Winter's Heart

by Robert Jordan

  A tall pale woman in dark green silk shook her head at a stocky man in a tight-fitting black Tairen coat. An iron-gray bun made her look a little like Cadsuane from the side. He appeared to be made of stone blocks, but his dark square face was worried. “You can put your mind at ease about Andor, Master Admira,” she said soothingly. “Believe me, the Andorans will shout and shake swords at one another, but they’ll never let it come to actual fighting. It is in your best interests to stay with the present route for your goods. Cairhien would tax you a fifth more than Far Madding. Think of the added expense.” The Tairen grimaced as if he were thinking of it. Or wondering whether his best interests really coincided with hers.

  “I hear the body did be all black and swollen,” a lean, white-bearded Illianer in a dark blue coat said at another table. “I hear the Counsels did order it burned.” He raised his eyebrows significantly and tapped the side of a pointed nose that gave him the appearance of a weasel.

  “If there was plague in the city, Master Azereos, the Counsels would have announced it,” the slim woman sitting across from him said calmly. With two elaborate ivory combs in her rolled hair, she was pretty, in a fox-faced way, and cool as an Aes Sedai, though with faint lines at the corners of her brown eyes. “I really do suggest against moving any of your trade to Lugard. Murandy is most unsettled. The nobles will never stand for Roedran building an army. And there are Aes Sedai involved, as I’m sure you have heard. The Light alone knows what they will do.” The Illianer shrugged uncomfortably. These days, no one was very certain what Aes Sedai would do, if they ever had been.

  A Kandori with gray streaks in his forked beard and a large pearl in his left ear was leaning toward a stout woman in dark gray silk who wore her black hair in a tight roll along the top of her head. “I hear the Dragon Reborn has been crowned King of Illian, Mistress Shimel.” A frown put more wrinkles in his forehead. “Given the White Tower’s proclamation, I am considering sending my spring wagons to travel along the Erinin to Tear. The River Road may be a harder route, but Illian is not such a market for furs that I want to take too many risks.”

  The stout woman smiled, a very thin smile for such a round face. “I’m told the man has hardly been seen in Illian since he took the crown, Master Posavina. In any case, the Tower will deal with him, if it hasn’t already, and this morning, I received word that the Stone of Tear is under siege. That is hardly a situation where you will find much market for furs, now it? No, Tear is not a place to avoid risks.” The wrinkles in Master Posavina’s forehead deepened.

  Reaching a small table in the corner, Rand tossed his cloak over the back of the chair and sat with his back to the wall, turning up his collar. The lantern-jawed fellow brought a steaming pewter cup of spiced wine, murmured a hurried thanks for the silver, and scurried off at a shout from another table. Two large fireplaces on either side of the room took the chill off the air, but if anyone noticed that Rand kept his gloves on, no one glanced at him twice. He pretended to stare into the winecup between his hands on the table while keeping an eye on the door to the street.

  Most of what he had overheard did not interest him greatly. He had heard as much before, and sometimes knew more than the people he eavesdropped on. Elayne agreed with the pale woman, for example, and she had to know Andor better than any Far Madding merchant. The Stone under siege was new, though. Still, he need not trouble himself with it yet. The Stone had never fallen, except to him, and he knew Alanna was somewhere in Tear. He had felt her leap from just north of Far Madding to somewhere much farther north, then, a day later, to somewhere far to the south and east. She was distant enough that he could not say whether she was in Haddon Mirk or the city of Tear itself, yet he was confident she was one place or the other, with four other sisters he could trust. If Merana and Rafela could get what he wanted from the Sea Folk, they could from the Tairens, too. Rafela was Tairen, and that should help. No, the world could get along without him a little longer. It had to.

  A tall man swathed in a long, damp cloak with the hood hiding his face came in from the street, and Rand’s eyes followed him to the stairs at the back of the room. Starting up, the fellow threw back his cowl, revealing a fringe of gray hair and a pale pinched face. He could not be the one the serving man meant. No one with eyes would confuse him with Peral Torval.

  Rand went back to studying the surface of his wine, his thoughts turning sour. Min and Nynaeve had refused to spend one more hour tramping the streets, as Min had put it, and he suspected Alivia was only going through the motions of showing the drawings. When she did even that. They were all three out of the city for the day, in the hills, he judged from what the bond told him of Min. She felt very excited about something. The three of them believed Kisman had fled after failing to kill Rand, and the other renegades had either gone with him or never come at all. They had all been trying to talk him into leaving for days, now. At least Lan had not given up.

  Why can’t the women be right? Lews Therin whispered fiercely in his head. This city is worse than any prison. There is no Source here! Why would they stay? Why would any sane man stay? We could ride out, beyond the barrier, just for a day, a few hours. Light, just for a few hours! The voice laughed uncontrollably, wildly. Oh, Light, why do I have a madman in my head? Why? Why?

  Angrily, Rand forced Lews Therin to a muted hum, like a biteme buzzing nearby. He had thought about accompanying the women on their ride, just to feel the Source again, though only Min had shown much enthusiasm. Nynaeve and Alivia would not admit why they wanted to ride out when the morning sky had promised the rain that was pouring down outside now. This was not the first time they had gone. To feel the Source, he suspected. To drink in the One Power again, if only for a short time. Well, he could endure not being able to channel. He could endure the absence of the Source. He could! He had to, so he could kill the men who had tried to kill him.

  That is not the reason! Lews Therin shouted, forcing past Rand’s efforts to shut him up. You are afraid! If the sickness takes you while you are trying to use the access ter’angreal, it could kill you, or worse! It could kill us all! he moaned.

  Wine slopped over Rand’s wrist, soaking his coats-leeve, and he loosened his grip on the winecup. The thing had not been in true round to begin with, and he did not think he had bent it enough to be noticed. He was not afraid! He refused to let fear touch him. Light, he had to die, eventually. He had accepted that.

  They tried to kill me, and I want them dead for it, he thought. If it takes a little time, well, maybe the sickness will pass by then. Burn you, I have to live until the Last Battle. In his head, Lews Therin laughed more wildly than before.

  Another tall man swaggered in, through the door to the stableyard, almost at the foot of the stairs in the back of the room. Shaking rain from his cloak, he tossed back his hood and strode to the doorway of the Women’s Room. With his sneering mouth and sharp nose, and a gaze that swept contemptuously over the people at the tables, he did look something like Torval, but with twenty years’ more wear on his face and thirty pounds of fat on his frame. Peering through the yellow arch, he called out in a high, prissy voice that was thick with the accents of Illian. “Mistress Gallger, I do be leaving in the morning. Early, so I do expect no charges for tomorrow, mind!” Torval was a Taraboner.

  Gathering his cloak, Rand left his winecup on the table and did not look back.

  The noon sky was gray and cold, and if the rain had slackened, it was not by much, and driven by blustery lake winds, it was enough to have driven almost everyone from the streets. He held the cloak around him one-handed, as much to shelter, the drawings in his coat pocket as to keep the rest of him dry, and used the other to hold his hood against the gusts. The windblown raindrops hit his face like flecks of ice. A lone sedan chair passed him, the bearers’ hair hanging sodden down their backs and their boots splashing in puddles on the paving stones. A few people trudged along the streets wrapped up in their cloaks. There were hours of daylight left, such as it was, but he
walked by an inn called The Heart of the Plain without going in, and then by The Three Ladies of Maredo. He told himself it was the rain. This was no weather to be making his way from inn to inn. He knew he was lying, though.

  A short stout woman coming down the street bundled in a dark cloak suddenly veered toward him. When she stopped in front of him and raised her head, he saw it was Verin.

  “So you are here after all,” she said. Raindrops fell on her upturned face, but she did not seem to notice. “Your innkeeper thought you intended to walk up to the Avharin, but she was not sure. I’m afraid Mistress Keene doesn’t pay much attention to the comings and goings of men. And here I am with my shoes soaked through, and my stockings. I used to like walking in the rain when I was a girl, but it seems to have lost its charm somewhere along the way.”

  “Did Cadsuane send you?” he asked, trying to keep his voice from sounding hopeful. He had kept his room at The Counsel’s Head after Alanna left so that Cadsuane could find him. He could hardly make her interested if she had to hunt for him inn by inn. Especially since she had shown no evidence that she would hunt.

  “Oh, no; she would never do that.” Verin sounded surprised at the thought. “I just thought you might want to hear the news. Cadsuane is out riding with the girls.” She frowned thoughtfully, tilting her head. “Though I suppose I shouldn’t call Alivia a girl. An intriguing woman. Much too old to become a novice, unfortunately; oh, yes, very unfortunate. She drinks in whatever she’s taught. I believe she may know almost every way there is to destroy something with the Power, but she knows almost nothing else.”

  He drew her to the side of the street, where the deep overhanging eaves of a single-story stone house gave a little shelter from the rain, if not from the wind to any great extent. Cadsuane was with Min and the others? It might mean nothing. He had seen Aes Sedai fascinated with Nynaeve before, and according to Min, Alivia was even stronger. “What news, Verin?” he said quietly.

  The round little Aes Sedai blinked as though she forgotten there was any news, then smiled suddenly. “Oh, yes. The Seanchan. They are in Illian. Not the city, not yet; no need to go pale. But they have crossed the border. They are building fortified camps along the coast and inland. I know little of military matters. I always skip over the battles when I read a history. But it does seem to me that whether they are in the city yet or not, that is where they are aiming. Your battles don’t seem to have done much to slow them. That’s why I don’t read about the battles. They seldom seem to alter anything in the long run, only in the short. Are you well?”

  He forced his eyes open. Verin peered up at him like a chubby sparrow. All that fighting, all those men dead, men he had killed, and it had changed nothing. Nothing!

  She is wrong, Lews Therin murmured in his head. Battles can alter history. He did not sound pleased with it. The trouble is, sometimes you cannot say how history will be changed until it is too late.

  “Verin, if I went to Cadsuane, would she talk with me? About something other than how my manners don’t suit her? That’s all she ever seems to care about.”

  “Oh, dear. I’m afraid Cadsuane is very much a traditionalist in some ways, Rand. I’ve never actually heard her call a man uppity, but . . .” She laid fingertips against her mouth in thought for a moment, then nodded, raindrops sliding down her face. “I believe she will listen to what you have to say, if you can manage to erase the bad impression you made on her. Or at least smudge it, as much as you can. Few sisters are impressed by titles or crowns, Rand, and Cadsuane less than any other I know. She cares much more about whether or not people are fools. If you can show her you aren’t a fool, she will listen.”

  “Then tell her . . .” He drew a deep breath. Light, he wanted to strangle Kisman and Dashiva and all of them with his bare hands! “Tell her I’ll be leaving Far Madding tomorrow, and I hope she will come with me, as my advisor.” Lews Therin sighed with relief at the first part of that; if he had been more than a voice, Rand would have said he stiffened at the second part. “Tell her I accept her terms; I apologize for my behavior in Cairhien, and I will do my best to watch my manners in the future.” Saying that hardly grated at all. Well, a little, but unless Min was wrong, he needed Cadsuane, and Min was never wrong with her viewings.

  “So you found what you are after here?” He frowned at her, and she smiled back and patted his arm. “If you had come to Far Madding thinking you could conquer the city by announcing who you are, you would have left as soon as you realized you cannot channel here. That leaves wanting to find something, or someone.”

  “Maybe I found what I need,” he said curtly. Just not what he wanted.

  “Then come to the Barsalla palace, on the Heights, this evening, Rand. Anyone can tell you how to find it. I really am sure she will be willing to listen to you.” Shifting her cloak, she seemed to notice the dampness of the wool for the first time. “Oh, my. I must go dry off. I suggest you do the same.” Half turned to leave, she paused and looked back over her shoulder at him. Her dark eyes were unblinking. Suddenly she did not sound muddled at all. “You could do far worse than Cadsuane for an advisor, Rand, but I doubt you could do better. If she accepts, and you truly are not a fool, you will listen to her advice.” She glided away through the rain looking nothing so much as a very stout swan.

  Sometimes that woman frightens me, Lews Therin murmured, and Rand nodded. Cadsuane did not frighten him, but she made him wary. Any Aes Sedai who had not sworn to him made him wary, except for Nynaeve. And he was not always certain of her, either.

  The rain died away while he was walking the two miles back to The Counsel’s Head, but the wind picked up, and the sign over the door, painted with the stern visage of a woman wearing the jeweled coronet of a First Counsel, swung on creaking hinges. The common room was smaller than that of The Golden Wheel, but the wall panels were carved and polished, the tables beneath the red ceiling beams not so crowded together. The doorway to the Women’s Room was red, too, and carved like intricate lace, as were the lintels of the pale marble fireplaces. At The Counsel’s Head, the serving men secured their long hair with polished silver clips. Only two of them were to be seen, standing near the kitchen door, but there were just three men at the tables, foreign merchants sitting far apart, each engrossed in his own wine. Competitors, perhaps, since now and then one or another would shift on his chair and frown at the other two. One, a graying man, wore a dark gray silk coat, and a lean fellow with a hard face had a red stone the size of a pigeon’s egg in his ear. The Counsel’s Head catered to the wealthier outland merchants, and there were not many of those in Far Madding at present.

  The clock on a mantel in the Women’s Room—a clock with a silver case, so Min said—rang the hour with small bells as he came into the common room, and before he had finished shaking out his cloak, Lan entered. As soon as the Warder met Rand’s eye, he shook his head. Well, Rand had not really expected to find them at this point. Even for a ta’veren, that might be pushing the impossible.

  Once they both had steaming cups of wine and were settled on a long red bench in front of one of the fireplaces, he told Lan what he had decided, and why. Part of why. The important part. “If I had my hands on them right this minute, I’d kill them and take my chances escaping, but killing them changes nothing. It doesn’t change enough, anyway,” he corrected, frowning into the flames. “I can wait one more day, hoping to find them tomorrow, for weeks. Months. Only, the world won’t wait for me. I thought I’d be done with them by now, but events are already marching ahead of what I expected. Just the events I know about. Light, what’s happening that I don’t know about because I haven’t heard some merchant nattering about it over his wine?”

  “You can never know everything,” Lan said quietly, “and part of what you know is always wrong. Perhaps even the most important part. A portion of wisdom lies in knowing that. A portion of courage lies in going on anyway.”

  Rand stretched his boots toward the fire. “Did Nynaeve tell you she and
the others have been keeping company with Cadsuane? They’re on a ride with her right now.” On the way back from it, rather. He could feel Min drawing closer. She would not be much longer. She was still excited about something, a feeling that surged and fell as if she were trying to hold it down.

  Lan smiled, a rare event without Nynaeve present. It did not reach his icy eyes, though. “She forbade me to reveal it to you, but since you already know . . . She and Min convinced Alivia that if they could catch Cadsuane’s interest themselves, they might be able to bring her closer to you. They found out where she is staying and asked her to teach them.” The smile faded, leaving a face carved from stone. “My wife has made a sacrifice for you, sheepherder,” he said quietly. “I hope you remember that. She will not say much, but I believe Cadsuane treats her as if she were still one of the Accepted, or maybe a novice. You know how hard that would be for Nynaeve to bear.”

  “Cadsuane treats everyone as if they were novices,” Rand muttered. Uppity? Light, how was he to deal with the woman? And yet he had to find a way. They sat in silence, staring at the fire until steam began to rise from their out-thrust bootsoles.

  The bond gave him warning, and he looked around just as Nynaeve appeared through the door to the stableyard, and then Min and Alivia, shaking the rain off their cloaks and adjusting their divided skirts and grimacing at damp spots as if they had expected to go riding in this weather without getting damp. As usual, Nynaeve was wearing her jeweled ter’angreal, belt and necklace, bracelets and rings, and the odd bracelet-and-rings angreal.

  Still neatening herself, Min looked at Rand and smiled, not at all surprised to see him there, of course. Warmth flowed from her along the bond like a caress, though she was still trying to suppress her excitement. The other two women took longer to notice Lan and him, but when they did, they handed their cloaks to one of the serving men to be taken up to their rooms and joined the two men at the fireplace, holding out their hands to the warmth.