not know the other two, one of the White Ajah and one Yellow by their fringe. Smooth Aes Sedai faces, with knowing eyes. They studied him with arched eyebrows and pursed lips. The women who had brought Lan and Rand curtsied, handing them over to the Aes Sedai.

Leane looked me over with an unreadable gaze, her voice clipped. "And what have you brought me today, Lan Gaidin, the heroic Lord Drake? Moiraine better be glad she bonded him early, otherwise Alanna Sedai would have snatched him right up. She likes them young, and she's quick enough to do it before he can breathe."

My skin flushed, but I ignored her words, following Lan's instructions and speaking authoritatively. "I am Rand al'Thor, son of Tam al'Thor, of the Two Rivers, which once was Manetheren. As I have been summoned by the Amyrlin Seat, Leane Sedai, so do I come. I stand ready."

She gave me a thoughtful look. "A Lord out of the Two Rivers? I thought there had been a mistake when I first heard the tale, Lan Gaidin. Now perhaps it is not so wild."

"He is a man, Leane Sedai," Lan said firmly, "no more, and no less. We are what we are."

The Aes Sedai shook her head. "The world grows stranger every day. I suppose the blacksmith will be heir to a lost crown and speak in High Chant. Wait here." She vanished inside to announce them.

She was only gone a few moments, but I was uncomfortably aware of the eyes of the remaining Aes Sedai. I tried to return their gaze levelly, the way Lan had told him to, and they put their heads together, whispering. What are they saying? What do they know?

Leane returned, motioning me to go in. When Lan started to follow, she thrust her staff across his chest, stopping him. "Not you, Lan Gaidin. Moiraine Sedai has a task for you. Her drake will be safe enough with her in there."

The door swung shut behind me, but not before he heard Lan's voice, fierce and strong, but low for my ear alone. "Tai'shar Manetheren!" True blood of Manetheren. I took comfort, steeling myself.