The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  “That’s as may be, Min, but—”

  “That’s as is, sheepherder,” she cut in firmly, “and if you say different again, you had best shout for the Maidens and channel for all you’re worth, because I’ll thump you around this room till you squeal for mercy. You need a shave. And a bath.”

  Rand took a deep breath. Perrin had such a serene marriage, with a smiling, gentle wife. Why was it that he always seemed drawn to women who spun his head like a top? If only he knew the tenth part of what Mat did about women, he would have known what to say to all that, but as it was, all he could do was blunder on. “In any case,” he said cautiously, “there’s only one thing I can do.”

  “And what might that be?” She folded her arms tight beneath her breasts, and her foot began tapping ominously, but he knew this was the right thing to do.

  “Send you away.” Just as he had Elayne, and Aviendha. “If I had any self-control, I wouldn’t have—” That foot started tapping faster. Maybe better to leave that alone. Comforted? Light! “Min, anyone close to me is in danger. The Forsaken aren’t the only ones who would harm somebody near me just on the chance it might harm me, too. And now there’s me, as well. I can’t control my temper anymore. Min, I nearly killed Perrin! Cadsuane was right. I’m going mad, or there already. I have to send you away so you’ll be safe.”

  “Who is this Cadsuane?” she said, so calmly that he gave a start at noticing that her foot was still tapping. “Alanna mentioned that name as if she was the Creator’s sister. No, don’t tell me; I don’t care.” Not that she gave him one hair of a gap to tell anything. “I don’t care about Perrin, either. You would hurt me as soon as him. I think that great public fight of yours was a fake, is what I think. I don’t care about your temper, and I don’t care whether you’re mad. You can’t be very mad, or you’d not be worrying about it so. What I do care about. . . .”

  She bent until those very big, very dark eyes were level with his, not a great distance away, and suddenly there was such a light glaring in them that he seized saidin, ready to defend himself. “Send me away to be safe?” she growled. “How dare you? What right do you think you have to send me anywhere? You need me, Rand al’Thor! If I told you half the viewings I’ve had about you, half your hair would curl and the rest fall out! You dare! You let the Maidens face any risk they want, and you want to send me away like a child?”

  “I don’t love the Maidens.” Floating deep in the emotionless Void, he heard those words spring from his tongue, and shock shattered the emptiness and sent saidin flying.

  “Well,” Min said, straightening. A small smile added more curve to her lips. “That’s out of the way.” And she sat down on his lap.

  She had said he would not hurt Perrin any more than he would her, but he had to hurt her now. He had to, for her own good. “I love Elayne, too,” he said brutally. “And Aviendha. You see what I am?” For some reason, that did not seem to faze her at all.

  “Rhuarc loves more than one woman,” she said. Her smile seemed almost of Aes Sedai serenity. “So does Bael, and I never noticed any Trolloc’s horns on either. No, Rand, you love me, and you can’t back out of that. I ought to string you up on tenterhooks for what you’ve put me through, but. . . . Just so you’ll know, I love you, too.” The smile faded in a frown of internal struggle, and finally she sighed. “Life would be a deal easier sometimes if my aunts hadn’t brought me up to be fair,” she muttered. “And to be fair, Rand, I have to tell you that Elayne loves you, too. So does Aviendha. If both of Mandelain’s wives can love him, I suppose three women can manage to love you. But I’m here, and if you try to send me away, I’ll tie myself to your leg.” Her nose wrinkled. “Once you start bathing again, anyway. But I won’t go, no matter what.”

  Just exactly like a top, his head spun. “You—love me?” he said incredulously. “How do you know what Elayne feels? How you know anything about Aviendha? Light! Mandelain can do what he likes, Min; I’m not Aiel.” He frowned. “What was that you said about telling me half of what you see? I thought you told me everything. And I am too sending you somewhere safe. And stop doing your nose like that! I don’t smell!” He jerked the hand he had been scratching with from under his coat.

  Her arched eyebrow spoke volumes, but of course her tongue had to have its bit, too. “You dare take that tone? Like you don’t believe it?” Suddenly her voice began to rise by the word, and she augured a finger against his chest as though she meant to drive it through him. “Do you think I’d go to bed with a man I did not love? Do you? Or maybe you think you aren’t worth loving? Is that it?” She made a sound like a stepped-on cat. “So I’m some little bit of fluff without a brain in her head, falling in love with a worthless lout, am I? You sit there gaping like a sick ox and slander my wits, my taste, my—”

  “If you don’t quiet down and talk sense,” he growled, “I swear, I’ll smack your bottom!” That leaped out of nowhere, out of sleepless nights and confusion, but before he could begin to form an apology, she smiled. The woman smiled!

  “At least you’re not sulking anymore,” she said. “Don’t ever whine, Rand; you are no good at it. Now, then. You want sense? I love you, and I will not go. If you try to send me away, I’ll tell the Maidens you ruined me and cast me aside. I’ll tell everybody who will listen. I will—”

  He raised his right hand and studied the flat of his palm, where the branded heron stood clear, then looked at her. She eyed his hand warily and shifted herself on his knees, then conspicuously ignored everything except his face.

  “I won’t go, Rand,” she said quietly. “You need me.”

  “How do you do it?” he sighed, slumping back in the chair. “Even when you stand me on my head, you make all my troubles shrink.”

  Min sniffed. “You need to be stood on your head more often. Tell me. This Aviendha. I don’t suppose there is any chance she’s bony and scarred, like Nandera.”

  He laughed in spite of himself. Light, how long since he had laughed with pleasure? “Min, I’d say she is as pretty as you, but how can you compare two sunrises?”

  For a moment she stared at him with a small smile, as if she could not decide whether to be surprised or delighted. “You are a very dangerous man, Rand al’Thor,” she murmured, leaning toward him slowly. He thought he might fall into her eyes and be lost. All those times before when she sat on his lap and kissed him, all those times he had thought she was only teasing a country boy, he had nearly crawled out of his skin wanting to kiss her forever. Now, if she kissed him again now. . . .

  Taking her firmly by the arms, he stood and set her on her feet. He loved her, and she loved him, but he had to remember that he wanted to kiss Elayne forever when he thought about her, and Aviendha. Whatever Min said about Rhuarc or any Aiel man, she had made a poor bargain the day she fell in love with him. “You said half, Min,” he said quietly. “What viewings haven’t you told me?”

  She looked up at him with what almost might have been frustration, except of course that it could not have been. “You’re in love with the Dragon Reborn, Min Farshaw,” she grumbled, “and best you remember it. Best you did, too, Rand,” she added, pulling away. He let her go reluctantly, eagerly; he did not know which. “You’ve been back in Cairhien half a week, and you still have done nothing about the Sea Folk. Berelain thought you might drag your feet again. She left me a letter, asking me to keep reminding you, only you wouldn’t let me—Well, never mind that. Berelain thinks they’re important to you somehow; she says you’re the fulfillment of some prophecy of theirs.”

  “I know all about that, Min. I—” He had thought to leave the Sea Folk out of being tangled with him; they were not mentioned in the Prophecies of the Dragon that he could find. But if he was going to let Min stay near him, let her risk the dangers. . . . She had won, he realized. He had watched Elayne walk away with his heart sinking, watched Aviendha go with his stomach in knots. He could not do it again. Min stood there waiting. “I’ll go to their ship. I’ll go today. The Se
a Folk can kneel to the Dragon Reborn in all his splendor. I don’t suppose there was ever any hope for anything else. Either they’re mine, or they’re my enemies. That is how it always seems to be. Will you tell me about those viewings, now?”

  “Rand, you should study what they’re like before you—”

  “The viewings?”

  She folded her arms and frowned up at him through her lashes. She chewed her lip and frowned at the door. She shook her head and muttered under her breath. At last she said, “There is only one, really. I was exaggerating. I saw you and another man. I couldn’t make out either face, but I knew one was you. You touched, and seemed to merge into one another, and. . . .” Her mouth tightened worriedly, and she went on in a very small voice. “I don’t know what it means, Rand, except that one of you dies, and one doesn’t. I—Why are you grinning? This isn’t a joke, Rand. I do not know which of you dies.”

  “I’m grinning because you’ve given me very good news,” he said, touching her cheek. The other man had to be Lews Therin. I’m not just insane and hearing voices, he thought, jubilant. One lived and one died, but he had known for a long time that he was going to die. At least he was not mad. Or not as far mad as he had feared. There was still the temper he could barely control. “You see, I—”

  Suddenly he realized that he had gone from touching her cheek to cupping her face in both hands. He pulled them away as if burned. Min pursed her lips and gave him a reproving look, but he was not going to take advantage of her. It would not be fair to her. Luckily, his stomach rumbled loudly.

  “I need something to eat, if I’m going to see the Sea Folk. I saw a tray. . . .”

  Min made a sound more snort than sniff as he turned away, but the next moment she was sailing toward the tall doors. “You need a bath, if we’re going to the Sea Folk.”

  Nandera was delighted, nodding enthusiastically and sending Maidens running. Though she did lean close to Min and say, “I should have let you in the first day. I wanted to kick him, but it is not done, kicking the Car’a’carn.” By her tone, it should have been done. She spoke softly, yet not so softly he could not hear. He was sure that was deliberate; she directed too sharp a glare at him for it not to be.

  Maidens lugged in the big copper tub themselves, flashing handtalk once they set it down, laughing and too excited to let the Sun Palace servants do the work, or bring in the stream of buckets filled with hot water, either. Rand had a hard time taking his own clothes off. For that matter, he had a hard time washing himself, and he could not escape Nandera lathering his hair. Flaxen-haired Somara and fiery-haired Enaila insisted on shaving him as he sat chest-deep in the tub, concentrating so intently they seemed afraid they might cut his throat. He was used to that from other times they had refused to let him handle brush and razor himself. He was used to the Maidens who stood around watching, offering to scrub his back or his feet, hands flickering in silent chatter and still more than half-scandalized at the sight of someone sitting in water. Besides, he managed to get rid of some, at least, by sending them off carrying orders.

  What he was not used to was Min, sitting cross-legged on the bed with her chin on her hands, watching the whole thing in very evident fascination. In all the crowd of Maidens, he had not realized she was there until he was naked, and all there was to do then was sit down as fast as he could, splashing water over the sides of the tub. The woman would have done very well as a Maiden herself. She discussed him with the Maidens quite openly, with never a blush! He was the one who blushed.

  “Yes, he is very modest,” she said, agreeing with Malindare, a woman more rounded than most Maidens, with the darkest hair Rand had seen on any Aiel. “Modesty is a man’s crowning glory.” Malindare nodded soberly, but Min wore a grin that nearly split her cheeks.

  And, “Oh, no, Domeille; it would be a shame to spoil such a pretty face with a scar.” Domeille, grayer than Nandera, leaner, and with a thrusting chin, insisted that he was not pretty enough to do without a scar to set off what beauty he had. Her words. The rest was worse. The Maidens had always seemed to enjoy making his face red. Min certainly did.

  “You have to dry off sooner or later, Rand,” she said, holding up a long piece of white toweling with both hands. She stood a good three paces from the tub, and the Maidens had all backed into a watching ring. Min’s smile was so innocent any magistrate would have found her guilty on that alone. “Come and get dry, Rand.”

  He had never been so relieved to pull on clothes in his life.

  By that time, all his orders had been carried out, and everything was in readiness. Rand al’Thor might have been routed in a bathtub, but the Dragon Reborn was going to the Sea Folk in a style that would send them plummeting to their knees with awe.

  CHAPTER

  34

  Ta’veren

  All was ready as Rand had ordered in the courtyard at the front of the Sun Palace. Or almost all. The morning sun slanted shadows from the stepped towers, so only ten paces in front of the tall bronze gates lay in full light. Dashiva and Flinn and Narishma, the three Asha’man he had retained, waited beside their horses, even Dashiva resplendent with the silver sword and red-and-gold Dragon on his black collar, though he still touched the sword at his hip as if constantly surprised to find it there. A hundred of Dobraine’s armsmen sat their mounts behind Dobraine himself with two long banners that hung down in the still air, their dark armor newly lacquered so it glistened in the sun, and silk streamers of red and white and black tied below the heads of their lances. They raised a cheer when Rand appeared, his sword belt with its gilded Dragon buckle strapped over a red coat heavy with gold.

  “Al’Thor! Al’Thor! Al’Thor!” filled the courtyard. People crowding the archers’ balconies joined in, Tairen and Cairhienin in their silks and laces who just a week before had no doubt cheered Colavaere as loudly. Men and women who would as soon he had never returned to Cairhien, some of them, waving their arms and giving voice. He raised the Dragon Scepter to acknowledge them, and they roared louder.

  A thunderous roll of drums and a blare of trumpets rose through the cheers, produced by a dozen more of Dobraine’s men who wore crimson tabards with the black-and-white disc on the chest, half carrying long trumpets draped in identical cloths, the other half with kettle drums also decorated slung on either side of the horses. Five Aes Sedai in their shawls came to meet him as he descended the broad stairs. At least, they glided toward him. Alanna gave him one searching look with those big dark penetrating eyes; the tiny knot of emotions in his skull said she was calmer, more relaxed, than he ever remembered. Then she made a small motion, and Min touched his arm and went aside with her. Bera and the others made small curtsies, inclining their heads slightly, as Aiel streamed out of the palace behind him. Nandera led two hundred Maidens—they were not about to be outshone by the “oathbreakers”—and Camar, a rangy Bent Peak Daryne grayer than Nandera and half a head taller than Rand, led two hundred Seia Doon who would not be outshone by Far Dareis Mai, let alone Cairhienin. They swung past on either side of him and the Aes Sedai to ring the courtyard. Bera like a proud farmwife and Alanna like some darkly beautiful queen, in their green-fringed shawls, and plump Rafela, even darker wrapped in her blue, watching him anxiously, and cool-eyed Faeldrin, yet another Green, her thin braids worked with colored beads, and slim Merana in her gray, whose frown made Rafela seem a picture of Aes Sedai serenity. Five.

  “Where are Kiruna and Verin?” he demanded. “I called for all of you.”

  “So you did, my Lord Dragon,” Bera answered smoothly. She made another curtsy, too; only the slightest dip, but it took him aback. “We could not find Verin; she is somewhere in the Aiel tents. Questioning the . . .” Her smooth tone faltered for one instant. “. . . the prisoners, I believe, in an attempt to learn what was planned once they reached Tar Valon.” Once he reached Tar Valon; she knew enough not to blurt that where anyone could hear. “And Kiruna is . . . consulting with Sorilea on a matter of protocol. But I’m quite certain
she will be more than happy to join us if you send a personal summons to Sorilea. I could go myself, if you—”

  He waved that away. Five should be enough. Perhaps Verin could learn something. Did he want to know? And Kiruna. A matter of protocol? “I’m glad you are getting on with the Wise Ones.” Bera started to speak, then closed her mouth firmly. Whatever Alanna was saying to Min, scarlet spots had flared in Min’s cheeks and she had raised her chin, though oddly, she seemed to be replying calmly enough. He wondered whether she would tell him. One thing he was sure of about women was that every last one had secret places in her heart, sometimes shared with another woman but never with a man. The only thing he was sure of about women.

  “I didn’t come out here to stand all day,” he said irritably. The Aes Sedai had arranged themselves with Bera in the lead, the others half a step back. If it had not been her, it would have been Kiruna. Their own arrangements, not his. He did not really care so long as they held to their oaths, and he might have left it alone if not for Min and Alanna. “Merana will speak for you from now on; you will take your orders from her.”

  By the suddenly widened eyes, you would have thought he had slapped every one of them. Including Merana. Even Alanna’s head whipped around. Why should they be startled? True, Bera or Kiruna had done almost all the talking since Dumai’s Wells, but Merana had been the ambassador sent to him at Caemlyn.

  “If you are ready, Min?” he said, and without waiting for a reply strode out into the courtyard. The big, fiery-eyed black gelding he had ridden back from Dumai’s Wells had been brought out for him, with a high-cantled saddle all worked in gold and a crimson saddlecloth embroidered with the disc of black-and-white at each corner. The trappings suited the animal, and his name. Tai’daishar; in the Old Tongue, Lord of Glory. Horse and trappings both suited the Dragon Reborn.