Текст книги "Towers of midnight"

Автор книги: Robert Jordan

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Perrin charged forward. Slayer looked up in surprise. He resembled Lan in an almost eerie fashion, his hard face all angles and sharp lines. Perrin roared, hammer suddenly in his hands.

Slayer vanished in a blink of an eye, and Perrin's hammer passed through empty air. Perrin breathed deeply. The scents were there! Brine, and wood, wet with water. Seagulls and their droppings. Perrin used his newfound skill to hurl himself at that distant location.

Shift.

Perrin appeared on an empty dock in a city he didn't recognize. Slayer stood nearby, inspecting his bow.

Perrin attacked. Slayer brought his head up, eyes widening, his scent growing amazed. He raised the bow to block, but Perrin's swing shattered it.

With a roar, Perrin pulled his weapon back and swung again, this time for Slayer's head. Oddly, Slayer smiled, dark eyes glittering with amusement. He smelled eager, suddenly. Eager to kill. A sword appeared in his raised hand, and he twisted it to block Perrin's blow.

The hammer bounced off too hard, as if it had hit stone. Perrin stumbled, and Slayer reached out, placing a hand against Perrin's shoulder. He shoved.

His strength was immense. The shove tossed Perrin backward to the dock, but the wood disappeared as he hit. Perrin passed through empty air and splashed into the water beneath. His bellow became a gurgle; dark liquid surrounded him.

He struggled to swim upward, dropping his hammer, but found that the surface inexplicably became ice. Ropes snaked up from the depths, whipping up around Perrin's arms, yanking him downward. Through the frozen surface above, he could see a shadow moving. Slayer, raising his reformed bow.

The ice vanished and the water parted. Water streamed off Perrin, and he found himself staring up at arrow pointed directly at his heart.

Slayer released.

Perrin willed himself away.

Shift. He gasped, hitting the stone outcropping where he had been with Hopper. Perrin fell to his knees, seawater streaming from his body He sputtered, wiping his face, heart pounding.

Hopper appeared beside him, panting, his scent angry. Foolish cub! Stupid cub! Chase down a lion when you're barely weaned?

Perrin shivered and sat up. Would Slayer follow? Could he? As minutes stretched and nobody appeared, Perrin began to relax. The exchange with Slayer had happened so quickly that it felt like a blur. That strength… it was more than any man could have. And the ice, the ropes…

"He changed things," Perrin said. "Made the dock vanish beneath me, created ropes to bind me, pushed the water back so that he could get a clear shot at me."

He is a lion. He kills. Dangerous.

"I need to learn. I must face him, Hopper."

You are too young. These things are beyond you.

"Too young?" Perrin said, standing. "Hopper, the Last Hunt is nearly upon us!"

Hopper lay down, head on paws.

"You always tell me that I'm too young," Perrin said. "Or that I don't know what I'm doing. Well, what is the point of teaching me, if not to show me how to fight men like Slayer?"

We will see, Hopper sent. For tonight, you will go. We are done.

Perrin sensed a mournful cast to the sending, and also a finality. Tonight, Oak Dancer's pack and Hopper would grieve for Morninglight.

Sighing, Perrin sat with his legs crossed. He concentrated, and managed to imitate the things that Hopper had done in tossing him from the dream.

It faded around him.

He woke on the pallet in his darkened tent, Faile snuggled up beside him—Perrin lay for a time, staring up at the canvas. The darkness reminded him of the tempestuous sky in the wolf dream. Sleep seemed as far off as Caemlyn. Eventually he rose—carefully extricating himself from Faile—and pulled on his trousers and shirt.

The camp was dark outside, but there was enough light for his eyes. He nodded to Kenly Maerin and Jaim Dawtry, the Two Rivers men who guarded his tent tonight.

"What's the time?" he asked one of them.

"After midnight, Lord Perrin," Jaim said.

Perrin grunted. Distant lightning lit the landscape. He walked off, and the men started to follow. "I'll be fine without guards," he told them. "Watch over my tent—Lady Faile still sleeps."

His tent was near the edge of camp. He liked that; it gave him a little more sense of seclusion, nestled near the hillside at the western side of the camp. Though it was late, he passed Gaul sharpening his spear near a fallen log. The tall Stone Dog stood up and began to follow, and Perrin didn't dismiss him. Gaul felt he hadn't been fulfilling his self-appointed duty of watching after Perrin lately, and had stepped up his efforts. Perrin thought he really just wanted an excuse to stay away from his own tent and the pair of gai'shain women who had taken up residence there.

Gaul kept his distance, and Perrin was glad. Was this how all leaders felt? No wonder so many nations ended up at war with one another—their leaders never had any time to think by themselves, and probably attacked to get people to stop pestering them!

A short distance away, he entered a stand of trees with a small pile of logs. Denton—his serving man until they got Lamgwin back—had frowned when Perrin had asked for them. Once a minor lord of Cairhien, Denton had refused to return to his station. He thought of himself as a servant now, and would not let anyone convince him otherwise.

There was an axe. Not the deadly half-moon blade he had once carried to battle, but a sturdy woodsman's axe with a fine steel head and a haft smoothed by the sweaty hands of workers. Perrin rolled up his sleeves, then spat on his hands and picked up the axe. It felt good to hold the worked wood in his hands. He raised it to his shoulder, stood the first log in front of him, then stepped back and swung.

He hit the log straight on, splinters flipping into the dark night air, the log railing into two pieces. He split one of the halves next. Gaul took a seat beside a tree, getting out a spear and continuing to sharpen its head. The rasping of metal against metal accompanied Perrin's thunk of axe against wood.

It felt good. Why was it that his mind worked so much better when he was doing something? Loial spoke much of sitting and thinking. Perrin didn't think he himself could figure anything out that way.

He split another log, the axe cutting clear. Was it really true? Could his own nature be to blame for the way he acted, not the wolves? He'd never acted like that back in the Two Rivers.

He split another log. I always was good at concentrating my attention. That was part of what had impressed Master Luhhan. Give Perrin a project and he'd keep working on it until he was done.

He split the halves of that log.

Maybe the changes in him were a result of encountering the outside world. He'd blamed the wolves for many things, and he had placed unnatural demands on Hopper. Wolves weren't stupid or simple, but they did not care about things that humans did. It must have been very hard for Hopper to teach in a way that Perrin would understand.

What did the wolf owe him? Hopper had died during that fateful night, so long ago. The night when Perrin had first killed a man, the night Perrin had first lost control of himself in a battle. Hopper didn't owe Perrin anything, but he had saved Perrin on several occasions—in fact, Perrin realized that Hopper's intervention had helped to keep him from losing himself as a wolf.

He swung at a log, a glancing blow that knocked it to the side. He repositioned and continued, Gaul's quiet sharpening soothing him. He split it.

Perrin grew caught up in what he was doing, maybe too much. That was true.

But at the same time, if a man wanted to get anything done, he had to work on one project until it was complete. Perrin had known men who never seemed to finish anything, and their farms were a mess. He couldn't live like that.

There had to be a balance. Perrin had claimed he had been pulled into a world filled with problems much larger than he was. He had claimed he was a simple man.

What if he was wrong? What if he was a complex man who had once happened to live a simple life? After all, if he was so simple, why had he fallen in love with such a complicated woman?

The split logs were piling up. Perrin bent down, gathering up quarters, their grain rough against his fingers. Callused fingers; he would never be a lord like those milk-fed creatures from Cairhien. But there were other kinds of lords, men like Faile's own father. Or men like Lan, who seemed more weapon than man.

Perrin stacked the wood. He enjoyed leading the wolves in his dream, but wolves didn't expect you to protect them, or to provide for them, or to make laws for them. They didn't cry to you when their loved ones died beneath your command.

It wasn't the leadership that worried him. It was all the things that came with it.

He could smell Elyas approaching. With his loamy, natural earthen scent he smelled like a wolf. Almost.

"You're up late," Elyas said, stepping up. Perrin heard Gaul rustling, slipping his spear back into its place on his bowcase, then withdrawing with the silence of a sparrow streaking off into the sky. He would stay close, but would not listen in.

Perrin looked up at the dark sky, resting the axe on his shoulder. "Sometimes I feel more awake at night than during the day."

Elyas smiled. Perrin didn't see it, but he could smell the amusement.

"Did you ever try to avoid it, Elyas?" Perrin asked. "Ignore their voices, pretend that nothing about you had changed?"

"I did," Elyas said. He had a soft low voice, one that somehow suggested the earth in motion. Distant rumbles. "I wanted to, but then the Aes Sedai wanted to gentle me. I had to flee."

"Do you miss your old life?"

Elyas shrugged– Perrin could hear the motion, the clothing scraping against itself. "No Warder wants to abandon his duty. Sometimes, other things are more important. Or… well, maybe they are just more demanding. I don't regret my choices."

"I can't leave, Elyas. I won't."

"I left my life for the wolves. That doesn't mean you have to."

"Noam had to," Perrin said.

"Did he have to?" Elyas said.

"It consumed him. He stopped being human."

He caught a scent of worry. Elyas had no answers.

"Do you ever visit wolves in your dreams, Elyas?" Perrin asked. "A place where dead wolves run and live again?"

Elyas turned, eyeing him. "That place is dangerous, Perrin. It's another world, although tied to this one somehow. Legends say the Aes Sedai of old could go there."

"And other people, too," Perrin said, thinking of Slayer.

"Be careful in the dream. I stay away from it." His scent was wary.

"Do you ever have trouble?" Perrin asked. "Separating yourself from the wolf?"

"I used to."

"But not any longer?"

"I found a balance," Elyas said.

"How?"

The older man fell still for a moment. "I wish I knew. It was just something I learned, Perrin. Something you'll have to learn."

Or end up like Noam. Perrin met Elyas' golden eyes, then nodded, "Thank you."

"For the advice?"

"No," Perrin said. "For coming back. For showing me that one of us at least, can live with the wolves and not lose himself."

"It's nothing," Elyas said. "I had forgotten that it could be nice to be around people for a change. I don't know how long I can stay, though. The Last Hunt is almost here."

Perrin looked up at the sky again. "That it is. Pass the word on to Tam and the others for me. I've made my decision. The Whitecloaks have picked a place to fight. I've decided to go ahead and meet them tomorrow."

"All right," Elyas said. "You don't smell like you want to do it, though."

"It needs to be done," Perrin said. "And that's that." Everyone wanted him to be a lord. Well, this was the sort of thing lords did. Made decisions that nobody wanted to make.

It would still sicken him to give the order. He'd seen a vision of those wolves running sheep toward a beast. It seemed to him that maybe that was what he was doing, running the Whitecloaks toward destruction. They certainly wore the color of sheep's wool.

But what to make of the vision of Faile and the others, approaching a cliff? Elyas moved off, leaving Perrin with the axe still on his shoulder. He felt as if he hadn't been chopping logs, but bodies.

CHAPTER 25

Return to Bandar Eban

Rand and Min did not announce themselves as they came to Bandar Eban. They stepped through the gateway into a small alley, guarded by two Maidens—Lerian and Heidia—along with Naeff, the tall, square-chinned Asha'man.

The Maidens scouted to the end of the alleyway, peering suspiciously at the city. Rand stepped forward and laid a hand on Heidia's shoulder, calming the slender woman, who seemed anxious at Rand's guard being so few. He wore his brown cloak.

Overhead, the clouds broke, melting away above the city in response to Rand's arrival. Min looked upward, feeling the warmth shine on her face. The alley smelled terrible—of refuse and waste—but a warm breeze blew through, carrying the stenches away.

"My Lord Dragon," Naeff said. "I don't like this. You should have greater protection. Let us return and gather—"

"It will be fine, Naeff," Rand said. He turned to Min and held out his hand.

She took it, joining him. Naeff and the Maidens had orders to follow behind at a distance; they would draw attention.

As Min and Rand stepped out onto one of the Domani capital's many boardwalks, she raised a hand to her mouth. It had only been a short time since Rand's departure. How had the city changed so quickly?

The street was full of sickly, dirty people, crowded alongside walls, huddled in blankets. There wasn't room to move on the boardwalks; Min and Rand had to step down into the mud to continue. People coughed and moaned, and she realized the stenches weren't confined to the alley. The entire city seemed to stink. Once, banners had hung from many of these buildings, but they'd been pulled down and ripped apart for blankets or fuel.

Most of the buildings had broken windows, with refugees clogging the doorways and floors inside. As Min and Rand walked, the people around them turned to watch. Some looked delirious. Others looked hungry. And dangerous. Many were Domani, but there seemed to be as many paler-skinned people. Refugees from Almoth Plain or Saldaea, perhaps. Min loosened a knife in her sleeve as they passed a group of young toughs lounging at an alleyway's mouth. Perhaps Naeff had been right. This didn't feel safe.

"I walked through Ebou Dar like this," Rand said softly. Suddenly, she was aware of his pain. A crushing guilt, more hurtful than the wounds in his side. "That was part of what made me change. The people in Ebou Dar were happy and well-fed. They didn't look like these. The Seanchan rule better than I."

"Rand, you aren't responsible for this," Min said. "You weren't here to…"

His pain increased, and she realized she'd said the wrong thing. "Yes," he replied softly, "I wasn't here. I abandoned this city when I saw that I could not use it as the tool I wished it to be. I forgot, Min. I forgot what this was all about. Tam was so very right. A man must know why he is fighting."

Rand had sent his father—along with one of the Asha'man—to the Two Rivers to prepare and gather them for the Last Battle.

Rand stumbled as he walked, suddenly looking very tired. He sat down on a nearby box. A copper-skinned urchin watched him keenly from a nearby doorway. Across the street, a roadway branched off the main thoroughfare. That one wasn't clogged with people; brutish-looking men with cudgels stood at its mouth.

"They break into gangs," Rand said softly, shoulders bowing. "The rich hire the strong to protect them, to fight away those who come seeking their wealth. But it's not a wealth of gold or jewelry. It's about food, now."

"Rand," she said, going to one knee beside him. "You can't—"

"I know I must go on," Rand said, "but it hurts to know the things that I've done, Min. By turning myself to steel, I pushed out all of these emotions. By allowing myself to care again, to laugh again, I've had to open myself to my failures, too."

"Rand, I see sunlight around you."

He looked up at her, then glanced at the sky.

"Not that sunlight," Min whispered. "A viewing. I see dark clouds, pushed away by the sunlight's warmth. I see you, a brilliant white sword held in your hand, wielded against one of black, held by a faceless darkness. I see trees, growing green again, bearing fruit. I see a field, the crops healthy and full." She hesitated. "I see the Two Rivers, Rand. I see an inn there with the mark of the Dragon's Fang inlaid on its door. No longer be a symbol of darkness or hate. A sign of victory and hope."

He looked to her.

Min caught something from the corner of her eye. She turned toward the people sitting on the street, and gaped. Every single one had an image above them. It was remarkable to see so many viewings, all at once, flaring to light above the heads of the sickly, the weak, and the abandoned.

"I see a silver axe above that man's head," she said, pointing to a bearded beggar, who lay against a wall, his chin down against his chest. "He will be a leader in the Last Battle. That woman there—the one sulking in the shadows—she will be trained by the White Tower and become Aes Sedai. I can see the Flame of Tar Valon beside her, and I know what it means. That man over there who looks like a simple street tough? He will save her life. I know he doesn't look like it, but he will fight. All of them will. I can see it!"

She looked at Rand and took his hand. "You will be strong, Rand. You'll do this. You'll lead them. I know it."

"You saw that?" he asked. "In a viewing?"

She shook her head. "I don't need to. I believe in you."

"I almost killed you," he whispered. "When you look at me, you see a murderer. You feel my hand at your throat."

"What? Of course I don't! Rand, meet my eyes. You can sense me through the bond. Do you feel a sliver of hesitation or fear from me?"

He searched her eyes with his own, so deep. She didn't back down. She could meet the eyes of this sheepherder.

He sat up straighter. "Oh, Min. What would I do without you?"

She snorted. "You have kings and Aiel chiefs following you. Aes Sedai, Asha'man, and ta'veren. I'm certain you'd get along."

"No," Rand said. "You're more vital than them all. You remind me who I am. Besides, you think more clearly than most of those who call themselves my counselors. You could be a queen, if you wished it."

"All I wish for is you, stupid looby."

"Thank you." He hesitated. "Though I could manage without quite so much name calling."

"Life's tough, isn't it?"

He smiled. Then he stood, taking a deep breath. His guilt was still there, but he managed it now, as he managed the pain. Nearby, the refugees perked up. Rand turned toward the bearded wretch Min had indicated earlier; the man sat with his feet in the mud.

"You," the man said to Rand, "you're him. The Dragon Reborn."

"Yes," Rand said. "You were a soldier?"

"I…" The man's eyes grew distant. "Another life. I was in the King's Guard, before he was taken, before we were seized by Lady Chadmar, then disbanded." The fatigue seemed to bleed from his eyes as he thought of earlier days.

"Excellent," Rand said. "We need to restore this city, Captain."

"Captain?" the man said. "But I…" He cocked his head. Then he stood up and brushed himself off. He suddenly had a faintly military air about him, despite the ripped clothing and the snarled beard. "Well, I suppose you're right. But I don't think it'll be easy. The people are starving."

"I will see to that," Rand said. "I need you to gather your soldiers."

"I don't see many of the other lads here… No, wait. There's Votabek and Redbord." He waved to a pair of the toughs Min had noticed earlier. They hesitated, then walked over.

"Durnham?" one of them asked. "What's this?"

"It's time for the lawlessness in the city to end," Durnham said. "We're going to organize things, clean it up. The Lord Dragon has returned."

One of them spat to the side. He was a burly man with curly black hair, Domani skin, and a thin mustache. "Burn him. He left us. I—" He cut off as saw Rand.

"I'm sorry," Rand said, meeting the man's eyes. "I failed you. I will not do so again."

The man glanced at his companion, who shrugged. "Lain's never going to pay us. Might as well see what we can do here."

"Naeff," Rand called, waving the Asha'man forward. He and the Maidens stepped up from where they had been watching. "Make a gateway back to the Stone. I want weapons, armor and uniforms."

"I'll do it immediately," Naeff said. "We'll have soldiers bring them."

"No," Rand said. "Pass the supplies through, into this building here.

"I'll clear a place for the gateway inside it. But no soldiers are to come."

Rand raised his eyes, looking at the street. "Bandar Eban has suffered enough beneath the hands of outsiders. Today, she will not know the hand of a conqueror."

Min stepped back, and watched with wonder. The three soldiers hastened into the building and cleared out the urchins. When Rand saw them he asked them to be messengers to run errands. They responded. Everyone responded to Rand, when they took time to look at him.

Perhaps another might have thought it some form of Compulsion, but Min saw their faces change, saw hope return as a glimmer in their eyes. They saw something about Rand they could trust. Something, at least, they hoped they could trust.

The three soldiers sent a few of the messenger boys and girls to fetch other former soldiers. Naeff made his gateway. In minutes, the original three soldiers stepped out of the building, wearing silvery breastplates and simple, clean clothing of green. The men had combed their beards and hair and found some water to wash their faces. As quickly as that, they stopped looking like beggars and became soldiers. A bit smelly, but soldiers nonetheless.

The woman Min had noted earlier—the one she was certain could learn to channel—came over to speak with Rand. After a bit, she nodded, and soon had gathered women and men to fill buckets from the well. Min frowned at that until they started wiping clean the faces and hands of those who approached.

People began to gather around. Some curious, others hostile, still others merely caught in the flow. The woman and her team began sorting through them and setting them to work. Some to seek out the wounded or sickly, others to take up swords and uniforms. Another woman began interrogating the urchins, discovering where their parents were, if they had any.

Min sat down on the box that Rand had been sitting on. Within the hour, he had a group of soldiers five hundred strong, led by Captain Durnham and his two lieutenants. Many of those five hundred kept glancing down at their clean clothing and silvery breastplates as if amazed.

Rand spoke with many of them, apologizing directly. As he was speaking to one woman, the crowd behind began to shuffle and move. Rand turned to see an aged man approaching, his skin broken by terrible lesions. The crowd kept its distance.

"Naeff," Rand called.

"My Lord?"

"Bring the Aes Sedai through," Rand said. "There are people who require Healing." The woman who had gotten people to fill water buckets led the old man to one side.

"My Lord," Captain Durnham said, marching up. Min blinked. The man had found a razor somewhere and shaved off his beard, revealing a strong chin. He'd left a Domani mustache. Four men followed him as a guard.

"We're going to need more room, my Lord," Durnham said. "That building you chose is overflowing, and more and more are coming, filling the street."

"What do you suggest?" Rand asked.

"The docks," Durnham replied. "They are held by one of the city merchants. I'll wager we can find some near-empty warehouses to use. Those once held food but… well, there isn't any left."

"And the merchant who holds the place?" Rand asked.

"My Lord," Captain Durnham said, "nothing you can't deal with."

Rand smiled, then waved for Durnham to lead the way. Rand held his hand out to Min.

"Rand," she said, joining him, "they'll need food."

"Yes," he agreed. He looked southward, toward the nearby docks. "We'll find it there."

"Won't it already have been eaten?"

Rand didn't reply. They joined the newly formed city guard, walking at the head of a force in green and silver. Behind them trailed a growing throng of hopeful refugees.

The enormous docks of Bandar Eban were some of the most impressive in the world. They lay in a half-moon at the base of the city. Min was surprised to see how many ships were there, most of them Sea Folk vessels.

That's right, Min thought. Rand had them bring food to the city. But it had spoiled. As Rand had left the city, he'd gotten word that all of the food on those ships had fallen to the Dark One's touch.

Someone had set up blockades at the base of the roadway. Other roads to the docks looked similarly inhibited. Uniformed soldiers peeked out nervously from behind the barricade as Rand's force walked up.

"Stop right there!" a voice called. "We don't—"

Rand lifted his hand, then waved it casually. The barricade—formed of furniture and planks—rumbled, then slid to the side with a grinding of wood. Men cried out from behind, scrambling away.

Rand left the barricade slumped at the side of the road. He stepped forward, and Min could sense peace inside of him. A ragged-looking group of men with cudgels stood in the road, eyes wide. Rand picked one at the front. "Who is it that blocks my people from these docks and seeks to hoard food for himself? I would… speak with this person."

"My Lord Dragon?" a surprised voice asked.

Min glanced to the side. A tall, lean man in a red Domani coat hustled toward them from the docks. His shirt had once been fine and ruffled, but was now wrinkled and unkempt. He looked exhausted.

What was his name? Min thought. Iralin. That's it. Master of the docks.

"Iralin?" Rand asked. "What is going on here? What have you done?"

"What have I done?" the man demanded. "I've been trying to keep everyone from rushing those ships for the spoiled food! Anyone who eats it gets sick and dies. The people won't listen. Several groups tried to storm the docks for the food, so I decided not to let them kill themselves eating it."

The man's voice had never been that angry before. Min remembered him as peaceable.

"Lady Chadmar fled an hour after you left," Iralin continued. "The other members of the Council of Merchants ran within the day. Those burning Sea Folk claim they won't sail away until they've unloaded their wares—or until I give them payment to do something else. So I've been waiting for the city to starve itself, eat that food and die, or go up in another riot of flame and death. That's what I've been doing here. What have you been doing, Lord Dragon?"

Rand closed his eyes and sighed. He did not apologize to Iralin as he had the others; perhaps he saw that it would not have meant anything.

Min glared at Iralin. "He has weights upon his shoulders, merchant. He cannot watch over each and every—"

"It is all right, Min," Rand said, laying his hand on her arm and opening his eyes. "It is no more than I deserve. Iralin. Before I left the city, you told me that the food on those ships had spoiled. Did you check every barrel and sack?"

"I checked enough," Iralin said, still hostile. "If you open a hundred sacks and you find the same thing in every one, you figure out the pattern. My wife has been trying to figure out a safe method of sifting the rotted grain from the safe grain. If there's any safe grain to be had."

Rand began walking toward the ships. Iralin followed, looking confused, perhaps because Rand hadn't yelled at him. Min joined them. Rand approached a Sea Folk vessel sitting low in the water, moored by ropes. A group of Sea Folk lounged atop it.

"I would speak with your Sailmistress," Rand called.

"I am she," said one of the Sea Folk, a woman with white in her straight black hair and a pattern of tattoos across her right hand. "Milis din Shalada Three Stars."

"I made a deal," Rand called up, "for food to be delivered here."

"That one doesn't want it delivered," Milis said, nodding to Iralin. "He won't let us unload; says that if we do, he'll have his archers loose on us."

"I wouldn't be able to hold the people back," Iralin said. "I've had to spread rumors in town that the Sea Folk are holding the food hostage."

"You see what we suffer for you?" Milis said to Rand. "I begin to wonder about our Bargain with you, Rand al'Thor."

"Do you deny that I am the Coramoor?" Rand asked, meeting her eyes. She seemed to have trouble looking away from him.

"No," Milis said. "No, guess that I do not. You will want to board the Whitecap, I suppose."

"If I may."

"Up with you, then," she said.

Once the gangplank was in place, Rand strode up it, followed by Min with Naeff and the two Maidens. After a moment, Iralin came, too, followed by the captain and some of his soldiers.

Milis led them to the center of the deck, where a hatch and ladder led down to the ship's hold. Rand climbed down first, moving awkwardly, being one-handed. Min followed.

Beneath, light peeked through slots in the deck, illuminating sack upon sack of grain. The air smelled dusty and thick.

"We'll be glad to have this cargo gone," Milis said softly, coming down next. "It's been killing the rats."

"I would think you'd appreciate that," Min said.

"A ship without rats is like an ocean without storms," Milis said. "We complain about both, but my crew mutters every time they find one of the vermin dead."

There were several open sacks of grain nearby, turned on their sides, spilling dark contents across the floor. Iralin had spoken of trying to sift the bad from the good, but Min didn't see any good. Just shriveled, discolored grains.

Rand stared at the open sacks as Iralin came down into the hold. Captain Durnham shuffled down the ladder last with his men.

"Nothing stays good any longer," Iralin said. "It's not just this grain. People brought winter stores from the farms with them. They're all gone.

"We're going to die, and that's that. We won't reach the bloody Last Battle. We—"

"Peace, Iralin," Rand said softly. "It is not so bad as you think." He stepped forward and yanked free the tie on the top of a sack. It fell to the side, and golden barley spilled from it across the floor of the hold, not a single speck of darkness on it. The barley looked as if it had just been harvested, each grain plump and full.