Lord of Chaos

## Chapter 45

#### A Bitter Thought

As Vilnar led his mounted patrol through the streets of the New City, not far from the tall outer city wall, its gray stone streaked with silver and white in the midday sun, he thought about shaving his beard. Some others already had shaved; even if everyone said the heat was unnatural, it must be cooler back in Saldaea.

Letting his thoughts roam was safe enough. He could guide his horse in his sleep, and only the most foolhardy cutpurse would ply his trade anywhere near ten Saldaeans. They rode about at random so the fellows would not know where they were safe. In truth, more often than having to catch thieves, they merely arrested those who came to them. The toughest bullyboy in Caemlyn would come running for Saldaeans to take him up before the Aiel could. So Vilnar kept half an eye on the street and let his mind drift. He thought about the girl back home in Mehar he would like to marry; Teryane’s father was a merchant, and wanted a soldier for a son perhaps more than Teryane wanted one for a husband. He thought about the game those Aiel women had suggested; Maiden’s Kiss sounded innocent enough, but there had been a gleam in their eyes he did not quite trust. Most of all, though, he thought about Aes Sedai.

Vilnar had always wanted to see an Aes Sedai, and certainly there could be no better place than Caemlyn now, unless he went to Tar Valon one day. Apparently there were Aes Sedai all over Caemlyn. He had ridden to Culain’s Hound, where rumor had a hundred, but at the last moment he could not make himself go in. He was brave enough with a sword in his hand and a horse between his knees and men or Trollocs in front of him, but the thought of Aes Sedai turned him shy. Besides, the inn would not have accommodated a hundred women, and none of the girls he saw could possibly be Aes Sedai. He had gone to The Crown of Roses, too, and watched from across the street, but he was not sure any of the women he had seen was Aes Sedai, and that made him sure they were not.

He cocked an eye at a thin woman with a wide nose coming out of a tall house that must belong to a merchant; she stood frowning at the street before finally donning a wide-brimmed straw hat and hurrying off. Vilnar shook his head. He could not have said how old she was, but that was not enough. He knew how to recognize an Aes Sedai. Let Jidar claim they were so beautiful they could kill a man by smiling, and let Rissen insist they were all a foot taller than any man. Vilnar knew it was the face you could tell by, the timeless face of an immortal. It must be impossible to mistake that.

As the patrol came opposite the towered, vaulting arch of the Whitebridge Gate, Vilnar forgot about Aes Sedai. Outside, one of the farmer’s markets stretched alongside the road, long open stone sheds roofed in red or purple tiles, pens full of calves and pigs and sheep, chickens and ducks and geese, stalls selling everything from beans to turnips. Usually those markets were a cacophony of farmers crying their wares, but now except for the clamor of the animals silence marched along the market toward the gate, beside one of the oddest processions Vilnar had ever seen.

A long column of farmers four abreast on horseback made the bulk of it, and there seemed to be wagons behind. Farmers for sure in those rough coats, but every one of them in Vilnar’s sight had the longest bow he had ever seen slung across his back, a full quiver at one hip and a long knife or short sword at the other. Leading the procession was a white banner bordered in red with a red wolf’s head, and a mix of people as odd as the column. There were three Aiel, afoot of course, two of them Maidens, and a fellow whose bright green-striped coat and virulent yellow breeches said he was a Tinker, except he had a sword on his back. He was leading a horse as big as a Nashun draft horse, with a saddle meant for a giant. The leader seemed to be a heavy-shouldered shaggy-haired fellow with a short beard and a wicked axe on his belt, and at his side rode a Saldaean woman in dark narrow divided skirts who kept looking up at him with the fondest . . .

Vilnar sat forward in his saddle. He recognized that woman. He thought of Lord Bashere, in the Royal Palace right that moment. More, he thought of Lady Deira, and his heart sank; she was in the Palace too. If some Aes Sedai had waved her hand and turned that column into Trollocs, Vilnar would have been overjoyed. Maybe this was the price for daydreaming. Had he kept his mind on his duty, the patrol would have been long past here by now. Still, he had his orders.

Wondering whether Lady Deira would have his head for a ball, he deployed his men in the gate.

Perrin let his dun stallion walk within ten paces of the city gate before drawing rein. Stepper was as happy to stop; he did not like the heat. The mounted men blocking the gate were Saldaeans, by those bold noses and tilted eyes; some wore glossy black beards, some thick mustaches, and some were clean-shaven. Every man save one had a hand on his sword hilt. The air stirred from them, not quite a breeze; there was no fear smell. Perrin looked at Faile, but she was bent over Swallow’s arched neck, intent on fiddling with the black mare’s bridle; she smelled faintly of herbal soap and anxiety. They had heard news of Saldaeans in Caemlyn these last two hundred miles and more, led by Faile’s father supposedly. That did not seem to worry Faile, but she was certain her mother would be in Caemlyn as well. She said that did not worry her either.

“We don’t even need the bowmen,” Aram said quietly, stroking the hilt that stuck up over his shoulder. His dark eyes seemed eager; he certainly smelled eager. “There are only ten. You and I could cut through them ourselves.” Gaul had veiled himself, and almost certainly Bain and Chiad had too, on the other side of Faile.

“No archers, and no cutting,” Perrin said. “And no spears, Gaul.” He did not say anything to Bain or Chiad; they only listened to Faile anyway. Who did not appear ready to look up or say a word any time soon. Gaul merely lowered his veil with a shrug; Aram frowned in disappointment.

Perrin kept his expression mild as he turned back to the Saldaeans. Yellow-gold eyes made some men nervous. “My name is Perrin Aybara. I think Rand al’Thor will want to see me.”

The bearded fellow who had not touched his sword gave a small bow from the saddle. “I am Vilnar Barada, Lord Aybara, Underlieutenant sword-sworn to Lord Davram Bashere.” He said that very loudly, and come to think of it, he had been avoiding looking at Faile. She sighed at mention of her father and scowled at Barada, the more so when he continued to ignore her. “Lord Bashere’s orders,” the man went on, adding as an afterthought, “and the Lord Dragon’s, are that no noble can enter Caemlyn with more than twenty armed men or fifty servants.”

Aram shifted on his horse. He was even more prickly about Perrin’s supposed honor than Faile, which was saying something, but thank the Light, he would not unsheathe his sword unless Perrin said to.

Perrin spoke over his shoulder. “Dannil, take everybody back to that meadow we passed about three miles back and make camp. If a farmer shows up to complain, give him some gold and smooth him down. Let him know he’ll be paid for any damage. Aram, you go with them.”

Dannil Lewin, a beanpole of a man with a thick mustache that almost hid his mouth, knuckled his forehead despite all the times Perrin had told him a simple “all right” would do, and immediately began giving orders to turn everyone around. Aram stiffened, of course—he never liked being far from Perrin—but he said nothing, equally of course. Sometimes Perrin thought he had acquired a wolfhound in the former Tinker. Not good for a man to be that way, but he did not know what to do about it.

He expected Faile to say a good deal about sending everyone back—he expected her to bring up what was due his so-called position and insist on the twenty Barada had mentioned, and as close to the fifty as they could manage as well—but she was leaning out of her saddle to speak in whispers with Bain and Chiad. He made a point of not listening, though he could still make out parts of words. Something about men, sounding amused; women always seemed either amused or angry when they talked of men. Faile was the reason he had all these people trailing after him, and the banner to boot, though he had not yet figured out exactly how she had done it. There were servants back in the wagons, men and women wearing livery with a wolf’s head on the shoulder. Even the Two Rivers folk had not complained; they seemed as proud of it as any of the refugees.

“Does that satisfy?” he asked Barada. “You can escort the rest of us to Rand, if you don’t want us running loose.”

“I think . . . ” Barada’s dark eyes darted to Faile and away. “I think that would be best.”

As Faile straightened, Bain and Chiad trotted to the line of horsemen and pushed through as if they were not there. The Saldaeans did not even look surprised, but then, they must be used to Aiel; all the rumors said Caemlyn was full of Aiel already.

“I must find my spear-brothers,” Gaul said abruptly. “May you always find water and shade, Perrin Aybara.” And away he darted after the women. Faile hid an amused smile behind a gray-gloved hand.

Perrin shook his head. Gaul wanted Chiad to marry him, but by Aiel custom, she had to ask him, and though according to Faile she was willing to become his lover, she would not give up the spear and marry. He seemed as affronted as a Two Rivers girl would have been in the same circumstance. Bain seemed to be part of it too, somehow; Perrin did not understand how. Faile professed not to know, if a bit too quickly, and Gaul grew sullen when asked. An odd people.

The Saldaeans made a way through the crowds, but Perrin paid little mind to crowds or city. He had seen Caemlyn once, some of it, and he did not much like cities anymore. Wolves seldom came close to a city; he had not sensed one for two days. What he did do was study his wife with sideways looks, trying not to let her notice. He might as well have stared. She always rode erect, but now she was stiff in her saddle, glaring at Barada’s back. The man’s shoulders were hunched as if he could feel her eyes. A falcon could not glare as well as Faile.

Perrin expected she was thinking of the same thing as he, though maybe not along the same lines. Her father. She might have a few explanations to make—she had run away, after all, to become a Hunter for the Horn—but Perrin was the one who had to face the Lord of Bashere, Tyr and Sidona and tell the man a blacksmith had married his daughter and heir. It was not something Perrin looked forward to. He did not think he was particularly brave—doing what you had to do was not bravery—but he had never really thought he might be a coward until now. The thought of Faile’s father dried his mouth. Maybe he should see to setting up the camp. A letter sent to Lord Bashere could explain everything. A carefully composed letter might take two or three days to write. Maybe more. He was no hand with words.

A glimpse of the crimson banner waving lazily above the Royal Palace brought him back with a thump. The rumors had spoken of that. Perrin knew it was not the Dragon banner, whatever the rumors said—some claimed it meant the Aes Sedai served Rand; others that he served them—and he wondered why Rand was not flying the Dragon banner itself. Rand. He could still feel Rand pulling at him, greater ta’veren tugging at lesser. It did not tell him where Rand was; it was not that kind of pull. He had left the Two Rivers expecting to ride to Tear or maybe the Light alone knew where, and only a river of rumors and tales flowing west across Andor had brought him here. Some very disturbing tales and rumors. No, what he felt was more a need to be near Rand, or maybe Rand’s need for him, like an itch between his shoulders he could not scratch. Now it was close to being scratched, and he almost wished it was not. He had a dream, one that Faile would laugh at, adventurous as she was. He dreamed of living in a small house with her, somewhere in the country, far from cities and strife. There was always strife around Rand. But Rand needed him, and he would do what he had to.

In a great, column-ringed courtyard overlooked by marble balconies and pointed spires, Perrin slung his belt, weighted by his axe, on the saddle—it was a relief to be rid of it for a while—and a white-robed man and woman took Stepper and Swallow. With a few words Barada turned Faile and him over to cold-eyed Aielmen, many wearing scarlet headbands marked with the black-and-white disc, who led them inside and with even fewer words handed them to Maidens who were just as frosty. Perrin did not recognize any of them from the Stone, and his efforts at making conversation were met with blank looks. Their hands flashed Maiden handtalk, and one was chosen out to take him and Faile deeper into the Palace, a lean sandy-haired woman he thought might be about Faile’s age. She named herself Lerian, the only words she spoke except to warn them not to wander. He wished Bain or Chiad were there; a familiar face would have been pleasant. Faile glided down the corridors like the grand lady she was, yet at every crossing hallway she looked both ways quickly. Plainly she did not want to be surprised by her father.

Finally they reached a pair of doors, each carved with a lion, where two more Maidens rose from squatting on their heels and still more handtalk flickered before the sandy-haired Maiden went in without knocking.

Perrin was wondering whether it was always like this around Rand now, Aiel guards and nobody speaking, when suddenly the doors were flung open, and there was Rand in his shirtsleeves.

“Perrin! Faile! The Light shine on your wedding day,” he laughed, kissing Faile lightly. “I wish I could have been there for it.” She looked as confused as Perrin felt.

“How did you know?” he exclaimed, and Rand laughed again, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Bode’s here, Perrin. Bode and Jancy and all of them. In Caemlyn, anyway. This is as far as Verin and Alanna got them before they heard about the Tower.” He looked tired, his eyes drawn, though his laughter did not sound it. “Light, Perrin, the things they told me you’ve been up to. Lord Perrin of the Two Rivers. What does Mistress Luhhan say to that?”

“She calls me Lord Perrin,” Perrin muttered wryly. Alsbet Luhhan had smacked his bottom more often growing up than his mother had. “She curtsies, Rand. She actually curtsies.” Faile eyed him askance. She said he embarrassed people when he tried to stop all the bowing and curtsying; as for his embarrassment when they did, she said it was part of the price he had to pay.

The Maiden who had gone in squeezed by Rand coming out, and he gave a start. “Light, I’m keeping you in the door. Come in; come in. Lerian, tell Sulin I need more punch. The melon. And tell her to hop.” For some reason the three Maidens laughed as if Rand had said something funny.

One step inside the sitting room, a floral scent of perfume told Perrin there was another woman there before he saw her. When he did, he stared. “Min?” The hair in short curls, the embroidered blue coat and breeches were wrong, but the face was right. “Min, it is you!” Laughing, he caught her up in a hug. “We are gathering everybody, aren’t we? Faile, this is Min. I told you about her.”

That was when he realized what he was smelling from his wife, and put Min down while she was still grinning at him. Suddenly he was too much aware that those tight breeches showed the shape of Min’s legs very well. Faile had very few faults, but she did have a slight tendency toward jealousy. He was not supposed to know she had chased Calle Coplin half a mile with a stick, as if he would ever look twice at another woman when he had her.

“Faile?” Min said, holding out her hands. “Any woman who can put up with this hairy lummox long enough to marry him has my admiration. I suppose he might make a good husband at that, once you housebreak him.”

Faile took Min’s hands smiling, but oh, that acrid, bristly scent. “I’ve not succeeded in the housebreaking yet, Min, but I intend to keep him at least until I do.”

“Mistress Luhhan curtsies?” Rand shook his head in disbelief. “I will have to see that to believe it. Where’s Loial? Did he come? You didn’t leave him outside?”

“He came,” Perrin said, trying to keep an eye on Faile without being obvious, “but not all the way, not yet. He said he was tired, and needed a stedding, so I told him one I know of, an abandoned one north of the road from Whitebridge, and he set off for it afoot. He said he would be able to feel it once he was within ten miles or so.”

“I suppose you know Rand and Perrin very well?” Faile asked, and Min glanced at Rand.

“For a while, anyway. I met them right after they first left the Two Rivers. They thought Baerlon was a grand city.”

“On foot?” Rand said.

“Yes,” Perrin said slowly. Faile’s scent was changing, the thorny jealousy dwindling away. Why? “He would rather use his feet, you know. He bet me a gold crown he would be here in Caemlyn no more than ten days after us.” The two women were looking at one another, Faile smiling and Min coloring slightly; Min smelled faintly embarrassed, Faile pleased. And surprised, though only a hint showed on her face. “I didn’t want to take his coin—he has to go fifty miles or more out of his way—but he insisted. He wanted to make it five days.”

“Loial always did say he could outrun a horse,” Rand laughed, but there had been a pause. Laughter faded. “I hope he makes it safely,” he said more seriously. He was tired, and different in other ways, too. The Rand Perrin had last seen in Tear had not been soft, far from it, but this Rand made that one look an innocent farmboy. He did not blink often enough, as if a blink might hide what he needed to see. Perrin recognized something of that look; he had seen it on the faces of Two Rivers men after the Trolloc attacks, after the fifth, the tenth, when it seemed hope was gone but you went on fighting because the cost of giving up was too great.

“My Lord Dragon,” Faile said, startling Perrin; she had always called him Rand before, though they had been hearing the title since Whitebridge, “if you will forgive me, I will just have a word with my husband then leave you two to talk.”

She hardly waited for Rand’s surprised assent to close on Perrin, turning him so her back was to Rand. “I will not go far, my dear heart. Min and I will have our own conversation about things that would very likely bore you.” Fussing with his lapels, she began speaking hurriedly under her breath, so softly that anyone except him would have had to strain their ears. She did recall his hearing sometimes. “Remember he is not your boyhood friend any longer, Perrin. At least, not only that. He is the Dragon Reborn, the Lord Dragon. But you are Lord of the Two Rivers. I know you will stand up for yourself, and for the Two Rivers.” The smile she gave him was full of love and confidence; he wanted to kiss her right there. “There,” she said in a normal tone. “You are all straight again.” She no longer gave off the slightest scent of jealousy.

Offering Rand a graceful curtsy and a murmur of “My Lord Dragon,” she held out a hand to Min. “Come, Min.” Min’s curtsy was considerably less practiced, and made Rand start.

Before they reached the doorway, one of the doors banged open and a tall liveried woman entered with a silver tray holding goblets and a pitcher that gave off the smell of wine and honey-melon juice. Perrin almost stared. Despite the red-and-white dress, she could have been Chiad’s mother, or maybe grandmother with that short curled white hair. Frowning at the departing women, she stalked to the nearest table and set down the tray, her face a mask of meekness that seemed frozen in place. “I was told four, my Lord Dragon,” she said oddly; he thought she might be trying for humble respect but had something caught in her throat, “so I brought for four.” Her curtsy made Min’s look elegant, and she slammed the door on her way out.

Perrin looked at Rand. “Do you ever think women are . . . strange?”

“Why are you asking me? You are the married man.” Rand filled a silver-chased goblet with punch and handed it to him. “If you don’t know, you will have to ask Mat. I know less every day.”

“So do I,” Perrin sighed. The punch was certainly cooling, Rand did not seem to be sweating at all. “Where is Mat, anyway? If I had to guess, I would say in the nearest tavern, and odds or evens whether he has a dice cup in his hands or a girl on his knee.”

“He had better have neither,” Rand said grimly, setting down his punch untouched. “He is supposed to be bringing Elayne here to be crowned. And Egwene and Nynaeve, I hope. Light, there’s so much to do before she gets here.” His head swung like a bear’s at bay; then he fixed on Perrin. “Would you go to Tear for me?”

“Tear! Rand, I have been over two months on the road. My bottom’s taken on the shape of the saddle.”

“I can have you there tonight. Today. You can sleep in a general’s tent, and stay away from saddles as long as you like.”

Perrin stared at him; the man seemed serious. Suddenly he found himself wondering how Rand’s sanity was holding. Light, it had to hold, at least until Tarmon Gai’don. He took a long swallow of the punch to wash the bitter thought out of his mouth. What a way to think about a friend. “Rand, if you could set me down in the Stone of Tear right now, I would still say no. I have to talk to someone here in Caemlyn. And I’d like to see Bode and the others.”

Rand did not seem to be listening. He flung himself into one of the gilded chairs and stared at Perrin bleakly. “You remember how Thom used to juggle all those balls and make it look easy? Well, I’m juggling now for all I am worth, and it isn’t easy. Sammael in Illian; the rest of the Forsaken the Light only knows where. Sometimes I don’t even think they are the worst of it. Rebels who think I’m a false Dragon. Dragonsworn who think they can burn villages in my name. Have you heard of the Prophet, Perrin? No matter; he’s no worse than the rest. I have allies who hate each other, and the best general I can name to face Illian wants nothing better than to charge off and be killed. Elayne should be here in maybe a month and a half with luck, but I may just have a rebellion on my hands here before then. Light, I want to give her Andor whole. I thought of going to get her myself, but that is the worst thing I could do.” He rubbed his face with both hands, speaking behind them. “The very worst.”

“What does Moiraine say?”

Rand’s hands came down far enough for him to look over them. “Moiraine is dead, Perrin. She killed Lanfear and died, and that’s an end to that.”

Perrin sat down. Moiraine? It did not seem possible. “If Alanna and Verin are here . . . ” He rolled the goblet between his palms. He could not really make himself trust either woman. “Have you asked their advice?”

“No!” Rand’s hand slashed a sharp cutting gesture. “They stay clear of me, Perrin; I made that plain.”

Perrin decided to ask Faile to find out what was going on from Alanna or Verin. The two Aes Sedai often made him vaguely uneasy, but Faile seemed to get on well with them. “Rand, you know as well as I do it’s dangerous to anger Aes Sedai. Moiraine came looking for us—for you, anyway—but there were times I thought she was ready to kill Mat, me and you.” Rand said nothing, but at least he seemed to be listening, with his head tilted. “If a tenth of the stories I’ve been hearing ever since Baerlon are even half-true, this might be the worst possible time to have Aes Sedai angry with you. I don’t pretend to know what’s going on in the Tower, but—”

Rand gave himself a shake and leaned forward. “The Tower’s split right down the middle, Perrin. Half think I am a pig to buy at market, and the other half . . . I don’t know what they think, exactly. Three days in a row, I’ve met some of their embassy. I am supposed to meet again this afternoon, and I still cannot pin them down. They ask a sight more questions than they answer, and don’t seem much pleased I won’t give them any more answers than they give me. At least Elaida—she is the new Amyrlin, if you’ve not heard—at least her people say something, even if they do seem to think I’ll be so impressed by Aes Sedai curtsying that I won’t dig too deep.”

“Light,” Perrin breathed. “Light! You mean to say part of the Aes Sedai really have rebelled, and you’ve put yourself square between the Tower and the rebels? Two bears ready to fight, and you go picking cloud-berries between them! Did you never think you might have enough trouble from Aes Sedai without that? I tell you true, Rand. Siuan Sanche made my toes curl up in my boots, but at least you knew where you stood with her. She made me feel like I was a horse and she was trying to decide whether I’d do for a long hard ride, but at least she made it plain she didn’t mean to saddle me herself.”

Rand’s laugh was too hoarse to hold any mirth. “Do you really think Aes Sedai would leave me alone just because I left them alone? Me? The Tower splitting is the best thing that could have happened for me. They’re too busy staring at one another to turn full attention on me. Without that, there’d be twenty Aes Sedai everywhere I turned. Fifty. I have Tear and Cairhien behind me, after a fashion, and a toehold here. Without the split, every time I opened my mouth, there’d be somebody saying, ‘Yes, but the Aes Sedai say.’ Perrin, Moiraine did her best to tie cords to me until I forced her to stop, and truth to tell, I’m not so sure she stopped then. When an Aes Sedai says she’ll advise you and let you decide, she means she knows what you should do and will make you do it if she can.” Taking up his goblet, he drank deeply. When he lowered it, he seemed calmer. “If the Tower was whole, I’d have so many strings tied to me by now, I could not move a finger without asking six Aes Sedai for permission.”

Perrin very nearly laughed himself, and no more in mirth than Rand. “So you think it’s better to—what?—play the rebel Aes Sedai off against the Tower? ‘Cheer the bull, or cheer the bear; cheer both, and you will be trampled and eaten.’ ”

“Not that simple, Perrin, though they don’t know it,” Rand said smugly, shaking his head. “There’s a third side, ready to kneel to me. If they make contact again. Light! This isn’t how we should be spending our first hour together again, talking about Aes Sedai. Emond’s Field, Perrin.” His face softened almost to the Rand Perrin remembered, and he grinned eagerly. “I only had a short time with Bode and the others, but they mentioned all kinds of changes. Tell me what’s changed, Perrin. Tell me what’s the same.”

For a long while they talked about the refugees and all the new things they had brought, new kinds of beans and squash, new varieties of pear and apple, the weaving of fine cloth and maybe carpets, making bricks and tiles, stonework and furniture more ornate than anything the Two Rivers had seen in a long time if ever. Perrin had grown used to the sheer numbers of people who had come across the Mountains of Mist, but it seemed to stun Rand. The advantages and disadvantages of the wall some wanted to put around Emond’s Field, and the other villages, were gone into in depth, and stone walls versus log. At times Rand sounded his old self, laughing over how all the women had been so hard against Taraboner or Domani dresses in the beginning, and now were divided into those who would wear nothing but good stout Two Rivers dresses and those who had cut up all theirs for rags. Or over how a number of the younger men were growing mustaches like Taraboners or Domani, occasionally with an Almoth Plain goatee as well, which made the unwise wearer look as though a small animal had latched on under his nose. Perrin did not bother to add to that beards like his own were even more popular.

It came as a shock, though, when Rand made it clear he had no intention of visiting the camp, though there were any number of men there he knew. “I can’t protect you or Mat,” he said softly, “but I can them.”

After that the conversation naturally lagged, until even Rand realized he had draped a blanket over it. Finally he stood with a sigh, scrubbing his hands through his hair and looking around in a disgruntled way. “You must want to wash and rest, Perrin. I should not keep you from it. I’ll have rooms set aside for you.” Seeing Perrin to the door, he suddenly added, “You will think about Tear, Perrin? I need you there. There is no danger involved. I will tell you the whole plan, if you decide to go. You’ll be only the fourth man to know the real plan.” Rand’s face hardened. “You must keep that to yourself, Perrin. Don’t tell even Faile.”

“I can hold my tongue,” Perrin said stiffly. And a little sadly. The new Rand was back. “And I will think on Tear.”