The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  Slowly he became aware of the rest of the room, only half seen and not taken in during his hasty search for an attacker. Bloody lumps of flesh lay scattered through the straw. There was nothing he could recognize as human except the two heads. Some of the pieces looked chewed. So that’s what happened to the rest of their bodies. He was surprised at the calmness of his thoughts, almost as if he had achieved the void without trying. It was the shock, he knew vaguely.

  He did not recognize either of the heads; the guards had been changed since he was there earlier. He was glad for that. Knowing who they were, even Changu, would have made it worse. Blood covered the walls, too, but in scrawled letters, single words and whole sentences splashed on every which way. Some were harsh and angular, in a language he did not know, though he recognized Trolloc script. Others he could read, and wished he could not. Blasphemies and obscenities bad enough to make a stablehand or a merchant’s guard go pale.

  “Egwene.” Calmness vanished. Shoving his scabbard through his belt, he snatched the lamp from the table, hardly noticing when the heads toppled over. “Egwene! Where are you?”

  He started toward the inner door, took two steps, and stopped, staring. The words on the door, dark and glistening wetly in the light of his lamp, were plain enough.

  WE WILL MEET AGAIN ON TOMAN HEAD.

  IT IS NEVER OVER, AL’THOR.

  His sword dropped from a hand suddenly numb. Never taking his eyes off the door, he bent to pick it up. Instead he grabbed a handful of straw and began scrubbing furiously at the words on the door. Panting, he scrubbed until it was all one bloody smear, but he could not stop.

  “What do you do?”

  At the sharp voice behind him, he whirled, stooping to seize his sword.

  A woman stood in the outer doorway, back stiff with outrage. Her hair was like pale gold, in a dozen or more braids, but her eyes were dark, and sharp on his face. She looked not much older than he, and pretty in a sulky way, but there was a tightness to her mouth he did not like. Then he saw the shawl she had wrapped tightly around her, with its long, red fringe.

  Aes Sedai. And Light help me, she’s Red Ajah. “I. . . . I was just. . . . It’s filthy stuff. Vile.”

  “Everything must be left exactly as it is for us to examine. Touch nothing.” She took a step forward, peering at him, and he took one back. “Yes. Yes, as I thought. One of those with Moiraine. What do you have to do with this?” Her gesture took in the heads on the table and the bloody scrawl on the walls.

  For a minute he goggled at her. “Me? Nothing! I came down here to find. . . . Egwene!”

  He turned to open the inner door, and the Aes Sedai shouted, “No! You will answer me!”

  Suddenly it was all he could do to stand up, to keep holding the lamp and his sword. Icy cold squeezed at him from all sides. His head felt caught in a frozen vise; he could barely breathe for the pressure on his chest.

  “Answer me, boy. Tell me your name.”

  Involuntarily he grunted, trying to answer against the chill that seemed to be pressing his face back into his skull, constricting his chest like frozen iron bands. He clenched his jaws to keep the sound in. Painfully he rolled his eyes to glare at her through a blur of tears. The Light burn you, Aes Sedai! I won’t say a word, the Shadow take you!

  “Answer me, boy! Now!”

  Frozen needles pierced his brain with agony, grated into his bones. The void formed inside him before he even realized he had thought of it, but it could not hold out the pain. Dimly he sensed light and warmth somewhere in the distance. It flickered queasily, but the light was warm, and he was cold. Distant beyond knowing, but somehow just within reach. Light, so cold. I have to reach . . . what? She’s killing me. I have to reach it, or she’ll kill me. Desperately he stretched toward the light.

  “What is going on here?”

  Abruptly the cold and the pressure and the needles vanished. His knees sagged, but he forced them stiff. He would not fall to his knees; he would not give her the satisfaction. The void was gone, too, as suddenly as it had come. She was trying to kill me. Panting, he raised his head. Moiraine stood in the doorway.

  “I asked what is going on here, Liandrin,” she said.

  “I found this boy here,” the Red Aes Sedai replied calmly. “The guards are murdered, and here he is. One of yours. And what are you doing here, Moiraine? The battle is above, not here.”

  “I could ask the same of you, Liandrin.” Moiraine looked around the room with only a slight tightening of her mouth for the charnel. “Why are you here?”

  Rand turned away from them, awkwardly shoved back the bolts on the inner door and pulled it open. “Egwene came down here,” he announced for anyone who cared, and went in, holding his lamp high. His knees kept wanting to give way; he was not sure how he stayed on his feet, only that he had to find Egwene. “Egwene!”

  A hollow gurgle and a thrashing sound came from his right, and he thrust the lamp that way. The prisoner in the fancy coat was sagging against the iron grille of his cell, his belt looped around the bars and then around his neck. As Rand looked, he gave one last kick, scraping across the straw-covered floor, and was still, tongue and eyes bulging out of a face gone almost black. His knees almost touched the floor; he could have stood anytime he wanted to.

  Shivering, Rand peered into the next cell. The big man with the sunken knuckles huddled in the back of his cell, eyes as wide as they could open. At the sight of Rand, he screamed and twisted around, clawing frantically at the stone wall.

  “I won’t hurt you,” Rand called. The man kept on screaming and digging. His hands were bloody, and his scrabblings streaked across dark, conjealed smears. This was not his first attempt to dig through the stone with his bare hands.

  Rand turned away, relieved that his stomach was already empty. But there was nothing he could do for either of them. “Egwene!”

  His light finally reached the end of the cells. The door to Fain’s cell stood open, and the cell was empty, but it was the two shapes on the stone in front of the cell that made Rand leap forward and drop to his knees between them.

  Egwene and Mat lay sprawled bonelessly, unconscious . . . or dead. With a flood of relief he saw their chests rise and fall. There did not seem to be a mark on either of them.

  “Egwene? Mat?” Setting the sword down, he shook Egwene gently. “Egwene?” She did not open her eyes. “Moiraine! Egwene’s hurt! And Mat!” Mat’s breathing sounded labored, and his face was deathly pale. Rand felt almost like crying. It was supposed to hurt me. I named the Dark One. Me!

  “Do not move them.” Moiraine did not sound upset, or even surprised.

  The chamber was suddenly flooded with light as the two Aes Sedai entered. Each balanced a glowing ball of cool light, floating in the air above her hand.

  Liandrin marched straight down the middle of the wide hall, holding her skirts up out of the straw with her free hand, but Moiraine paused to look at the two prisoners before following. “There is nothing to do for the one,” she said, “and the other can wait.”

  Liandrin reached Rand first and began to bend toward Egwene, but Moiraine darted in ahead of her and laid her free hand on Egwene’s head. Liandrin straightened with a grimace.

  “She is not badly hurt,” Moiraine said after a moment. “She was struck here.” She traced an area on the side of Egwene’s head, covered by her hair; Rand could see nothing different about it. “That is the only injury she has taken. She will be all right.”

  Rand looked from one Aes Sedai to the other. “What about Mat?” Liandrin arched an eyebrow at him and turned to watch Moiraine with a wry expression.

  “Be quiet,” Moiraine said. Fingers still lying on the area where she said Egwene had been hit, she closed her eyes. Egwene murmured and stirred, then lay still.

  “Is she . . . ?”

  “She is sleeping, Rand. She will be well, but she must sleep.” Moiraine shifted to Mat, but here she only touched him for a moment before drawing back. “This is more s
erious,” she said softly. She fumbled at Mat’s waist, pulling his coat open, and made an angry sound. “The dagger is gone.”

  “What dagger?” Liandrin asked.

  Voices suddenly came from the outer room, men exclaiming in disgust and anger.

  “In here,” Moiraine called. “Bring two litters. Quickly.” Someone in the outer room raised a cry for litters.

  “Fain is gone,” Rand said.

  The two Aes Sedai looked at him. He could read nothing on their faces. Their eyes glittered in the light.

  “So I see,” Moiraine said in a flat voice.

  “I told her not to come. I told her he was dangerous.”

  “When I came,” Liandrin said in a cold voice, “he was destroying the writing in the outer chamber.”

  He shifted uneasily on his knees. The Aes Sedai’s eyes seemed alike, now. Measuring and weighing him, cool and terrible.

  “It—it was filth,” he said. “Just filth.” They still looked at him, not speaking. “You don’t think I. . . . Moiraine, you can’t think I had anything to do with—with what happened out there.” Light, did I? I named the Dark One.

  She did not answer, and he felt a chill that was not lessened by men rushing in with torches and lamps. Moiraine and Liandrin let their glowing balls wink out. The lamps and torches did not give as much light; shadows sprang up in the depths of the cells. Men with litters hurried to the figures lying on the floor. Ingtar led them. His topknot almost quivered with anger, and he looked eager to find something on which to use his sword.

  “So the Darkfriend is gone, too,” he growled. “Well, it’s the least of what has happened this night.”

  “The least even here,” Moiraine said sharply. She directed the men putting Egwene and Mat on the litters. “The girl is to be taken to her room. She needs a woman to watch in case she wakes in the night. She may be frightened, but more than anything else she needs sleep, now. The boy. . . .” She touched Mat as two men lifted his litter, and pulled her hand back quickly. “Take him to the Amyrlin Seat’s chambers. Find the Amyrlin wherever she is, and tell her he is there. Tell her his name is Matrim Cauthon. I will join her as soon as I am able.”

  “The Amyrlin!” Liandrin exclaimed. “You think to have the Amyrlin as Healer for your—your pet? You are mad, Moiraine.”

  “The Amyrlin Seat,” Moiraine said calmly, “does not share your Red Ajah prejudices, Liandrin. She will Heal a man without need of a special use for him. Go ahead,” she told the litter bearers.

  Liandrin watched them leave, Moiraine and the men carrying Mat and Egwene, then turned to stare at Rand. He tried to ignore her. He concentrated on scabbarding his sword and brushing off the straw that clung to his shirt and breeches. When he raised his head, though, she was still studying him, her face as blank as ice. Saying nothing, she turned to consider the other men thoughtfully. One held the body of the hanged man up while another worked to unfasten the belt. Ingtar and the others waited respectfully. With a last glance at Rand, she left, head held like a queen.

  “A hard woman,” Ingtar muttered, then seemed surprised that he had spoken. “What happened here, Rand al’Thor?”

  Rand shook his head. “I don’t know, except that Fain escaped somehow. And hurt Egwene and Mat doing it. I saw the guardroom”—he shuddered—“but in here. . . . Whatever it was, Ingtar, it scared that fellow bad enough that he hung himself. I think the other one’s gone mad from seeing it.”

  “We are all going mad tonight.”

  “The Fade . . . you killed it?”

  “No!” Ingtar slammed his sword into its sheath; the hilt stuck up above his right shoulder. He seemed angry and ashamed at the same time. “It’s out of the keep by now, along with the rest of what we could not kill.”

  “At least you’re alive, Ingtar. That Fade killed seven men!”

  “Alive? Is that so important?” Suddenly Ingtar’s face was no longer angry, but tired and full of pain. “We had it in our hands. In our hands! And we lost it, Rand. Lost it!” He sounded as if he could not believe what he was saying.

  “Lost what?” Rand asked.

  “The Horn! The Horn of Valere. It’s gone, chest and all.”

  “But it was in the strongroom.”

  “The strongroom was looted,” Ingtar said wearily. “They did not take much, except for the Horn. What they could stuff in their pockets. I wish they had taken everything else and left that. Ronan is dead, and the watchmen he had guarding the strongroom.” His voice became quiet. “When I was a boy, Ronan held Jehaan Tower with twenty men against a thousand Trollocs. He did not go down easily, though. The old man had blood on his dagger. No man can ask more than that.” He was silent for a moment. “They came in through the Dog Gate, and left the same way. We put an end to fifty or more, but too many escaped. Trollocs! We’ve never before had Trollocs inside the keep. Never!”

  “How could they get in through the Dog Gate, Ingtar? One man could stop a hundred there. And all the gates were barred.” He shifted uneasily, remembering why. “The guards would not have opened it to let anybody in.”

  “Their throats were cut,” Ingtar said. “Both good men, and yet they were butchered like pigs. It was done from inside. Someone killed them, then opened the gate. Someone who could get close to them without suspicion. Someone they knew.”

  Rand looked at the empty cell where Padan Fain had been. “But that means. . . .”

  “Yes. There are Darkfriends inside Fal Dara. Or were. We will soon know if that’s the case. Kajin is checking now to see if anyone is missing. Peace! Treachery in Fal Dara keep!” Scowling, he looked around the dungeon, at the men waiting for him. They all had swords, worn over feastday clothes, and some had helmets. “We aren’t doing any good here. Out! Everyone!” Rand joined the withdrawal. Ingtar tapped Rand’s jerkin. “What is this? Have you decided to become a stableman?”

  “It’s a long story,” Rand said. “Too long to tell here. Maybe some other time.” Maybe never, if I’m lucky. Maybe I can escape in all this confusion. No, I can’t. Not until I know Egwene’s all right. And Mat. Light, what will happen to him without the dagger? “I suppose Lord Agelmar’s doubled the guard on all the gates.”

  “Tripled,” Ingtar said in tones of satisfaction. “No one will pass those gates, from inside or out. As soon as Lord Agelmar heard what had happened, he ordered that no one was to be allowed to leave the keep without his personal permission.”

  As soon as he heard . . . ? “Ingtar, what about before? What about the earlier order keeping everyone in?”

  “Earlier order? What earlier order? Rand, the keep was not closed until Lord Agelmar heard of this. Someone told you wrong.”

  Rand shook his head slowly. Neither Ragan nor Tema would have made up something like that. And even if the Amyrlin Seat had given the order, Ingtar would have to know of it. So who? And how? He glanced sideways at Ingtar, wondering if the Shienaran was lying. You really are going mad if you suspect Ingtar.

  They were in the dungeon guardroom, now. The severed heads and the pieces of the guards had been removed, though there were still red smears on the table and damp patches in the straw to show where they had been. Two Aes Sedai were there, placid-looking women with brown-fringed shawls, studying the words scrawled on the walls, careless of what their skirts dragged through in the straw. Each had an inkpot in a writing-case hung at her belt and was making notes in a small book with a pen. They never even glanced at the men trooping through.

  “Look here, Verin,” one of them said, pointing to a section of stone covered with lines of Trolloc script. “This looks interesting.”

  The other hurried over, picking up reddish stains on her skirt. “Yes, I see. A much better hand than the rest. Not a Trolloc. Very interesting.” She began writing in her book, looking up every so often to read the angular letters on the wall.

  Rand hurried out. Even if they had not been Aes Sedai, he would not have wanted to remain in the same room with anyone who thought reading Trolloc scrip
t written in human blood was “interesting.”

  Ingtar and his men stalked on ahead, intent on their duties. Rand dawdled, wondering where he could go now. Getting back into the women’s apartments would not be easy without Egwene to help. Light, let her be all right. Moiraine said she’d be all right.

  Lan found him before he reached the first stairs leading up. “You can go back to your room, if you want, sheepherder. Moiraine had your things fetched from Egwene’s room and taken to yours.”

  “How did she know . . . ?”

  “Moiraine knows a great many things, sheepherder. You should understand that by now. You had better watch yourself. The women are all talking about you running through the halls, waving a sword. Staring down the Amyrlin, so they say.”

  “Light! I am sorry they’re angry, Lan, but I was invited in. And when I heard the alarm . . . burn me, Egwene was down here!”

  Lan pursed his lips thoughtfully; it was the only expression on his face. “Oh, they’re not angry, exactly. Though most of them think you need a strong hand to settle you down some. Fascinated is more like it. Even the Lady Amalisa can’t stop asking questions about you. Some of them are starting to believe the servants’ tales. They think you’re a prince in disguise, sheepherder. Not a bad thing. There is an old saying here in the Borderlands: ‘Better to have one woman on your side than ten men.’ The way they are talking among themselves, they’re trying to decide whose daughter is strong enough to handle you. If you don’t watch your step, sheepherder, you will find yourself married into a Shienaran House before you realize what has happened.” Suddenly he burst out laughing; it looked odd, like a rock laughing. “Running through the halls of the women’s apartments in the middle of the night, wearing a laborer’s jerkin and waving a sword. If they don’t have you flogged, at the very least they’ll talk about you for years. They have never seen a male as peculiar as you. Whatever wife they chose for you, she’d probably have you the head of your own House in ten years, and have you thinking you had done it yourself, besides. It is too bad you have to leave.”