The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  “Then who am I to deny him that?” Rand said. “We all deserve the chance to find peace.”

  Nynaeve found her mouth hanging open. He actually believed that! Or he was convincing himself to believe it, at least.

  “My duty is to kill the Dark One,” Rand said, as if to himself. “I kill him, then I die. That is all.”

  “But—”

  “That is enough, Nynaeve.” Rand spoke softly in that dangerous voice of his. He would not be pressed further.

  Nynaeve sat back, stewing, trying to decide how to press him on the topic. Light! He would leave the people of the Borderlands to suffer and die in the Trolloc invasions? The people there wouldn’t care if the Dark One had been defeated—they would be cooking in stewpots. That would leave Lan and the Malkieri to fight alone, a tiny force to resist the might of every monster that the Blight could spit out.

  The Seanchan would wage their war to the south and the west. The Trollocs would attack from the north and the east. The two would meet, eventually. Andor and the other kingdoms would be turned into a massive battleground, the people there—good people, like those in the Two Rivers—would have no chance against such warfare. They’d be crushed.

  So what could she do to change it? She had to come up with a new strategy to influence Rand. Everything, in her heart, pointed at protecting Lan. She had to get him help!

  The group rode through open grassland spotted occasionally with farms. They passed one on the right, a solitary farmstead not unlike many back in the Two Rivers. Yet, in the Two Rivers, she’d never seen a farmer watch travelers with such open hostility. The red-bearded man in dirtied trousers, with sleeves rolled nearly to his shoulders, leaned against a half-finished fence, his axe laid casually—but very visibly—on the logs beside him.

  His field had seen better years; though the soil had been neatly plowed and harrowed, the furrows had spat forth only the smallest of sprouts. The field was spotted with empty patches where seeds had inexplicably refused to take root, and the plants that were growing had a yellowish cast to them.

  A group of younger men were pulling a stump free from a neighboring field, yet to Nynaeve’s practiced eye, they weren’t actually trying to get any work done. They didn’t have the harness hooked to their ox, and they hadn’t loosened the stump in the earth by digging about it. Those lengths of wood lying in the grass were too stout and smoothly worked to be the shafts of tools. Quarterstaffs. It was almost an amusing display—considering the fact that Rand had two hundred Aiel with him—but it said something. These men expected trouble and were preparing for it. No doubt they could feel the storm themselves.

  This area, close to trade routes and within reach of Tear, was relatively safe from bandits. It was also just far enough north to avoid being caught in squabbles between Illian and Tear. This should have been a place where farmers didn’t need to turn good lumber into quarterstaffs, nor watch strangers with eyes that expected attack.

  That wariness would serve them well when the Trollocs reached them—assuming the Seanchan hadn’t conquered them and pressed them into their armies by that point. Nynaeve tugged her braid again.

  Her mind turned back to Lan. She had to do something! But Rand wasn’t seeing sense. That left only Cadsuane’s mysterious plan. Fool woman, refusing to explain it. Nynaeve had made the first step, offering an alliance, and how had Cadsuane reacted? With presumptuous arrogance, of course. How dare she welcome Nynaeve into her little group of Aes Sedai like a child who had been wandering in the woods!

  How would Nynaeve’s task—discovering where Perrin was—help Lan? During the past week, Nynaeve had pressed Cadsuane for more information, but had failed. “Perform this task well, child,” Cadsuane had said, “and perhaps we shall give you more responsibility in the future. You’ve proven yourself willful at times, and we can’t have that.”

  Nynaeve sighed. Find out where Perrin was. How was she supposed to do that? The Two Rivers folk had been of little use. Many of their men were traveling with Perrin, but they hadn’t been seen for some time. They were in the south somewhere, Altara or Ghealdan, likely. But that left a large area to search.

  She should have known that the Two Rivers would not provide an easy answer. Cadsuane had obviously already tried reaching Perrin herself, and must have failed. That’s why she’d given the task to Nynaeve. Had Rand sent Perrin on some secret mission?

  “Rand?” she said.

  He was muttering roughly to himself.

  She shivered. “Rand,” she said more sharply.

  He stopped muttering, then glanced at her. She thought she could see the anger hidden there, deep within him, a flash of annoyance at her interruption. Then it was gone, replaced by the frighteningly cool control. “Yes?” he asked.

  “Do you . . . know where Perrin is?”

  “He has tasks set before him and performs them,” Rand said, turning away. “Why do you wish to know?”

  Best not to mention Cadsuane. “I’m still worried about him. And about Mat.”

  “Ah,” Rand said. “You are particularly unaccustomed to lying, aren’t you, Nynaeve?”

  She felt her face flush in embarrassment. When had he learned to read people so well! “I am worried about him, Rand al’Thor,” she said. “He has a peaceful, unassuming nature—and always did let his friends push him around too much.”

  There. Let Rand think about that.

  “Unassuming,” Rand said musingly. “Yes, I suppose he is still that. But peaceful? Perrin is no longer too . . . peaceful.”

  So he had been in touch with Perrin recently. Light! How had Cadsuane known, and how had Nynaeve missed those communications? “Rand, if you have Perrin working on something for you, then why have you kept it secret? I deserve to—”

  “I haven’t been meeting with him, Nynaeve,” Rand said. “Calm yourself. There are simply things that I know. We are connected, Perrin, myself and Mat.”

  “How? What do you—”

  “That is all I will say on it, Nynaeve,” Rand interrupted, slicing into her sentence with soft words.

  Nynaeve settled back, gritting her teeth again. The other Aes Sedai spoke of being in control of their emotions, but obviously they didn’t have to deal with Rand al’Thor. Nynaeve could be calm too, if she weren’t expected to manage the most bullheaded fool of a man who had ever put on a pair of boots.

  They rode in silence for a time, the overcast sky hanging above them like a distant field of graymoss peat. The meeting place with the Borderlanders was a nearby crossroads. They could have Traveled directly there, but the Maidens had prevailed upon Rand to arrive a short distance out and approach more carefully. Traveling was extremely convenient, but it also could be dangerous. If your enemies knew where you would appear, you could open a gateway and find yourself ambushed by a line of archers. Even sending scouts through the gateway first wasn’t as safe as Traveling to a spot where nobody was expecting you.

  The Aiel learned, and adapted, quickly. Surprising, really. The Waste was terribly unvaried; every part looked just about the same. Of course, she had overheard some Aiel guards saying something similar about the wetlands.

  This particular crossroads hadn’t been important in years. If Verin or one of the other Brown sisters had been there, they’d likely have been able to explain exactly why. All Nynaeve knew was that the kingdom which had once held this land had fallen long ago, and the only remnant was the independent city of Far Madding. The Wheel of Time turned. The most grand of kingdoms fell, rusted and eventually changed into lazy fields, ruled only by farmers determined to grow a particularly good crop of barley. It had happened to Manetheren, and it had happened here. Great highways that had once transported legions now dwindled to obscure country roads in need of maintenance.

  As they continued, Nynaeve let Moonlight fall back from Rand’s position. That placed her riding near Narishma, with his dark, braided hair, bells tinkling on the ends. He wore black, like most Asha’man, and the Sword and Dragon twinkled on his
collar. He’d changed in the months since being bonded as a Warder. She could no longer look at him and see a boy. This was a man, with the grace of a soldier, the careful eyes of a Warder. A man who had seen death and fought Forsaken.

  “You’re a Borderlander, Narishma,” Nynaeve said. “Do you have any idea why the others left their posts?”

  He shook his head, scanning the landscape. “I was a cobbler’s son, Nynaeve Sedai. I know not the ways of lords and ladies.” He hesitated. “Besides, I’m not a Borderlander anymore.” The implication was clear. He would protect Rand, no matter what other allegiances tugged at him. A very Warder-like way of thought.

  Nynaeve nodded slowly. “Do you have any idea what we’re riding into?”

  “They’ll keep their word,” Narishma said. “A Borderlander would sooner die than break his word. They promised to send a delegation to meet with the Lord Dragon. They’ll do just that. I wish we’d been allowed to bring our Aes Sedai, though.”

  Reports held that the Borderlander army included thirteen Aes Sedai. A dangerous number: the number needed to still a woman or gentle a man. Thirteen women in a circle could shield the most powerful of channelers. Rand had insisted that the delegation that came to meet him include no more than four of those thirteen Aes Sedai; in return, he promised to bring no more than four channelers. Two Asha’man—Narishma and Naeff—Nynaeve and Rand himself.

  Merise and the others had thrown the Aes Sedai equivalent of a fit—it involved a lot of downturned lips and questions like “Are you certain you want to do that?”—when Rand had forbidden them to come.

  Nynaeve noted Narishma’s tense posture. “You don’t look as if you trust them.”

  “A Borderlander’s place is guarding the Border,” Narishma said. “I was a cobbler’s son, and yet I was trained with the sword, spear, bow, axe and sling. Even before joining the Asha’man, I could best four out of five trained southern soldiers in a duel. We live to defend. And yet they left. Now, of all times. With thirteen Aes Sedai.” He glanced at her with those dark eyes of his. “I want to trust them. I know them for good people. But good people can do the wrong thing. Particularly when men who can channel are involved.”

  Nynaeve fell silent. Narishma had a point, though what cause would the Borderlanders have to harm Rand? They’d fought the encroachment of the Blight and its Shadowspawn for centuries, and the struggle against the Dark One was imprinted on their very souls. They wouldn’t turn against the Dragon Reborn.

  The Borderlanders had a special honor about them. It could be frustrating, true, but it was who they were. Lan’s reverence for his homeland—particularly when many other Malkieri had abandoned their identity—was part of what she loved about him. Oh, Lan. I’ll find someone to help you. I won’t let you ride into the Shadow’s jaws alone.

  As they neared a small green hill, several Aiel returned from scouting. Rand pulled the group to a halt, waiting for the cadin’sor-clad scouts to pad up to him, several wearing the red headbands marked with the ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai. The scouts weren’t winded, despite the fact that they’d run all the way ahead to the meeting place and then back.

  Rand leaned forward in his saddle. “Did they do as I asked? Did they bring no more than two hundred men, no more than four Aes Sedai?”

  “Yes, Rand al’Thor,” said one of the scouts. “Yes, they kept to your requirements admirably. They have great honor.”

  Nynaeve recognized the strange Aiel brand of humor in the tone of the man’s response.

  “What?” Rand asked.

  “One man, Rand al’Thor,” the Aiel scout said. “That is all that their ‘delegation’ consists of. He’s a short little thing of a man, though he looks like he knows how to dance the spears. The crossroads is behind this hill.”

  Nynaeve looked ahead. Indeed, now that she knew to look, she could see another road running up from the south, presumably meeting with theirs just beyond the hill.

  “What manner of trap is this?” Naeff asked, riding up beside Rand, his lean, warrior’s face concerned. “An ambush?”

  Rand held up a hand for silence. He kicked his gelding into motion, and the scouts kept up without a word of complaint. Nynaeve was nearly left behind; Moonlight was a far more placid animal than she would have chosen for herself. She’d have words with the stable master when she returned to Tear.

  They rounded the hillside, finding a dusty square of ground, scarred by old firepits where caravans had stopped for the night. A roadway smaller than the one they’d been using twisted up to the north and down to the south. A solitary Shienaran man stood in the center, where roads met, watching the oncoming procession. His shoulder-length gray hair hung loose around a lean face which complemented his wiry build. His round face was lined with marks of age; his eyes were small, and he seemed to be squinting.

  Hurin? she thought with surprise. Nynaeve hadn’t seen the thief-taker since he’d accompanied her and a group of others back to the White Tower following the events at Falme.

  Rand reined in his horse, allowing Nynaeve and the Asha’man to catch up. Aiel fanned out like leaves blown before a gust of wind, taking up watchful positions around the crossroads. She was fairly certain that both of the Asha’man had seized the Source, and likely Rand had as well.

  Hurin shuffled uncomfortably. He looked much as Nynaeve remembered him. A tad more gray in the hair, but wearing the same simple brown clothing, with a sword-breaker and a shortsword at his waist. He had tied a horse to a fallen log nearby. The Aiel watched it suspiciously, as others might watch a pack of guard dogs.

  “Why, Lord Rand!” Hurin called, voice uneven. “It is you! Well, you’ve certainly come up in the world, I must say. Good to—”

  He cut off as he was raised from the ground. He made an “urk” of surprise, being turned on unseen weaves of Air. Nynaeve suppressed a shiver. Would seeing men channel ever stop bothering her?

  “Who chased after you and me, Hurin,” Rand called, “the time when we were trapped in that distant shadow land? What nationality of men did I fell with the bow?”

  “Men?” Hurin asked, voice almost a squawk. “Lord Rand, there were no men in that place! None that we met, beyond Lady Selene, that is. All I remember are those frog beasts, the same ones folk say those Seanchan ride!”

  Rand spun Hurin around in the Air, regarding him with cold eyes. Then he urged his mount closer. Nynaeve and the Asha’man did as well.

  “You don’t believe that I’m me, Lord Rand?” Hurin asked as he hung in the air.

  “I take very little as it is presented to me, these days,” Rand said. “I assume the Borderlanders sent you because of our familiarity?”

  Hurin nodded, sweating. Nynaeve felt a stab of pity for the man. He was absolutely devoted to Rand. They had spent a lot of time together, chasing down Fain and the Horn of Valere. On the return trip to Tar Valon, she’d seldom been able to stop Hurin from gossiping about this or that grand feat that Rand had accomplished. Being treated this way by the man he idolized was probably very unsettling for the lean thief-taker.

  “Why only you?” Rand asked quietly.

  “Well,” Hurin said, sighing. “They did tell you—” He hesitated, seeming distracted by something. He sniffed audibly. “Now that . . . that’s strange. Never smelled that before.”

  “What?” Rand asked.

  “I don’t know,” Hurin said. “The air . . . it smells like a lot of death, a lot of violence, only not. It’s darker. More terrible.” He shuddered visibly. Hurin’s ability to smell violence was one of those oddities that the Tower couldn’t explain. Not something related to the Power, yet obviously not quite natural either.

  Rand didn’t seem to care what Hurin smelled. “Tell me why they sent only you, Hurin.”

  “I was saying, Lord Rand. See, this here, we’re to discuss terms.”

  “Terms regarding your armies moving back where they belong,” Rand said.

  “No, Lord Rand,” Hurin said uncomfortably. “Terms for setting u
p a real meeting with them. That part in their letter was kind of vague, I guess. They said you might be angry to find only me here.”

  “They were wrong,” Rand said, voice softer. Nynaeve found herself straining to hear him, leaning forward.

  “I no longer feel anger, Hurin,” Rand said. “It serves me no useful function. Why would we need ‘terms’ to meet together? I presumed that my offer to bring only a small force would be acceptable.”

  “Well, Lord Rand,” Hurin said, “you see, they really want to meet with you. I mean, we came all this way—marched through the bloody winter itself, my pardon, Aes Sedai. But it was the bloody winter! And a bad one, although it took a long time getting to us. Anyways, we did that coming for you, Lord Rand. So you see, they want to meet with you. Very badly.”

  “But?”

  “But, well, last time you were in Far Madding there was—”

  Rand held up a finger. Hurin quieted, and all grew still. Even the horses seemed to hold their breaths.

  “The Borderlanders are in Far Madding?” Rand asked.

  “Yes, Lord Rand.”

  “They want to meet with me there?”

  “Yes, Lord Rand. You’ll have to come inside the protection of the Guardian, you see, and—”

  Rand waved a curt hand, cutting off Hurin. A gateway opened immediately. It didn’t appear to lead to Far Madding, however; it just led back a short distance, to the road where Rand and the others had been riding a short time before.

  Rand released Hurin, gesturing for the Aiel to let the man mount, then moved Tai’daishar through the gateway. What was going on? Everyone else followed. Once through, Rand created another gateway, this one opening into a small wooded hollow. Nynaeve thought she recognized it; this was where they had stopped following their visit to Far Madding with Cadsuane.

  Why the first gateway? Nynaeve thought, confused. And then it occurred to her. One didn’t need to learn an area to Travel a short distance from it—and Traveling to a place taught someone that location well enough to create gateways from it.