The Shadow Rising

## Chapter 50

#### Traps

Outside, on the stone-paved path between the yellow-brick house and the terraced vegetable garden, Rand stood staring down the canyon, not seeing much beyond afternoon shadows creeping across the canyon floor. If only he could trust Moiraine not to hand him to the Tower on a leash; he had no doubt she could do it, without using the Power once, if he gave her an inch. The woman could manipulate a bull through a mouse hole without ever letting it know. He could use her. Light, I’m as bad as she is. Use the Aiel. Use Moiraine. If only I could trust her.

He headed toward the mouth of the canyon, slanting down whenever he found a footpath leading that way. They were all narrow, paved with small stones, some of the steeper carved in steps. Hammers ringing in several smithies echoed faintly. Not all of the buildings were houses. Through one open door he saw several women working looms, and another showed a silversmith putting up her small hammers and gouges, a third a man at a potter’s wheel, his hands in the clay and the brick kilns hot behind him. Men and boys, except the youngest, all wore the cadin’sor, the coat and breeches in grays and browns, but there were often subtle differences between warriors and craftsmen, a smaller belt knife or none at all, perhaps a shoufa with no black veil attached. Yet watching a blacksmith heft a spear he had just given a foot-long point, Rand had no doubt the man could use the weapon as readily as make it.

The paths were not crowded, but there were plenty of people about. Children laughed, running and playing, the smaller girls almost as likely to be carrying pretend spears as dolls. Gai’shain carried tall clay jars of water on their heads, or weeded in the gardens, often under the direction of a child of ten or twelve. Men and women going about the tasks of their lives, not really that different from the things they might have done in Emond’s Field, whether sweeping in front of a door or mending a wall. The children hardly gave him a glance, for all his red coat and thick-soled boots, and the gai’shain were so self-effacing it was difficult to say whether they noticed him or not. But craftsmen or fighters, men or women, the adults looked at him with an air of speculation, an edge of uncertain anticipation.

Very young boys ran barefoot in robes much like those of the gai’shain, but in the grayish-brown of the cadin’sor, not white. The youngest girls darted about on bare feet, too, in short dresses that sometimes failed to cover their knees. One thing about the girls caught his eye; up to perhaps twelve or so, they wore their hair in two braids, one over each ear, plaited with brightly colored ribbons. Just the way Egwene had worn hers. It had to be coincidence. Likely the reason she had stopped was that one of the Aiel woman had told her that was how young Aiel girls wore their hair. A foolish thing to be thinking about anyway. Right now he had one woman to deal with. Aviendha.

On the canyon floor, the peddlers were doing a brisk trade with the Aiel crowding around the canvas-topped wagons. At least the drivers were, and Keille, a blue lace shawl on her ivory combs today, was bargaining hard in a loud voice. Kadere sat on an upturned barrel in the shade of his white wagon in a cream-colored coat, mopping his face, making no effort to sell anything. He eyed Rand and made as if to rise before sinking back. Isendre was nowhere to be seen, but to Rand’s surprise, Natael was, his patch-covered cloak attracting a flock of following children, and some adults. Apparently the attraction of a new and larger audience had pulled him away from the Shaido. Or maybe Keille just did not want him out of her sight. Engrossed in her trading as she was, she found time to frown at the gleeman often.

Rand avoided the wagons. Questions asked of Aiel told him where the Jindo had gone, each to the roof of his or her society here at Cold Rocks. The Roof of the Maidens lay halfway up the still brightly lit east wall of the canyon, a garden-topped rectangle of grayish stone doubtless larger inside than it looked. Not that he saw the inside. A pair of Maidens squatting beside the door with spears and bucklers refused him entrance, amused and scandalized that a man wanted to enter, but one agreed to carry his request in.

A few minutes later the Jindo and Nine Valleys Maidens who had gone to the Stone came out. And all the other Maidens of Nine Valleys sept in Cold Rocks, too, crowding the path to either side and climbing up on the roof among the rows of vegetables to watch, grinning as if they expected entertainment. Gai’shain, male as well as female, followed to serve them small cups of dark-brewed tea; whatever rule kept men outside the Roof of the Maidens apparently did not apply to gai’shain.

After he had examined several offerings, Adelin, the yellow-haired Jindo woman with the thin scar on her cheek, produced a wide bracelet of ivory heavily carved with roses. He thought it should suit Aviendha; whoever made it had carefully shown thorns among the blossoms.

Adelin was tall even for an Aiel woman, only a hand too short to look him the eyes. When she heard why he wanted it—almost why; he just said it was a present for Aviendha’s teachings, not a sop to soothe the woman’s temper so he could stand to be near her—Adelin looked around at the other Maidens. They had all stopped grinning, their faces expressionless. “I will take no price for this, Rand al’Thor,” she said, putting the bracelet in his hand.

“Is this wrong?” he asked. How would Aiel see it? “I don’t want to dishonor Aviendha in any way.”

“It will not dishonor her.” She beckoned a gai’shain woman carrying pottery cups and pitcher on a silver tray. Pouring two cups, she handed one to him. “Remember honor,” she said, sipping from his cup.

Aviendha had never mentioned anything like this. Uncertain, he took a sip of bitter tea and repeated, “Remember honor.” It seemed the safest thing to say. To his surprise, she kissed him lightly on each cheek.

An older Maiden, gray-haired but still hard-faced, appeared in front of him. “Remember honor,” she said, and sipped.

He had to repeat the ritual with every Maiden there, finally just touching the cup to his lips. Aiel ceremonies might be short and to the point, but when you had to repeat one with seventy-odd women, even sips could fill you up. Shadows were climbing the east side of the canyon by the time he escaped.

He found Aviendha near Lian’s house, vigorously beating a blue-striped carpet hung on a line, more piled beside her in a heap of colors. Brushing sweat-damp strands of hair from her forehead, she stared at him expressionlessly when he handed her the bracelet and told her it was a gift in return for her teaching.

“I have given bracelets and necklaces to friends who did not carry the spear, Rand al’Thor, but I have never worn one.” Her voice was perfectly flat. “Such things rattle and make noise to give you away when you must be silent. They catch when you must move quickly.”

“But you can wear it now that you are going to be a Wise One.”

“Yes.” She turned the ivory circle over as if unsure what to do with it, then abruptly thrust her hand through it and held her wrist up to stare at it. She could have been looking at an manacle.

“If you do not like it . . . Aviendha, Adelin said it would not touch your honor. She even seemed to approve.” He mentioned the tea-sipping ceremony, and she squeezed her eyes shut and shuddered. “What is wrong?”

“They think you are trying to attract my interest.” He would not have believed her voice could be so flat. Her eyes held no emotion at all. “They have approved of you, as if I still carried the spear.”

“Light! Simple enough to set them straight. I don’t—” He cut off as her eyes blazed up.

“No! You accepted their approval, and now you would reject it? That would dishonor me! Do you think you are the first man to try to catch my eye? They must think as they think, now. It means nothing.” Grimacing, she gripped the woven carpet beater with both hands. “Go away.” With a glance at the bracelet, she added, “You truly know nothing, do you? You know nothing. It is not your fault.” She seemed to be repeating something she had been told, or trying to convince herself. “I am sorry if I ruined your meal, Rand al’Thor. Please go. Amys says I must clean all of these rugs and carpets no matter how long it takes. It will take all night, if you stand here talking.” Turning her back to him, she thwacked the striped carpet violently, the ivory bracelet jumping on her wrist.

He did not know whether the apology sprang from his gift or an order from Amys—he suspected the latter—yet she actually sounded as if she meant it. She was certainly not pleased—judging by the sharp grunt of effort that accompanied every full-armed swing of the beater—but she had not looked hateful once. Upset, appalled, even furious, but not hateful. That was better than nothing. She might become civil eventually.

As he stepped into the brown-tiled entry chamber of Lian’s house, the Wise Ones were talking together, all four with shawls draped loosely over their elbows. They fell silent at his appearance.

“I will have you shown to your sleeping room,” Amys said. “The others have seen theirs.”

“Thank you.” He glanced back at the door, frowning slightly. “Amys, did you tell Aviendha to apologize to me for dinner?”

“No. Did she?” Her blue eyes looked thoughtful for a moment; he thought Bair almost smiled. “I would not have ordered her to, Rand al’Thor. A forced apology is no apology.”

“The girl was told only to dust carpets until she had sweated out some of her temper,” Bair said. “Anything more came from her.”

“And not in hopes of escaping her labors,” Seana added. “She must learn to control her anger. A Wise One must be in control of her emotions, not they in control of her.” With a slight smile, she glanced sideways at Melaine. The sun-haired woman compressed her lips and sniffed.

They were trying to convince him Aviendha was going to be wonderful company from now on. Did they really think he was blind? “You must know that I know. About her. That you set her to spy on me.”

“You do not know as much as you think,” Amys said, for all the world like an Aes Sedai with hidden meanings she did not intend to let him see.

Melaine shifted her shawl, eyeing him up and down in a considering manner. He knew a little about Aes Sedai; if she were Aes Sedai, she would be Green Ajah. “I admit,” she said, “that at first we thought you would not see beyond a pretty young woman, and you are handsome enough that she should have found your company more amusing than ours. We did not reckon with her tongue. Or other things.”

“Then why are you so eager for her to stay with me?” There was more heat in his voice than he wanted. “You can’t think I will reveal anything to her now that I don’t want you to know.”

“Why do you allow her to remain?” Amys asked calmly. “If you refused to accept her, how could we force her on you?”

“At least this way I know who the spy is.” Having Aviendha under his eye had to be better than wondering which of the Aiel were watching him. Without her, he would probably suspect that every casual comment from Rhuarc was an attempt to pry. Of course, there was no way to say it was not. Rhuarc was married to one of these women. Suddenly he was glad he had not confided more in the clan chief. And sad that he had thought of it. Why had he ever believed the Aiel would be simpler than Tairen High Lords? “I’m satisfied to leave her right where she is.”

“Then we are all satisfied,” Bair said.

He eyed the leathery-faced woman leerily. There had been a note of something in her voice, as if she knew more than he did. “She will not find out what you want.”

“What we want?” Melaine snapped; her long hair swung as she tossed her head. “The prophecy says ‘a remnant of a remnant shall be saved.’ What we want, Rand al’Thor, Car’a’carn, is to save as many of our people as we can. Whatever your blood, and your face, you have no feeling for us. I will make you know our blood for yours if I have to lay the—”

“I think,” Amys cut her off smoothly, “that he would like to see his sleeping room now. He looks tired.” She clapped her hands sharply, and a willowy gai’shain woman appeared. “Show this man to the room that has been prepared for him. Bring him whatever he needs.”

Leaving him standing there, the Wise Ones headed for the door, Bair and Seana looking daggers at Melaine, like members of the Women’s Circle eyeing someone they meant to call to account sharply. Melaine ignored them; as the door closed behind them she was muttering something that sounded like “talk sense into that fool girl.”

What girl? Aviendha? She was already doing what they wanted. Egwene maybe? He knew she was studying something with the Wise Ones. And what was Melaine willing to “lay” in order to make him “know their blood for his”? How could laying something make him decide he was Aiel? Lay a trap, maybe? Fool! She wouldn’t say right out she means to lay a trap. What sorts of things do you lay? Hens lay eggs, he thought, laughing softly. He was tired. Too tired for questions now, after twelve days in the saddle and part of a thirteenth, all of them oven-hot and dry; he did not want to think of how he would feel if he had walked that distance at the same pace. Aviendha must have steel legs. He wanted a bed.

The gai’shain was pretty, despite a thin scar slanting just above one pale blue eye into hair so light as to look almost silver. Another Maiden; only not for the moment. “If it pleases you to follow me?” she murmured, lowering her eyes.

The sleeping room was not a bedchamber, of course. Unsurprisingly, the “bed” consisted of a thick pallet unfolded atop layered, brightly colored rugs. The gai’shain—her name was Chion—looked shocked when he asked for wash water, but he was tired of sweat baths. He was willing to bet Moiraine and Egwene had not had to sit in a tent full of steam to get clean. Chion brought the water, though, hot in a large brown pitcher meant for watering the garden, and a big white bowl for a washbasin. He chased her out when she offered to wash him. Strange people, all of them!

The room was windowless, lit by silver lamps hanging from brackets on the walls, but he knew it could not yet be full dark outside when he finished washing. He did not care. Only two blankets lay on the pallet, neither particularly thick. No doubt a sign of Aiel hardiness. Remembering the cold nights in the tents, he dressed again except for his coat and boots before blowing out the lamps and crawling beneath the blankets in pitch darkness.

Tired as he was, he could not stop tossing and thinking. What did Melaine mean to lay? Why did the Wise Ones not care that he knew Aviendha was their spy? Aviendha. A pretty woman, if surlier than a mule with four stone-bruised hooves. His breathing slowed, his thoughts became misty. A month.

Too long. No choice. Sooner. Isendre smiling. Kadere watching. Trap. Lay a trap. Whose trap? Which trap? Traps. If only he could trust Moiraine. Perrin. Home. Perrin was probably swimming in . . .

Eyes closed, Rand stroked through the water. Nicely cool. And so wet. It seemed that he had never before realized how good wet felt. Lifting his head, he looked around at the willows lining one end of the pond, the big oak at the other, stretching thick, shading limbs over the water. The Waterwood. It was good to be home. He had the feeling he had been away; where was not exactly clear, but not important, either. Up to Watch Hill. Yes. He had never been farther than that. Cool and wet. And alone.

Suddenly two bodies hurtled through the air, knees clutched to chest, landing with great splashes that blinded him. Shaking the water out of his eyes, he found Elayne and Min smiling at him from either side, just their heads showing above the pale green surface. Two strokes would take him to either woman. Away from the other. He could not love both of them. Love? Why had that popped into his head?

“You do not know who you love.”

He spun about in a swirl of water. Aviendha stood on the bank, in cadin’sor rather than skirt and blouse. Not glaring, though, just looking. “Come into the water,” he said. “I’ll teach you how to swim.”

Musical laughter pulled his head around to the opposite bank. The woman who stood there, palely naked, was the most beautiful he had ever seen, with big, dark eyes that made his head whirl. He thought he knew her.

“Should I allow you to be unfaithful to me, even in your dreams?” she said. Somehow he was aware without looking that Elayne and Min and Aviendha were not there anymore., This was beginning to feel very odd.

For a long moment she considered him, completely unconscious of her nudity. Slowly she posed on toe tips, arms swept back, then dove cleanly into the pond. When her head popped above the surface, her shining black hair was not wet. That seemed surprising, for a moment. Then she had reached him—had she swum, or was she just there?—tangling arms and legs around him. The water was cool, her flesh hot.

“You cannot escape me,” she murmured. Those dark eyes seemed far deeper than the pond. “I will make you enjoy this so you never forget, asleep or awake.”

Asleep or . . . ? Everything shifted, blurred. She wrapped herself around him tighter, and the blur went away. Everything was as it had been. Rushes filled one end of the pond; leatherleaf and pine grew almost to the water’s edge at the other.

“I know you,” he said slowly. He thought he must, or why would he be letting her do this? “But I don’t . . . This is not right.” He tried to pull her loose, but as fast as he pried an arm away, she had it back again.

“I ought to mark you.” There was a fierce edge in her voice. “First that milk-hearted Ilyena and now . . . How many women do you hold in your thoughts?” Suddenly her small white teeth burrowed at his neck.

Bellowing, he hurled her away and slapped a hand to his neck. She had broken the skin; he was bleeding.

“Is this how you amuse yourself when I wonder where you have gone?” a man’s voice said contemptuously. “Why should I hold to anything when you risk our plan this way?”

Abruptly the woman was on the bank, clothed in white, narrow waist belted in wide woven silver, silver stars and crescents in her midnight hair. The land rose slightly behind her to an ash grove on a mound. He did not remember seeing ash before. She was facing—a blur. A thick, gray, man-sized fuzzing of the air. This was all . . . wrong, somehow.

“Risk,” she sneered. “You fear risk as much as Moghedien, don’t you? You would creep about like the Spider herself. Had I not hauled you out of your hole, you’d still be hiding, and waiting to snatch a few scraps.”

“If you cannot control your . . . appetites,” the blur said in the man’s voice, “why should I associate with you at all? If I must take risks, I want a greater reward than pulling strings on a puppet.”

“What do you mean?” she said dangerously.

The blur shimmered; somehow Rand knew it for hesitation, uncertainty over having said too much. And then suddenly the blur was gone. The woman looked at him, still neck-deep in the pond; her mouth tightened with irritation, and she vanished.

He started awake and lay still, peering up into blackness. A dream. But an ordinary dream, or something else? Fumbling a hand from under the blankets, he felt the side of his neck, felt the tooth marks and the thin trickle of blood. Whatever kind of dream, she had been in it. Lanfear. He had not dreamed her. And that other; a man. A cold smile crept onto his face. Traps all around. Traps for unwary feet. Have to watch where I step, now. So many traps. Everybody was laying them.

Laughing softly, he twisted around to go back to sleep—and froze, holding his breath. He was not alone in the room. Lanfear.

Frantically he reached for the True Source. For an instant he feared fear itself might defeat him. Then he floated in the cold calm of the Void, filled with a raging river of the Power. He sprang to his feet, lashing out. The lamps burst alight.

Aviendha sat cross-legged by the door, mouth hanging open and green eyes bulging by turns at the lamps and the bonds, invisible to her, that wrapped her completely. Not even her head could move; he had expected someone standing, and the weave extended well above her. He released the flows of Air immediately.

She scrambled to her feet, nearly losing her shawl in her haste. “I . . . I do not believe I will ever become used to . . . ” She gestured at the lamps. “From a man.”

“You have seen me wield the Power before.” Anger oozed across the surface of the Void surrounding him. Sneaking into his room in the dark. Frightening him half to death. She was lucky he had not hurt her, killed her by accident. “You had best grow used to it. I am He Who Comes With the Dawn whether you want to admit it or not.”

“That is not part—”

“Why are you here?” he demanded coldly.

“The Wise Ones are taking turns watching over you from outside. They meant to continue watching from . . . ” She trailed off, her face reddening.

“From where?” She only stared at him, her face growing more and more crimson. “Aviendha, from wh—?” Dreamwalkers. Why had it never occurred to him? “From inside my dreams,” he said harshly. “How long have they been spying inside my head?”

She let out a long, heavy breath. “I was not supposed to let you know. If Bair finds out—Seana said it was too dangerous tonight. I do not understand it: I cannot enter the dream without one of them to help me. Something dangerous tonight is all I know. That is why they are taking turns at the door to this roof. They are all worried.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“I do not know why I am here,” she muttered. “If you need protection . . . ” She glanced at her short belt knife, touched the hilt. The ivory bracelet seemed to irritate her; she folded her arms so it was tucked into her armpit. “I could not protect you very well with a knife this small, and Bair says if I pick up a spear again without someone actually attacking me, she will have my hide for a waterskin. I do not know why I should give up sleep to protect you at all. Because of you, I was beating rugs until less than a hour ago. By moonlight!”

“That wasn’t the question. How long—?” He cut off suddenly. There was a feel in the air, a sense of wrongness. Of evil. It could be imagination, residue from his dream. It could be.

Aviendha gasped as the flame-red sword appeared in his hands, its slightly curved blade marked with the heron. Lanfear had accused him of using only the tenth part of what he was capable of, yet most of that tenth came by guess and fumbling. He did not know even the tenth part of what he could do. But he knew the sword.

“Stay behind me.” He was just aware of her unsheathing her belt knife as he padded from the room in his stocking feet, soundless on the carpets. Oddly, the air was no cooler than when he had lain down. Perhaps those stone walls held what heat there was, for the farther out he went, the colder it grew.

Even the gai’shain must have sought their pallets by now. The halls and chambers stood silent and empty, most dimly illuminated by the scattered lamps still burning. Here where extinguished lamps meant pitch dark at noon, some lamps were always left lit. The feeling was still vague, but it would not go away. Evil.

He stopped suddenly, in the wide archway leading to the brown-tiled entry chamber. One silver lamp at each end of the room gave a pale light. In the middle of the floor a tall man stood with his head bowed over the woman wrapped in his black-cloaked arms, her head flung back and her white cowl fallen while he nuzzled at her throat. Chion’s eyes were nearly closed, and she wore an ecstatic smile. A flush of embarrassment slid across the surface of the Void. Then the man raised his head.

Black eyes regarded Rand, too big in a pale, gaunt-cheeked face; a puckered, red-lipped mouth opened in a parody of a smile, showing sharp teeth. Chion crumpled to the floor as the cloak unfolded, spread into wide, batlike wings. The Draghkar stepped over her, white, white hands reaching for Rand, the long, slender fingers tipped with claws. Claws and teeth were not the danger, though. It was the Draghkar’s kiss that killed, and worse.

Its crooning, hypnotic song clung tight around the Void. Those dark, leathery wings moved to enfold him as he stepped forward. One moment of startlement flashed in the huge black eyes before the Power-made sword clove the Draghkar’s skull to the bridge of its nose.

A steel blade would have bound, but the blade woven of fire pulled free easily as the creature fell. For a moment, deep in the heart of the Void, Rand examined the thing at his feet. That song. Had he not been shielded from emotion by emptiness, kept dispassionate and distant, that song would have snared his mind. The Draghkar surely believed it had when he came to it so willingly.

Aviendha ran past him to half-kneel beside Chion and feel the gai’shain’s throat. “Dead,” she said, thumbing the woman’s eyelids the rest of the way shut. “Perhaps better for it. Draghkar eat the soul before they consume life. A Draghkar! Here!” She glared at him from her crouch. “Trollocs at Imre Stand, and now a Draghkar here. You bring ill times to the Three-fold—” With a cry, she threw herself flat across Chion as he leveled the sword.

A bar of solid fire shot over her from his blade to strike the chest of the Draghkar just filling the outer doorway. Bursting into flame, the Shadowspawn staggered back screaming, stumbling across the path, beating wings that dripped fire.

“Rouse everyone,” Rand said calmly. Had Chion fought? How far had her honor held her? It would have made no difference. Draghkar died more easily than Myrddraal, but they were more dangerous in their own way. “If you know how to sound the alarm, do it.”

“The gong by the door—”

“I will do it. Wake them. There may be more than two.”

Nodding, she dashed back the way they had come, shouting, “Up spears! Wake and up spears!”

Rand stepped outside warily, sword ready, the Power filling him, thrilling him. Sickening him. He wanted to laugh, to vomit. The night was freezing, but he was barely aware of the cold.

The burning Draghkar was sprawled in the terrace garden, stinking of burning meat, adding the light of its low fire to the moon. A little way down the path Seana lay, long graying hair spread in a fan, staring at the sky with wide, unblinking eyes. Her belt knife lay beside her, but she had had no chance against a Draghkar.

Even as Rand snatched the leather-padded mallet hanging beside the square bronze gong, pandemonium erupted from the canyon mouth, human shouts and Trolloc howls, the clash of steel, screams. He sounded the gong hard, a sonorous toll that echoed down the canyon; almost immediately another gong sounded, then more, and from dozens of mouths the cry, “Up spears!”

Confused yells rose around the peddlers’ wagons below. Rectangles of light appeared, doors flung open on the two boxlike wagons, gleaming white in the moonlight. Someone was shouting angrily down there—a woman; he could not tell who.

Wings beat in the air above him. Snarling, Rand raised the fiery sword; the One Power burned in him, and fire roared from the blade. The stooping Draghkar exploded in a rain of burning chunks that fell into the darkness below.

“Here,” Rhuarc said. The clan chief’s eyes were hard above his black veil; fully dressed, he carried buckler and spears. Mat stood behind him, coatless and bareheaded, shirt half tucked in, blinking uncertainly and gripping his black-hafted spear with both hands.

Rand took the shoufa from Rhuarc, then let it drop. A bat-winged shape wheeled across the moon, then swooped low on the far side of the canyon, vanishing in the shadows. “They hunt for me. Let them see my face.” The Power surged in him; the sword in his hand flared till it seemed a small sun illumined him. “They can’t find me if they do not know where I am.” Laughing, because they could not see the joke, he ran down toward the sound of battle.

Pulling his spear free of a boar-snouted Trolloc’s chest, Mat crouched, eyes searching the moonlit darkness near the canyon mouth for another. Burn Rand! None of the shapes he saw moving were big enough to be a Trolloc. Always dumping me into these bloody things! Low moans came from the wounded. A shadowy form he thought was Moiraine knelt beside a downed Aiel. Those balls of fire she tossed about were impressive, almost as much as that sword of Rand’s, spurting bars of flame. The thing still shone so a circle of light surrounded the man. I should have stayed in my blankets is what I should have done. It’s bloody cold, and this is nothing to do with me! More Aiel were beginning to appear, women in skirts come to help with the injured. Some of those women carried spears; they might not do the fighting normally, but once the battle had reached into the hold they had not stood by and watched.

A Maiden stopped beside him, unveiling. He could not make out her face, all moonshadows. “You dance your spear well, gambler. Strange days when Trollocs come to Cold Rocks.” She glanced at the shadowy shape he thought was Moiraine. “They might have forced a way in without the Aes Sedai.”

“There weren’t enough for that,” he said without thinking. “They were meant to pull attention here.” So those Draghkar would have a free hand to reach Rand?

“I think you are right,” she said slowly. “Are you a battle leader among the wetlanders?”

He wished he had kept his mouth shut. “I read a book once,” he muttered, turning away. Bloody pieces of other men’s bloody memories. Maybe the peddlers would be ready to leave after this.

When he stopped by the wagons, though, neither Keille nor Kadere was anywhere to be seen. The drivers were all clumped together, hastily passing around jars of something that smelled like the good brandy they had been selling, muttering and as agitated as if the Trollocs had actually come within smelling distance of them. Isendre stood at the top of the steps to Kadere’s wagon, frowning at nothing. Even with her brows furrowed she was beautiful behind that misty scarf. He was glad that at least his memories of women were his own.

“The Trollocs are done,” he told her, leaning on his spear so she would be sure to notice it. No point risking having my skull split without getting a little good out of it. No effort at all was needed to sound tired. “A hard fight, but you’re safe, now.”

She stared down at him, face expressionless, eyes glittering in the moonlight like dark, polished stone. Without a word she turned and went inside, slamming the door. Hard.

Mat expelled a long, disgusted breath and stalked away from the wagons. What did it take to impress the woman? Bed was what he wanted. Back in his blankets, and let Rand deal with Trollocs and bloody Draghkar. The man seemed to enjoy it. Laughing like that.

Rand was coming up the canyon now, the glow of that sword like lamplight around him in the night. Aviendha appeared, running to meet him with her skirts pulled up above her knees, then stopped. Letting her skirts fall, she smoothed them and fell in beside Rand, lifting her shawl around her head. He seemed not to see her, and her face was blank as stone. They deserved each other.

“Rand,” a hurrying shadow called with Moiraine’s voice, nearly as melodious as Keille’s, but a cool music. Rand turned, waiting, and she slowed before she could be seen clearly, entering the light regally enough for any palace. “Matters grow more dangerous, Rand. The attack at Imre Stand could have been aimed at the Aiel—not likely, yet it could have been—but tonight the Draghkar were surely aimed at you.”

“I know.” Just like that. As calm as she and even colder.

Moiraine’s lips compressed, and her hands were too still on her skirts; she was not best pleased. “Prophecy is most dangerous when you try to make it happen. Did you not learn that in Tear? The Pattern weaves itself around you, but when you try to weave it, even you cannot hold it. Force the Pattern too tight, and pressure builds. It can explode wildly in every direction. Who can say how long before it settles to focus on you again, or what will happen before it does?”

“As clear as most of your explanations,” Rand said dryly. “What do you want, Moiraine? It is late, and I am tired.”

“I want you to confide in me. Do you think you have already learned all there is to know, little more than a year out of your village?”

“No, I haven’t learned everything yet.” Now he sounded amused; sometimes Mat was not sure he was still as sane as he looked. “You want me to confide in you, Moiraine? All right. Your Three Oaths won’t let you lie. Say plainly that whatever I tell you, you won’t try to stop me, won’t hinder me in any way. Say you won’t try to use me for the Tower’s ends. Say it plain and straight so I know it’s true.”

“I will do nothing to hinder you fulfilling your destiny. I have devoted my life to that. But I will not promise to watch while you lay your head on a chopping block.”

“Not good enough, Moiraine. Not good enough. But if I could confide in you, I’d still not do it here. The night has ears.” There were people moving all around in the darkness, but none close enough to hear. “Even dreams have ears.” Aviendha tugged her shawl forward to shadow her face; even an Aiel could feel the cold, apparently.

Rhuarc stepped into the light, black veil hanging loose. “The Trollocs were only a diversion for the Draghkar, Rand al’Thor. Too few to be else. Draghkar meant for you, I think. Leafblighter does not want you to live.”

“The danger grows,” Moiraine said quietly.

The clan chief glanced at her before going on. “Moiraine Sedai is right. Since the Draghkar failed, I fear we can expect the Soulless next; what you call Gray Men. I want to put spears around you at all times. For some reason, the Maidens have volunteered for this task.”

The cold was getting to Aviendha. Shoulders hunched, she had her hands shoved into her armpits as far they would go.

“If they wish it,” Rand said. He sounded a touch uncomfortable under all that ice. Mat did not blame him; he would not have put himself in the Maidens’ hands again for all the silk on Sea Folk ships.

“They will watch better than anyone else,” Rhuarc said, “having asked for the task. I do not mean to leave it to them alone, however. I will have everyone on guard. I believe it will be the Soulless next time, but that does not mean it cannot be something else. Ten thousand Trollocs instead of a few hundred.”

“What about the Shaido?” Mat wished he had not cracked his teeth when they all looked at him. Maybe they had not even realized he was there until then. Still, he might as well say it. “I know you don’t like them, but if you think there’s really any chance of a bigger attack, wouldn’t it be better to have them in here than outside?”

Rhuarc grunted; from him, that equaled a curse from most men. “I would not bring near a thousand Shaido inside Cold Rocks if Grassburner were coming. I could not in any case. Couladin and the Shaido folded their tents at nightfall. We are well rid of them. I sent runners to make sure they leave Taardad land without taking a few goats or sheep with them.”

That sword vanished from Rand’s hand, the abrupt absence of its light like blindness. Mat squeezed his eyes shut to help them adapt, but when he opened them again, the moonlight still seemed dark.

“Which way did they go?” Rand asked.

“North,” Rhuarc told him. “No doubt Couladin means to meet Sevanna on her way to Alcair Dal, to influence her against you. He may succeed. The only reason she laid her bridal wreath at Suladric’s feet instead of his was that she meant to wed a clan chief. But I told you to expect trouble from her. Sevanna delights in causing trouble. It should not matter. If the Shaido will not follow you, they are small loss.”

“I mean to go to Alcair Dal,” Rand said firmly. “Now. I will apologize to any chief who feels dishonored by coming late, but I’ll not let Couladin be there any longer before me than I can manage. He won’t stop at turning Sevanna against me, Rhuarc. I cannot afford to hand him a month for it.”

After a moment, Rhuarc said, “Perhaps you are right. You bring change, Rand al’Thor. At sunrise, then. I will choose out ten Red Shields for my honor, and the Maidens will provide yours.”

“I mean to be leaving when first light hits the sky, Rhuarc. With every hand that can carry a spear or draw a bow.”

“Custom—”

“There are no customs to cover me, Rhuarc.” You could have cracked rocks with Rand’s voice, or put a skim of ice on wine. “I have to make new customs.” He laughed roughly. Aviendha looked shocked, and even Rhuarc blinked, taken aback. Only Moiraine was unaffected, with those considering eyes. “Someone had best let the peddlers know,” Rand continued. “They won’t want to miss the fair, but if they don’t stop those fellows drinking they will be too drunk to handle reins. What of you. Mat? Are you coming?”

He certainly did not intend to let the peddlers get away from him, not his way out of the Waste. “Oh, I am right behind you, Rand.” The worst of it was, it felt right saying that. Bloody ta’veren tugging at me! How had Perrin pulled free? Light, I wish I was with him right now. “I guess I am.”

Shouldering his spear, he strode off up the canyon. There was still time to get a little sleep at least. Behind him he could hear Rand chuckling.