Текст книги "A Memory of Light"

Автор книги: Robert Jordan

Соавторы: Brandon Sanderson
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 71 страниц)

As the patrol passed again, she stood up. When they cried out, having found her dagger, she slipped around to the front of the tent. There, avoiding the attention of guards distracted by the commotion, she lifted the flap and stepped inside the tent behind them.

Some people sat at a table on the far side of the very large tent, huddled around a lamp. They were so busy with their conversation that they did not see her, so she settled down near some cushions to wait.

It was very hard not to listen in, now that she was so close.

“. . . must send our forces back!” one man barked. “The fall of the capital is a symbol, Your Majesty. A symbol! We cannot let Caemlyn go or the entire nation will collapse into chaos.”

“You underestimate the strength of the Andoran people,” said Elayne. She looked very much in control, very strong, her red-gold hair practically glowing in the lamplight. Several of her battle commanders stood behind her, lending authority and a sense of stability to the meeting. Aviendha was pleased to see the fire in her first-sister’s eyes.

“I have been to Caemlyn, Lord Lir,” Elayne continued. “And I have left a small force of soldiers there to watch and give warning if the Trollocs leave the city. Our spies will use gateways to sneak through the city and find where the remaining Trollocs are herding captives, and then we can mount rescue operations if the Trollocs continue to hold the city.”

“But the city itself!” Lord Lir said.

“Caemlyn is lost, Lir,” Lady Dyelin snapped. “We’d be fools to try to mount any kind of assault now.”

Elayne nodded. “I have held conference with the other High Seats, and they agree with my assessment. For now, the refugees who escaped are safe—I sent them on along toward Whitebridge with guards. If there are people alive within, we will try to rescue them with gateways, but I will not commit my forces to an all-out attack on Caemlyn’s walls.”

“But—”

“Taking the city again would be fruitless,” Elayne said, voice hard. “I know full well the damage that can be done to an army assaulting those walls! Andor will not collapse because of the loss of one city, no matter how important a city.” Her face was a mask, her voice as cold as good steel.

“The Trollocs will eventually leave the city,” Elayne continued. “They gain nothing by holding it—they will starve themselves out, if nothing else. Once they leave, we can fight them—and on far fairer ground. If you wish, Lord Lir, you may visit the city yourself and see that what I say is true. The soldiers there could use the inspiration of a High Seat.”

Lir frowned, but nodded. “I think I will.”

“Then go knowing my plan. We will begin sending in scouts before the night is through, trying to find pens of civilians to save, and Aviendha, what in the name of a bloody goat's left stone are you doing!”

Aviendha looked up from trimming her fingernails with her second knife. Bloody goat’s left stone? That was a new one. Elayne always knew the most interesting curses.

The three High Seats at the table jumped up, scrambling, throwing down chairs and reaching for swords. Elayne sat in her place, eyes and mouth wide.

“It is a bad habit,” Aviendha admitted, slipping her knife back into her boot. “My nails were growing long, but I should not have done it in your tent, Elayne. I am sorry. I hope I did not offend.”

“I’m not talking about your flaming nails, Aviendha,” Elayne said. “How . . . when did you arrive? Why didn’t the guards announce you?”

“They didn’t see me,” Aviendha said. “I didn’t wish to make a fuss, and wetlanders can be touchy. I thought they might turn me away, now that you are Queen.” She smiled as she said the last part. Elayne had much honor; the way of becoming a leader among the wetlanders was different from proper ways—things could be so backward over here—but Elayne had handled herself well and obtained her throne. Aviendha couldn’t have been more proud of a spear-sister who had taken a clan chief gai’shain.

“They didn’t . .” Elayne said. Suddenly, she was smiling. “You crept through the entire camp, to my tent at the center, and then slipped inside and sat down not five feet from me. And nobody saw.”

“I didn’t wish to make a fuss.”

“You have a strange way of not making a fuss.”

Elayne’s companions did not react with such calm. One of the three, young Lord Perival, gazed around him with worried eyes, as if searching for other intruders.

“My Queen,” Lir said. “We must punish this breach in security! I will find the men who were lax in their duty and see that they—”

“Peace,” Elayne said. “I will speak to my guards and suggest they keep their eyes a little more open. Still, guarding the front of a tent is a silly precaution—and always has been—as someone can just cut their way into the back.”

“And ruin a good tent?” Aviendha said, lips turning down. “Only if we had blood feud, Elayne.”

“Lord Lir, you may go inspect the city—from a good distance—if you wish,” Elayne said, standing. “If any of the rest of you wish to accompany him, you may. Dyelin, I will see you in the morning.”

“Very well,” the lords said in turn, then walked from the tent. Both kept distrustful eyes on Aviendha as they left. Dyelin just shook her head before following them, and Elayne sent her battle commanders out to coordinate scouting of the city. That left Elayne and Aviendha alone in the tent.

“Light, Aviendha,” Elayne said, embracing her, “if the people who want me dead had half of your skill . . ”

“Did I do something wrong?” Aviendha said.

“Other than sneaking into my tent like an assassin?”

“But you are my first-sister . . .” Aviendha said. “Should I have asked? But we are not under a roof. Or . . . among wetlanders, is a tent considered a roof, as in a hold? I’m sorry, Elayne. Do I have toh! You are such an unpredictable people, it’s hard to know what will offend you and what will not.” Elayne just laughed. “Aviendha, you’re a gem. A complete and total gem. Light, but it’s good to see your face. I needed a friendly one tonight.”

“Caemlyn has fallen?” Aviendha asked.

“Near enough,” Elayne said, face growing colder. “It was that bloody Waygate. I thought it was safe—I had that thing all but bricked up, with fifty guards at the door and the Avendesora leaves taken and both put on the outside.”

“Someone inside Caemlyn let them in, then.”

“Darkfriends,” Elayne said. “A dozen members of the Guard—we were lucky enough that one man survived their betrayal and found his way out. Light, I don’t know why I should be surprised. If they’re in the White Tower, they’re in Andor. But these were men who had rejected Gaebril, and who seemed loyal. They waited all this time only to betray us now.”

Aviendha grimaced, but took one of the chairs to join Elayne at the table, rather than staying on the floor. Her first-sister preferred sitting that way. Her stomach had swelled with the children she bore.

“I sent Birgitte with the soldiers to the city to see what can be done,” Elayne said. “But we’ve done what we can for the night, the city watched, the refugees seen to. Light, I wish I could do more. The worst thing about being Queen is not the things you must do, but the things that you cannot.”

“We will bring the battle to them soon enough,” Aviendha said.

“We will,” Elayne said, eyes smoldering. “I will bring them fire and fury, repayment in kind for the flames they brought to my people.”

“I heard you speak to those men of not attacking the city.”

“No,” Elayne said. “I will not give them the satisfaction of holding my own walls against me. I have given Birgitte an order—the Trollocs will eventually abandon Caemlyn, of this we are sure. Birgitte will find a way to hasten that, so we can fight them outside of the city.”

“Do not let the enemy choose your battleground,” Aviendha said with a nod. “A good strategy. And . . . Rand’s meeting?”

“I will attend,” Elayne said. “I must, so it will be done. He had better not give us theatrics and stalling. My people die, my city burns, the world is two steps from the edge of a cliff. I will stay through the afternoon only; after that, I go back to Andor.” She hesitated. “Will you come with me?”

“Elayne . . .” Aviendha said. “I cannot leave my people. I am a Wise One now.”

“You went to Rhuidean?” Elayne asked.

“Yes,” Aviendha said. Though it pained her to keep secrets, she said nothing of her visions there.

“Excellent. I—” Elayne began, but was cut off.

“My Queen?” the tent guard called from outside. “Messenger for you.”

“Let them in.”

The guard opened the flaps for a young Guardswoman with a messenger’s ribbon on her coat. She performed an ornate bow, one hand removing her hat as the other held out a letter.

Elayne took the letter but didn’t open it. The messenger retreated. “Perhaps we can still fight together, Aviendha,” Elayne said. “If I have my way, I will have Aiel at my side as I reclaim Andor. The Trollocs in Caemlyn present a serious threat to all of us; even if I draw their main force out, the Shadow can continue to pour Shadowspawn through that Waygate.

“I’m thinking that while my armies fight the main body of Trollocs outside of Caemlyn—I will have to make the city inhospitable to the Shadowspawn somehow—I will send a smaller force through a gateway to seize the Waygate. If I could gain the aid of Aiel for that . . . ”

As she spoke, she embraced the Source—Aviendha could see the glow—and absently sliced the letter open, breaking the seal with a ribbon of Air. Aviendha raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” Elayne said, “I've reached the point in my pregnancy where I can channel again reliably, and I keep finding excuses . . .”

“Do not endanger the babes,” Aviendha said.

“I’m not going to endanger them,” Elayne said. “You’re as bad as Birgitte. At least no one has any goat’s milk here. Min says . . .” She trailed off, eyes flickering back and forth as she read the letter. Elayne’s expression darkened, and Aviendha prepared herself for a shock.

“Oh, that man . . .” Elayne said.

“Rand?”

“I think I may strangle him one of these days.”

Aviendha set her jaw. “If he’s offended—”

Elayne turned the letter around. “He insists that I return to Caemlyn to see to my people. He gives a dozen reasons why, going so far as to release me from my obligation’ to meet with him tomorrow.”

“He should not be insisting on anything with you.”

“Particularly not so forcefully,” Elayne said. “Light, this is clever. He’s obviously trying to bully me into staying. There’s a touch of Daes Dae’mar in this.”

Aviendha hesitated. “You seem proud. Yet I gather this letter is only one step away from being insulting!”

“I am proud,” Elayne said. “And angry at him. But proud because he knew to make me angry like that. Light! We’ll make a king out of you yet, Rand. Why does he want me at the meeting so badly? Does he think I’ll support his side just because of my affection for him?”

“You don’t know what his plan is, then?”

“No. It obviously involves all of the rulers. But I will attend, even though I’m likely to do so without having had any sleep tonight. I am meeting with Birgitte and my other commanders in an hour to go over plans for drawing out, then destroying, the Trollocs.” A fire still burned behind those eyes of hers. Elayne was a warrior, as true a one as Aviendha had ever known.

“I must go to him,” Aviendha said.

“Tonight?”

“Tonight. The Last Battle will soon begin.”

“As far as I’m concerned, it started the moment those bloody Trollocs set foot in Caemlyn,” Elayne said. “May the Light favor us. It is here.”

“Then the day of dying will come,” Aviendha said. “Many of us will soon wake from this dream. There may not be another night for Rand and myself. I came to you, in part, to ask you about this.”

“You have my blessing,” Elayne said softly. “You are my first-sister. Have you spent time with Min?”

“Not enough, and under other circumstances I would remedy that lack immediately. There is no time.”

Elayne nodded.

“I do think she feels better about me,” Aviendha said. “She did me a great honor in helping me understand the last step to becoming a Wise One. It may be appropriate to bend some of the customs. We have done well, under the circumstances. I would speak to her together with you, if there is time.”

Elayne nodded. “I can spare a moment or two between meetings. I’ll send for her.”

CHAPTER 3

A Dangerous Place

“Lord Logain and Taim have indeed patched up their differences,” Welyn said, sitting inside the common room of The Great Gathering. He wore bells in his dark braids, and he smiled widely. He always had smiled too much. “Both were worried about the division we’ve been suffering and agree it isn’t good for morale. We need to be focused on the Last Battle. This isn’t a time for squabbling.”

Androl stood just inside the door, Pevara beside him. It was surprising, how quickly this building—a former warehouse—had been transformed into a tavern. Lind had done her work well. There were a respectable bar and stools, and though the tables and chairs spread through the room didn’t match yet, the place could seat dozens. She also had a library with a considerable number of books, although she was very particular about who she allowed to use it. On the second floor, she planned private dining chambers and sleeping rooms for visitors to the Black Tower. Assuming Taim started letting visitors in again.

The room was quite packed, and the crowd included a large number of newer recruits, men who didn’t yet fall on either side of the growing dispute—either with Taim and his men, or with those loyal to Logain.

Androl listened to Welyn, feeling chilled. Welyn’s Aes Sedai, Jenare, sat beside him, hand resting fondly on his arm. Androl didn’t know her well, but he did know Welyn. And this thing with Welyn’s face and voice was not the same man.

We met with the Lord Dragon,” Welyn continued. “Surveying the Borderlands, preparing for humankind’s assault against the Shadow. He has rallied the armies of all nations to his banner. There are none who do not support him, other than the Seanchan, of course—but they have been driven back.

This is the time, and we will soon be called upon to strike. We need to focus one last time on our skills. The Sword and Dragon will be awarded liberally in the next two weeks. Work hard, and we will be the weapons that break the Dark One’s hold upon this land.”

“You say Logain is coming,” a voice demanded. “Why isn’t he back yet?” Androl turned. Jonneth Dowtry stood near Welyn's table. With his arms folded, glowering at Welyn, Jonneth was an intimidating sight. The Two Rivers man often had a friendly way about him, and it was easy to forget that he stood a head taller than you and had arms like those of a bear. He wore his black Asha’man coat, though it had no pins on the high collar—despite the fact that he was as strong in the One Power as any Dedicated.

‘Why isn’t he here?” Jonneth demanded. “You said that you returned with him, that he and Taim have spoken. Well, where is he?”

Don’t push, lad, Androl thought. Let him think we believe his lies!

“He took the M’Hael to visit the Lord Dragon,” Welyn said. “Both should be back on the morrow, the day after at the latest.”

“Why did Taim need Logain to show him the way?” Jonneth said stubbornly. “He could have gone on his own.”

“That boy is a fool,” Pevara hissed.

“He’s honest,” Androl replied quietly, “and he wants honest answers.” These Two Rivers lads were a good lot—straightforward and loyal. They weren’t particularly practiced in subterfuge, however.

Pevara fell silent, but Androl could feel her as she considered channeling and hushing Jonneth with some bindings of Air. They weren’t serious thoughts, just idle fancies, but Androl could sense them. Light! What had they done to one another?

She’s in my head, he thought. There’s an Aes Sedai, inside my head.

Pevara froze, then glanced at him.

Androl sought the void, that old soldier’s trick to help him seek clarity before a battle. Saidin was there, too, of course. He didn’t reach for it.

“What did you do?” Pevara whispered. “I can feel you there, but sensing your thoughts is harder.”

Well, that was something at least.

“Jonneth,” Lind called across the common room, interrupting the lad’s next question to Welyn. “Didn’t you hear the man saying how much traveling he’s been doing? He’s exhausted. Let him drink his ale and rest a spell before you pry stories out of him.”

Jonneth glanced at her, looking hurt. Welyn smiled deeply as the lad withdrew, pushing his way out of the common room. Welyn continued talking about how well the Lord Dragon was doing, and about how much each of them would be needed.

Androl released the void, feeling more relaxed. He looked around the room, trying to judge who in here he could rely upon. He liked many of these men, and many weren’t completely for Taim, yet he still couldn’t trust them. Taim had complete control of the Tower now, and private lessons with him and his chosen were coveted by the newcomers. Only the Two Rivers lads could be counted on to give any sort of support to Androl’s cause—and most of them other than Jonneth were too unpracticed to be of use.

Evin had joined Nalaam on the other side of the room, and Androl nodded his head to him, sending him out to follow Jonneth into the storm. Nobody was to be alone. That done, Androl listened to Welyn’s boasting, and noticed Lind picking her way through the crowd toward him.

Lind Taglien was a short, dark-haired woman; her dress was covered in lovely embroidery. She had always seemed to him a model of what the Black Tower could be. Civilized. Educated. Important.

Men made way for her; they knew not to spill their drinks or start fights in her inn. Lind’s anger was not something a wise man ever wanted to know. It was a good thing she ran the place so tightly. In a city full of male channelers, a simple tavern brawl could potentially go very, very wrong.

“Does this bother you as much as it does me?” Lind asked softly as she stepped up beside him. “Wasn’t he the one who, just a few weeks back, was talking about how Taim should be tried and executed for some of the things he’d done?”

Androl didn’t reply. What could he say? That he suspected that the man they’d known as Welyn was dead? That the entire Black Tower would soon be nothing but these monsters with the wrong eyes, the false smiles, the dead souls?

“I don’t believe him about Logain,” Lind said. “Something’s going on here, Androl. I’m going to have Frask follow him tonight, see where he—”

“No,” Androl said. “No. Don’t.” Frask was her husband, a man who had been hired to help Henre Haslin teach swordsmanship in the Black Tower. Taim thought that swordfighting was useless for Asha’man, but the Lord Dragon had insisted that the men be taught.

She eyed him. “You’re not saying you believe—”

“I’m saying that were in great danger right now, Lind, and I don’t want Frask making it worse. Do me a favor. Take note of what else Welyn says tonight. Maybe some of it will be useful for me to know.”

“All right,” she said, sounding skeptical.

Androl nodded toward Nalaam and Canler, who rose and headed over. Rain beat against the rooftop and the porch outside. Welyn kept right on talking, and the men were listening. Yes, it was incredible that he’d swapped sides so quickly, and that would make some suspicious. But many people respected him, and the way he was off just slightly wasn’t noticeable unless you knew him.

“Lind,” Androl said as she started to walk away.

She glanced back at him.

“You . . . lock this place up tightly tonight. Then maybe you and Frask should find your way into the cellar with some supplies, all right? You have a sturdy cellar door?”

“Yes,” she said. “For all the good it will do.” It wouldn’t matter how thick a door was if someone with the One Power came looking.

Nalaam and Canler reached them, and Androl turned to go, only to run directly into a man standing in the doorway behind him, someone he hadn’t heard approach. Rain dripped from his Asha’man coat, with the Sword and the Dragon on the high collar. Atal Mishraile had been one of Taim’s from the start. Fie didn’t have the hollow eyes; his evil was all his own. Tall, with long golden hair, he had a smile that never seemed to reach his eyes.

Pevara jumped when she saw him, and Nalaam cursed, seizing the One Power.

“Now, now,” a voice said. “No need for strife.” Mezar stepped in from the rain beside Mishraile. The short Domani man had graying hair and an air of wisdom to him, despite his transformation.

Androl met Mezar’s eyes, and it was like looking into a deep cavern. A place where light had never shone.

“Hello, Androl,” Mezar said, putting a hand on Mishraile’s shoulder, as if the two had been friends for a long time. “Why is it that Goodwoman Lind would need to fear, and shut herself in her cellar? Surely the Black Tower is as safe a place as there is?”

“I don’t trust a dark night full of storms,” Androl said.

“Perhaps that is wise,” Mezar replied. “Yet you go out into it. Why not stay where it is warm? Nalaam, I should like to hear one of your stories. Perhaps you could tell me of the time your father and you visited Shara?”

“It’s not that good a story,” Nalaam said. “I don’t know if I remember it that well.”

Mezar laughed, and Androl heard Welyn stand up behind him. “Ah, there you are! I was telling them you’d talk about defenses in Arafel.”

“Come listen,” Mezar said. “This will be important for the Last Battle.”

“Maybe I will return,” Androl said, voice cool. “Once my other work is done.”

The two stared at one another. To the side, Nalaam still held the One Power. He was as strong as Mezar, but would never be able to face both him and Mishraile—particularly not in a room crammed with people who would probably take the side of the two full Asha’man.

“Don’t waste your time with the pageboy, Welyn,” Coteren said from behind. Mishraile stepped aside to make room for this third newcomer. The bulky, beady-eyed man pressed a hand against Androl’s chest and shoved him aside as he passed. “Oh, wait. You can’t play pageboy anymore, can you?”

Androl entered the void and seized the Source.

Shadows immediately started moving in the room. Lengthening.

There weren’t enough lights! Why didn’t they light more lamps? The darkness invited those shadows in, and he could see them. These were real, each one a tendril of blackness, reaching for him. To pull him into them, to destroy him.

Oh, Light. I'm mad. I'm mad. . .

The void shattered, and the shadows—thankfully—retreated. He found himself shaking, pulling back against the wall, panting. Pevara watched him with an expressionless face, but he could feel her concern.

“Oh, by the way,” Coteren said. He was one of Taim’s most influential toadies. “Have you heard?”

“Heard what?” Androl managed to force out.

“You’ve been demoted, pageboy,” Coteren said, pointing toward the sword pin. “Taim’s orders. As of today. Back to soldier you go, Androl.”

“Oh, yes,” Welyn called from the center of the room. “I’m sorry I forgot to mention it. It has been cleared with the Lord Dragon, I’m afraid. You never should have been promoted, Androl. Sorry.”

Androl reached to his neck, to the pin there. It shouldn’t matter to him; what did it really mean?

But it did matter. He’d spent his entire life searching. He’d apprenticed to a dozen different professions. He’d fought in revolts, sailed two seas. All the while searching, searching for something he hadn’t been able to define.

He’d found it when he’d come to the Black Tower.

He pushed through the fear. Shadows be burned}. He seized saidin again, the Power flooding him. He straightened up, going eye-to-eye with Coteren.

The larger man smiled and seized the One Power as well. Mezar joined him, and in the middle of the room, Welyn stood. Nalaam was whispering to himself in worry, eyes darting back and forth. Canler seized saidin and looked resigned.

Everything Androl could hold—all of the One Power he could muster—flooded into him. It was minuscule compared to the others. He was the weakest man in the room; the newest of recruits could manage more than he could.

“Are you going to make a go of it, then?” Coteren asked softly. “I asked them to leave you, because I knew you’d try it eventually. I wanted the satisfaction, pageboy. Come on. Strike. Let’s see it.”

Androl reached out, trying to do the one thing he could do, form a gateway. To him, this was something beyond weaves. It was just him and the Power, something intimate, something instinctive.

Trying to make a gateway now felt like trying to scramble up a hundred-foot glass wall with only his fingernails to give him purchase. He leaped, scrambled, tried. Nothing happened. He felt so close: if he could just push a little harder, he could . . .

The shadows lengthened. The panic rose in him again. Teeth gritted, Androl reached to his collar and ripped the pin free. He dropped it on the floorboards before Coteren with a clink. Nobody in the room spoke.

Then, burying his shame under a mountain of determination, he released the One Power and pushed past Mezar into the night. Nalaam, Canler and Pevara followed with anxious steps.

The rain washed over Androl. He felt the loss of that pin as he might have felt the loss of a hand.

“Androl . . .” Nalaam said. “I’m sorry.”

Thunder rumbled. They splashed through muddy puddles on the unpaved street. “It doesn’t matter,” Androl said.

“Maybe we should have fought,” Nalaam said. “Some of the lads in there would have supported us; they’re not all in his pocket. Once, Father and I, we fought down six Darkhounds—Light upon my grave, we did. If we survived that, we can deal with a few Asha’man dogs.”

“We’d have been slaughtered,” Androl said.

“But—”

“We’d have been slaughtered!” Androl said. “We don’t let them pick the battlefield, Nalaam.”

“But there will be a battle?” Canler asked, catching up to Androl on the other side.

“They have Logain,” Androl said. “They wouldn’t make the promises they’re making unless they did. Everything dies—our rebellion, our chances at a unified Black Tower—if we lose him.”

“So . . ”

“So we’re going to rescue him,” Androl said, continuing forward. “Tonight.”

Rand worked by the soft, steady light of a saidin globe. Before Dragonmount, he’d begun avoiding this kind of common use of the One Power. Seizing it had made him sick, and using it had revolted him more and more.

That had changed. Saidin was part of him, and he needed to fear it no longer, now that the taint was gone. More importantly, he had to stop thinking of it—and of himself—as merely a weapon.

He would work by globes of light whenever he could. He intended to go to Flinn to learn Healing. He had little skill in it, but a little skill could save the life of someone wounded. All too often, Rand had used this wonder—this gift—only to destroy or kill. Was it any wonder that people looked upon him with fear? What would Tam say?

I guess I could ask him, Rand thought idly as he made a notation to himself on a piece of paper. It was still hard to get used to the idea of Tam being there, just one camp over. Rand had dined with him earlier. It had been awkward, but no more so than expected for a king inviting his father from a rural village to “dine.” They had laughed about it, which had made him feel much better.

Rand had let Tam return to Perrin’s camp rather than seeing him given honors and wealth. Tam didn’t want to be hailed as the Dragon Reborn’s father. He wanted to be what he’d always been—Tam al’Thor, a solid, dependable man by anyone’s measure, but not a lord.

Rand went back to the document in front of him. Clerks in Tear had advised him on the proper language, but he had done the actual writing; he hadn’t trusted any other hand—or any other eyes—with this document.

Was he being too careful? What his enemies could not anticipate, they could not work against. He had grown too distrustful after Semirhage had nearly captured him. He recognized this. However, he’d been holding secrets close to him for so long, it was difficult to let them out.

He started at the top of the document, rereading. Once, Tam had sent Rand to examine a fence for weak spots. Rand had done so, but when he’d returned, Tam had sent him on the same duty again.

It hadn’t been until the third pass that Rand had found the loose post that needed replacing. He still didn’t know if Tam had known about the post, or if his father had just been being his careful self.

This document was far more important than a fence. Rand would look it over a dozen more times this night, searching for problems he had not foreseen.

Unfortunately, it was hard to concentrate. The women were up to something. He could feel them through the balls of emotion in the back of his mind. There were four of those—Alanna was still there, somewhere to the north. The other three had been near to one another all night; now they’d made their way almost to his tent. What were they up to? It—

Wait. One of them had split off from the others. She was nearly here. Aviendha?

Rand stood up, walking to the front of his tent and throwing back the flaps.

She froze in place just outside, as if she’d been intending to sneak into his tent. She raised her chin, meeting his eyes.

Suddenly, shouts rose in the night. For the first time, he noticed that his guards were not in attendance. However, the Maidens made camp near his tent, and they appeared to be shouting at him. Not with joy, as he’d expected. Insults. Terrible ones. Several were screaming about what they’d do to certain parts of his body when they caught him.

“What is this?” he murmured.

“They don’t mean it,” Aviendha said. “It is a symbol to them of you taking me away from their ranks—but I have already left their ranks to join the Wise Ones. It is a . . . thing of the Maidens. It is actually a sign of respect. If they did not like you, they would not act this way.”

Aiel. “Wait,” he said. “How have I taken you from them?”

Aviendha looked him in the eyes, but color rose in her cheeks. Aviendha? Blushing? That was unexpected.

“You should understand already,” she said. “If you’d paid attention to what I told you about us . . .”