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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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