The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

So by Traveling a short hop first, Rand memorized the location well enough to create gateways wherever he wanted—while skipping the time needed to learn the area! It was extremely clever, and Nynaeve felt herself blushing that she hadn’t seen the possibility before. How long had Rand known of this trick? Had memory of it come from that . . . voice in his head?

  Rand rode Tai’daishar out into the hollow, the horse’s hooves stirring fallen leaves as he worked his way through the underbrush. Nynaeve followed, trying to urge her docile mare to keep up with Rand. That stablemaster was going to hear from her for certain. His ears would burn when she was through with him!

  Hurin trotted his horse out as well, and the Aiel loped along, subtly keeping him surrounded. They had their faces veiled, spears or bows in hand. Past the trees and underbrush, Rand stopped Tai’daishar, looking across the open meadow toward the ancient city of Far Madding.

  It wasn’t large, not by the measure of the Great Cities. Nor was it beautiful, not when compared with the Ogier-built wonders Nynaeve had seen. But it was big enough, and it was certainly home to fine architecture and ancient relics. Set upon an island in a lake, it was actually faintly reminiscent of Tar Valon. Three broad bridges crossed the calm waters, and were the only means of entering the city.

  A very large army was encamped around the lake, perhaps covering more ground than Far Madding itself. Nynaeve counted dozens of different pennons marking dozens of different houses. There were lines upon lines of horses, and tents like rows of summer crops, carefully planted and organized, awaiting harvest. The Borderlander army.

  “I’ve heard of this place,” Naeff said, riding up, close-cropped, dark brown hair ruffling in the wind. He narrowed his eyes, rectangular face dissatisfied. “It’s like a stedding, only not as safe.”

  Far Madding’s massive ter’angreal—known as the Guardian—created invisible protective bubbles that blocked people from touching the One Power. That could be worked around through the use of a very specialized ter’angreal, one of which Nynaeve happened to be wearing. But it would help only slightly.

  The army looked close enough to be within the bubble that prevented men from channeling, which extended about a mile out around the city.

  “They will know we’ve come,” Rand said softly, eyes narrowed. “They’ll have been waiting for it. They expect me to ride into their box.”

  “Box?” Nynaeve asked hesitantly.

  “The city is a box,” Rand said. “The whole city and the area round it. They want me where they can control me, but they don’t understand. Nobody controls me. Not anymore. I’ve had enough of boxes and prisons, of chains and ropes. Never again will I put myself into the power of another.”

  Still staring at the city, he reached to its place on his saddle and removed the statuette of a man holding aloft a globe. Nynaeve felt a sharp chill. Did he have to bring that with him everywhere he went?

  “Perhaps they need to be taught,” Rand said. “Given encouragement to do their duty and obey me.”

  “Rand. . . .” Nynaeve tried to think. She couldn’t let this happen again!

  The access key began to glow faintly. “They want to capture me,” he said softly. “Hold me. Beat me. They did it once in Far Madding already. They—”

  “Rand!” Nynaeve said sharply.

  He stopped, looking at her, seeing her as if for the first time.

  “These are not slaves with their minds already burned away by Graendal. That is an entire city full of innocent people!”

  “I wouldn’t harm the people of the city,” Rand said, voice emotionless. “That army deserves the demonstration, not the city. A rain of fire upon them, perhaps. Or lightning to strike and bite.”

  “They have done nothing other than ask you to meet with them!” Nynaeve said, edging her horse closer to him. That ter’angreal sat like a viper in his hand. Once, it had cleansed the Source. If only it had melted away as the female one had!

  She wasn’t certain what would happen if he aimed a weave into the protective bubble of Far Madding, but she suspected it would still work. The Guardian didn’t stop weaves from being made; Nynaeve had been able to craft weaves just fine, when she’d drawn upon her Well.

  Either way, she knew that she had to stop Rand from turning his anger—or whatever it was he felt—upon his allies. “Rand,” she said softly. “If you do this, there will be no turning back.”

  “There’s already no turning back for me, Nynaeve,” he said, his eyes intense. Those eyes shifted, sometimes seeming gray, sometimes blue. Today, they looked iron gray. He continued, voice flat. “My feet started on this path the moment Tam found me crying on that mountain.”

  “You don’t have to kill anyone today. Please.”

  He turned to look back at the city. Slowly, mercifully, the access key stopped glowing. “Hurin!” he barked.

  He must be close to fraying, Nynaeve thought. His anger is slipping out in his voice.

  The thief-taker rode up to the front of the group. The Aiel kept their distance, however. “Yes, Lord Rand?”

  “Return to your masters inside of their box,” Rand said, voice under control again. “You are to give them a message for me.”

  “What message, Lord Rand?”

  Rand hesitated, then slipped the access key back in its place. “Tell them that it will not be long before the Dragon Reborn rides to battle at Shayol Ghul. If they wish to return to their posts with honor, I will provide them with transport back to the Blight. Otherwise, they can remain here, hiding. Let them explain to their children and grandchildren why they were hundreds of leagues away from their posts when the Dark One was slain and the prophecies fulfilled.”

  Hurin looked shaken. “Yes, Lord Rand.”

  With that, Rand turned his horse about and rode back toward the clearing. Nynaeve followed, too slowly. Beautiful though Moonlight was, she’d have traded the beautiful mare in an instant for a biddable, dependable Two Rivers horse like Bela.

  Hurin stayed behind. He still looked shaken. His reunion with “Lord Rand” had obviously been far from what he expected. Nynaeve gritted her teeth as the trees obscured her view of him. Inside the clearing, Rand had opened another gateway, a direct gateway to Tear.

  They rode out into the Traveling ground prepared outside the Stone of Tear’s stableyards. The air was hot and muggy in Tear, despite the overcast sky, and thick with the sounds of men training and gulls shrieking. Rand rode out to where stablehands waited, then dismounted, his face unreadable.

  As Nynaeve climbed off of Moonlight and handed the reins to a ruddy-faced stable worker, Rand walked past her. “Look for a statue,” he said.

  “What?” she asked with surprise.

  He glanced back at her, stopping. “You asked where Perrin was. He’s camped with an army beneath the shade of an enormous fallen statue shaped like a sword stabbing the earth. I’m certain scholars here can tell you where it is; it’s very distinctive.”

  “How . . . how do you know that?”

  Rand just shrugged. “I just do.”

  “Why tell me?” she asked, walking alongside him across the yard of packed earth. She hadn’t expected him to give up the information—he had gotten into the habit of holding onto whatever he knew, even if that knowledge was meaningless.

  “Because,” he said, striding toward the keep, voice growing almost too soft to hear, “I . . . have a debt to you for caring when I cannot. If you seek Perrin out, tell him that I will soon need him.”

  With that, he left her.

  Nynaeve stood in the horse yard, watching him go. There was a wet scent to the air, the smell of new rain, and she could feel that she’d missed a sprinkle. Not enough to clear the air or muddy the ground, but enough to leave wetted sections of stone in shaded corners. To her right, men galloped and exercised horses beneath the dun sky, riding across sandy earth between pickets. The Stone was the only fortress she knew of with exercise areas for cavalry—but, then, the Stone was far from ordinary.

  The rumb
le of hoofbeats was like the sound of a distant storm, and she found herself glancing northward. The storm there felt closer than it had before. She’d assumed it was gathering in the Blight, but now she wasn’t so certain.

  She took a deep breath, then hastened to the keep. She passed Defenders in their immaculate uniforms, the upper arm portions ribbed and puffy, breastplates smooth and curved. She passed stableboys, each probably dreaming of one day wearing that same uniform, but for now only leading horses back to the stables for hay and currying. She passed dozens of servants in linens, doubtless far more comfortable than Nynaeve’s maroon wool.

  The keep itself was a towering rock of a structure, sheer walls broken only by windows. Except that she could still spot the place where Mat had destroyed a section of stone with his Illuminator’s fireworks when coming to rescue Nynaeve and the others from their imprisonment. Fool boy. Where was he? She hadn’t seen him in . . . in quite a long time. Since Ebou Dar had fallen to the Seanchan. In a way, she felt as though she’d abandoned him, though she’d never admit that. Why, she’d embarrassed herself enough in front of the Daughter of the Nine Moons when she’d defended that scoundrel! She still didn’t know what had come over her.

  Mat could care for himself. He was probably carousing in some inn while the rest of them worked to save the world—drinking himself silly and playing at dice. Rand was another matter. He’d been so much easier to deal with when he’d continued to act like other men—stubborn and immature, but predictable. This new Rand with the cold emotions and the cold voice was truly unnerving.

  The narrow corridors of the Stone were still unfamiliar to Nynaeve, and she often got lost. Her disorientation wasn’t helped by the fact that hallways and walls sometimes changed places. She’d tried to discount such tales as superstitious nonsense, but the day before, she’d woken to discover that her room had indeed suddenly and mysteriously moved. Her door had opened to a smooth wall of the same seamless rock as the Stone itself. She’d been forced to escape through a gateway, and had been shocked to learn that her window looked out from a location two stories higher than it had the previous night!

  Cadsuane said it was the Dark One’s touch on the world, causing the Pattern to unravel. Cadsuane said a lot of things, and few of them were things that Nynaeve wished to hear.

  Nynaeve got lost twice as she wove her way through the corridors, but she eventually arrived at Cadsuane’s room. At least Rand hadn’t forbidden his stewards to grant her rooms. Nynaeve knocked—she’d learned that she’d better—then entered.

  The Aes Sedai from Cadsuane’s group—Merise and Corele—sat in the room, knitting and sipping tea, trying to look like they were not waiting on the infernal woman’s whims. Cadsuane herself was speaking quietly with Min, whom she had all but appropriated in recent days. Min herself didn’t seem to mind, perhaps because it wasn’t easy to spend time with Rand these days. Nynaeve felt a stab of sympathy for the girl. Nynaeve only had to deal with Rand as a friend; all of this would be much harsher on the one who shared his heart.

  All eyes turned toward Nynaeve as she closed the door. “I think I’ve found him,” she announced.

  “Who is that, child?” Cadsuane said, leafing through one of Min’s books.

  “Perrin,” Nynaeve said. “You were right; Rand did know where he was.”

  “Excellent!” Cadsuane said. “You did well; it appears that you can be of use.”

  Nynaeve wasn’t certain which annoyed her more—the backhanded compliment, or the fact that her heart swelled with pride at hearing it. She was no girl, without her braid, to be stroked by this woman’s words!

  “Well?” Cadsuane looked up from the book. The others remained silent, though Min did shoot Nynaeve a congratulatory smile. “Where is he?”

  Nynaeve’s opened her mouth to reply before she caught herself. What was it about this woman that made her want to obey? It wasn’t the One Power or anything to do with it. Cadsuane simply projected the air of a stern, but fair, grandmother. The type you never spoke back to, but who would give you some baked sweets in reward for sweeping the floor when told.

  “First, I want to know why Perrin is important.” Nynaeve stalked into the room and took the only remaining seat, a painted wooden stool. When she sat, she found herself sitting a few inches below eye level. Like a student before Cadsuane. She almost stood up, but realized that would draw more attention.

  “Phaw!” Cadsuane said. “You’d hold this knowledge back, even if it means the lives of those you hold dear?”

  “I want to know what I’ve gotten myself into,” Nynaeve said stubbornly. “I want to know that this information isn’t going to end up hurting Rand further.”

  Cadsuane snorted. “You presume to think that I’d hurt the fool boy?”

  “I’m not going to presume otherwise,” Nynaeve snapped. “Not until you tell me what you are doing.”

  Cadsuane closed the book—Echoes of His Dynasty—and looked perturbed. “Will you at least tell me how the meeting with the Borderlanders went?” she asked. “Or is that information held for ransom as well?”

  Did she think she’d distract Nynaeve that easily? “It went poorly, as one might expect,” she said. “They’ve hunkered down outside Far Madding and refuse to meet with Rand unless he comes within range of the Guardian, cutting himself off from the Source.”

  “Did he take it well?” Corele asked from her cushioned bench at the side of the room. She smiled faintly; she seemed to be the only one who thought the changes in Rand were amusing, rather than terrifying. But, then, she was one of the women who had bonded an Asha’man at practically the first opportunity.

  “Did he take it well?” Nynaeve repeated flatly. “That depends. Does pulling out that blasted ter’angreal and threatening to rain down fire on the army strike you as ‘Taking it well’?”

  Min paled. Cadsuane raised an eyebrow.

  “I stopped him,” Nynaeve said. “But just barely. I don’t know. It . . . it might be getting too late to do anything to change him.”

  “That boy will laugh again,” Cadsuane said quietly, but intensely. “I didn’t live this long to fail now.”

  “What does it matter?” Corele said.

  Nynaeve turned in shock.

  “Well?” Corele set down her mending. “What does it matter? We’re obviously going to succeed.”

  “Light!” Nynaeve said. “What gave you that idea?”

  “We’ve just spent all afternoon drilling this girl about her visions.” Corele nodded to Min. “They always come true, and she’s seen things that obviously can’t happen until after the Last Battle. So we know that Rand is going to defeat the Dark One. The Pattern has already decided it. We can stop worrying.”

  “No,” Min said. “You’re wrong.”

  Corele frowned. “Child, are you saying that you lied about the things you’ve seen?”

  “No,” Min said. “But if Rand loses, there is no Pattern.”

  “The girl is correct.” Cadsuane sounded surprised. “What this child sees are weavings in the Pattern from a time still distant—but if the Dark One wins, he will destroy the Pattern entirely. This is the only way the visions could fail to occur. The same holds for other prophecies and Foretellings. Our victory is by no means sure.”

  That stilled the room. They weren’t playing at village politics or national dominance. At stake was creation itself.

  Light. Can I withhold this information if there’s any chance of it helping Lan? It wrenched her heart to think of him, and she had few options. In fact, Lan’s only hope seemed to rest in the armies Rand could marshal and the gateways his people could form.

  Rand had to change. For Lan. For them all. And she had no idea what to do other than, unfortunately, to trust Cadsuane. Nynaeve swallowed her pride and spoke. “Do you know the location of a statue of an enormous sword, fallen to the earth as if stabbing it?”

  Corele and Merise glanced at each other in confusion.

  “The hand of the amahn’ruk
ane.” Cadsuane turned from Min with a raised eyebrow. “The full statue was never finished, from what scholars can tell. It rests near the Jehannah Road.”

  “Perrin is camping in its shadow.”

  Cadsuane pursed her lips. “I assumed he would go eastward, toward lands al’Thor has captured.” She took a deep breath. “All right. We are going for him right now.” She hesitated, then glanced at Nynaeve. “In answer to your question earlier, child, Perrin actually isn’t important to our plans.”

  “He isn’t?” Nynaeve asked. “But—”

  Cadsuane raised a finger. “There are people with him who are vital. One in particular.”

  CHAPTER 45

  The Tower Stands

  Egwene walked slowly through the rebel camp, wearing a crimson gown, its skirts divided for riding. The color raised not a few eyebrows. Considering what the Red Ajah had done, these Aes Sedai weren’t likely to wear the hue. Even the camp’s serving women had noticed, selling their red and maroon dresses or cutting them up for rags.

  Egwene had asked for the crimson specifically. In the Tower, sisters had formed the habit of wearing only their own Ajah’s color, and the practice had helped fuel the division. While it was good to be proud of your Ajah affiliation, it was dangerous to begin assuming that you couldn’t trust anyone wearing other colors.

  Egwene was all Ajahs. Today, the red symbolized many things to her. The impending reunification with the Red Ajah. A reminder of the division that needed to be righted. A sign of the blood that would be spilled, the blood of good men who fought to defend the White Tower.

  The blood of the dead Aes Sedai, beheaded not an hour ago by Egwene’s order.

  Siuan had found her Great Serpent ring; it felt very good to have it on her finger again.

  The sky was an iron gray, and the scent of dirt rose into the air, accompanying the bustling motion around the camp. Women hurriedly washed clothing, as if they were late in getting their patrons ready for a festival. Novices ran—literally ran—from lesson to lesson. Aes Sedai stood about with arms folded, eyes ready to burn any who didn’t keep up the tempo.