The Gathering Storm

37 A Force of Light

Min sat quietly, watching Rand dress. His motions were tense and careful, like the steps of a performer walking the high rope at a menagerie. He did up the left cuff on his crisp white shirt with slow, deliberate fingers. The right cuff was already done up; his servants saw to that.

It was approaching evening outside. Not quite dark yet, though the shutters were closed in preparation. Rand reached for a gold and black coat, sliding on one sleeve, then the other. Then did the buttons one after another. He had no trouble with these; he was growing practiced at working with only one hand. Button after button. First, second, third, fourth. . . .

Min felt like screaming.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

Rand did not turn from the mirror. “About what?”

“The Seanchan.”

“There will be no peace,” he said, straightening his coat collar. “I have failed.” His tone was emotionless, yet somehow taut.

“It’s all right to be frustrated, Rand.”

“Frustration is pointless,” he said. “Anger is pointless. Neither emotion will change facts, and the fact is that I have no more time to waste on the Seanchan. We will have to risk an attack from behind by riding to the Last Battle without stability in Arad Doman. It is not ideal, but it is what must happen.”

The air shimmered above Rand, and a mountain appeared there. Viewings were so common around Rand that Min usually forced herself to ignore them unless they were new—though she did spend time some days trying to pick them all out and sort through them. This one was new, and it caught her attention. The towering mountain was blasted out on one side, making a jagged hole down the slope. Dragonmount? It was cloaked in dark shadows, as if shaded by clouds high above. That was odd; whenever she’d seen the mountain, it had reached higher than the clouds themselves.

Dragonmount in shadows. It would be important to Rand in the future. Was that a tiny prick of light shining from the heavens down onto the point of the mountain?

The viewing vanished. Though Min knew what some of them meant, this one baffled her. She sighed, leaning back in the red-cushioned chair. Her books lay scattered on the floor; she’d been dedicating more and more time to her studies, partly because she felt Rand’s sense of urgency, and partly because she didn’t know what else to do. She liked to think that she was capable of taking care of herself. And she’d begun to think of herself as a last defense for Rand.

Min had discovered just how useful she was as a “line of defense.” She’d been about as useful as a child! In fact, she’d been a hindrance, a tool for Semirhage to use against him. She’d been indignant when Rand had suggested sending her away, giving him a tongue-lashing for even suggesting it. Send her away! To keep her safe? That was foolishness! She could take care of herself.

So she had thought. Now she saw that he’d been right.

That made her sick. So she studied and tried to stay out of his way. He’d changed on that day, as if something bright had turned off inside of him. A lamp flickering out, its oil gone, leaving only the casing. He looked at her differently, now. When those eyes of his studied her, did they see only a liability?

She shivered, trying to shove that thought from her mind.

Rand put on his boots, then did up their buckles.

He stood, reaching for the sword which leaned against his clothing chest. The black scabbard, with its lacquered red and gold dragon, sparkled in the light. Such a strange weapon those scholars had found beneath the submerged statue. The sword felt so old. Was Rand wearing it today as a symbol of something? A sign, perhaps, that he was riding to battle?

“You’re going after her, aren’t you?” Min found herself asking. “Graendal.”

“I have to fix what problems I can,” Rand said, pulling the ancient sword from the sheath and checking the blade. There was no heron mark, but the fine steel blade glistened in the lamplight, showing the undulating lines of its folded metal. It had been Power-forged, he claimed. He seemed to know things about it he did not share.

Rand snapped the blade into the black scabbard, looking at her. “Fix the problems you can, don’t fret over the ones you cannot. It was something Tam once told me. Arad Doman will have to survive against the Seanchan on its own. The last thing I can do for the people here is remove one of the Forsaken from their soil.”

“She might be waiting for you, Rand,” Min said. “Did it occur to you that the boy Nynaeve found was a plant? Intended to be discovered, to lead you into a trap?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “He was genuine, Min. Moghedien might have considered a trick like that, but not Graendal. She’d be too worried about being traced. We have to move quickly, before word reaches her that she has been compromised. I must strike now.”

Min stood.

“Are you coming, then?” Rand asked, looking surprised.

She flushed. What if things go as poorly with Graendal as they did with SemirhageP What if I become a tool against him again?

“Yes,” she said, just to prove to herself that she wasn’t giving up. “Of course I’m coming. Don’t think you can leave me behind!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said flatly. “Come.”

She’d expected more of an argument.

From the night stand he picked up the statuette of a man holding aloft a globe. He turned the ter’angreal in his hand, inspecting it, then looked up at Min, as if in challenge. She said nothing.

He tucked the statuette into the oversized pocket of his coat, then strode from the room, ancient, Power-forged sword belted to his waist.

Min hurried after Rand. He glanced at the pair of Maidens guarding the door. “I go to battle,” he said to them. “Bring no more than twenty.”

The Maidens exchanged a brief moment of handtalk; then one loped ahead and the other tailed Rand as he marched down the hallway. Min hurried up beside him, heart thumping, her boots loud on the floorboards. He had rushed off like this to fight Forsaken before, but usually he took more time to plan. He’d maneuvered Sammael for months before striking at Illian. He’d had barely a single day to decide what do with Graendal!

Min checked her knives, making certain they were secure in her sleeves, but it was just a nervous habit. Rand reached the end of the hallway, then strode down the stairs, his face still calm, his step quick but not hurried. Yet he seemed like a thunderstorm, contained and wrapped up, somehow bound and channeled toward a single goal. How she wished he’d just explode and lose his temper, the way he used to! He’d exasperated her then, but he’d never frightened her. Not as he did now, with those icy eyes she couldn’t read, that aura of danger. Since the incident with Semirhage, he spoke of doing “whatever he had to” regardless of cost, and she knew that he must seethe at having failed to convince the Seanchan to ally with him. What would that combination of failure and determination lead him to do?

At the bottom of the wide staircase, Rand spoke to a servant. “Fetch for me Nynaeve Sedai and Lord Ramshalan. Bring them to the sitting room.”

Lord Ramshalan? The overstuffed man from Lady Chadmar’s former circle? “Rand,” Min said quietly, reaching the bottom of the stairs, “what are you planning?”

He said nothing. He strode through the white marble entryway, entering the sitting room, which was decorated in deep reds to contrast with the white floor. He did not sit, but remained standing with his arms behind his back, studying the map of Arad Doman he’d ordered placed on the wall. The aged map hung where a fine oil painting once had, and seemed completely out of place in the room.

On the map, there was a black ink mark at the edge of a small lake to the southeast. Rand had placed it there the morning after Kerb died. It marked Natrin’s Barrow.

“It was a fort, once,” Rand said absently.

“The city where Graendal is hiding?” Min said, walking up beside him.

He shook his head. “It’s not a city. I’ve sent scouts. It’s just a solitary structure, built long ago to watch the Mountains of Mist and guard against incursion through the passes by Manetheren. It hasn’t been used for military purposes since the Trolloc Wars; there’s hardly need to worry about invasion from Two Rivers people who don’t even remember the name Manetheren.”

Min nodded. “Though, Arad Doman did get invaded by a shepherd from the Two Rivers.”

Once that would have made him smile. She kept forgetting that he didn’t do that anymore.

“A few centuries back,” Rand said, eyes narrowed in thought, “the king of Arad Doman seized Natrin’s Barrow back in the name of the throne. For some time before, it had been occupied by a minor noble family from Toman Head who had been trying to set up their own new kingdom. That happens on Almoth Plain occasionally. The Domani king liked the location, and used the fortress as a palace instead.

“He spent a great deal of time there, so much, in fact, that several of his merchant enemies gained too much power in Bandar Eban. The King fell, but his successors also used the fortress, and it became a popular retreat for the Crown when the King needed relaxation. The practice dwindled during the last hundred years or so, until it was granted to a distant cousin of the King about fifty years back. Their family has used it ever since. Among the general Domani populace, Natrin’s Barrow has been largely forgotten.”

“Except by Alsalam?” Min asked.

Rand shook his head. “No. I doubt he knew of it at all. I learned this history from the royal archivist, who had to search for hours to locate the name of the family using the place. There has been no contact with them for months, though they used to visit towns on occasion. The few farm-steaders in the area say that someone new seems to be living in the palace, though nobody knows where the former owner went. They seem surprised that they’ve never thought about how odd that is.”

He eyed her. “This is exactly the sort of location Graendal would choose as her center of power. It’s a jewel—a forgotten fortress of beauty and power, ancient and regal. Close enough to Bandar Eban for her to have a hand in ruling Arad Doman, but far enough away to be defensible and secluded. I made a mistake in my searches for her—I assumed she’d want a beautiful manor with gardens and grounds. I should have realized; it isn’t just beauty that she collects, but prestige. A magnificent fortress for kings fits her just as much as an elegant manor house. Particularly since this one is more palace than fort now.”

Footsteps in the entryway behind drew Min’s attention, and a few seconds later a servant ushered in Nynaeve and the foppish Ramshalan, with his pointed beard and thin mustache. Today he had tiny bells at the end of the beard and wore a black velvet beauty mark on his cheek, also in the shape of a bell. He wore a loose silk costume of green and blue, the sleeves drooping, ruffled shirt poking out beneath. Min didn’t care what fashion dictated, the man looked ridiculous. Like a disheveled peacock.

“My Lord called for me?” Ramshalan said, bowing extravagantly toward Rand.

Rand didn’t turn away from the map. “I have a puzzle for you, Ramshalan,” he said. “I want to know what you think.”

“Please, don’t hesitate, my Lord!”

“Then tell me this: How do I outthink an enemy I know is smarter than I am?”

“My Lord.” Ramshalan bowed a second time, as if worried that Rand hadn’t noticed the first one. “Surely you seek to trick me! There is nobody more intelligent than yourself.”

“I wish that were true,” Rand said softly. “I face some of the most crafty people who have ever lived. My current foe understands the minds of others in a way that I cannot hope to match. So how do I defeat her? She will vanish the moment I threaten her, running to one of a dozen other refuges she is sure to have set up. She won’t fight me head-on, yet if I destroy her fortress in a surprise attack, I risk letting her slip away and never knowing if I’ve finished her.”

“A problem indeed, my Lord,” Ramshalan said. He looked confused.

Rand nodded, as if to himself. “I have to peer into her eyes, see into her soul, and know that it’s her that I face and not some decoy. I have to do that without frightening her into running. How? How can I kill a foe who is more clever than myself, a foe who is impossible to surprise, yet who is also unwilling to confront me?”

Ramshalan looked overwhelmed by those demands. “I. . . . My Lord, if your foe is that clever, then perhaps your best course of action is to request the aid of someone more clever?”

Rand turned to him. “An excellent suggestion, Ramshalan. Perhaps I’ve already done just that.”

The man swelled. He thinks that’s why Rand summoned him! Min realized. She had to hide her smile with a turn of the head and a raised hand.

“If you had an enemy such as this, Ramshalan, what would you do?” Rand asked. “I grow impatient. Give me an answer.”

“I’d make an alliance, my Lord,” Ramshalan said without pausing for another second. “Anyone that powerful would make a better friend than foe, I say.”

Idiot, Min thought. If your enemy is that crafty and ruthless, an alliance will only end with an assassin’s dagger in your back.

“Another excellent suggestion,” Rand said softly. “But I am still intrigued by the first comment you made. You said I need allies who are smarter than I am, and that is true. It is time for you to be off, then.”

“My Lord?” Ramshalan said.

“You are to be my emissary,” Rand said, waving a hand. A gateway suddenly split the air on the far side of the room, shearing through the fine rug at the floor. “Too many of the Domani bloodborn are hiding, scattered through the country. I would have them as my allies, but it would be a drain on my time to seek each one in person. Fortunately, I have you to go on my behalf.”

Ramshalan looked excited about the prospect. Through the gateway, Min could see towering pines, and the air on the other side was cold and crisp. Min turned and glanced at Nynaeve—dressed in blue and white again. The Aes Sedai watched the exchange with calculating eyes, and Min could read her own emotions in Nynaeve’s expression. What was Rand’s game?

“Beyond that gateway,” Rand said, “you will find a hill leading down to an ancient palace which is inhabited by a minor Domani merchant family. It is the first of many places I shall send you. Go in my name and seek those who rule the keep. See if they are willing to support me, or if they even know about me. Offer them rewards for allegiance; since you have proven yourself clever, I will let you determine the terms. I haven’t the mind for those sorts of negotiations myself.”

“Yes, my Lord!” the man said, swelling further, though he did eye the gateway with concern, distrustful—like most people—of the One Power, particularly when wielded by a man. If it were opportune, this man would switch loyalties as quickly as he had when Lady Chadmar had fallen. What was Rand thinking, sending a popinjay like this to meet with Graendal?

“Go,” Rand said.

Ramshalan took a few hesitant steps toward the gateway. “Er, my Lord Dragon, could I perhaps have something in the way of an escort?”

“No need to frighten or alarm the people there,” Rand said without turning from the map. Cold air continued to blow through the gateway. “Go quickly and return, Ramshalan. I will leave the gateway open until you are back. My patience is not limitless, and there are many I could turn to for this mission.”

“I. ...” The man seemed to calculate the risks. “Of course, Lord Dragon.” He took a deep breath and walked through the portal, his steps uncomfortable, like those of a house cat venturing out into a puddle of water. Min found herself feeling sorry for the man.

Fallen needles crackled as Ramshalan moved off into the forest. A breeze hissed through the trees; it was an odd sound to hear while standing in the comfort of the mansion. Rand left the gateway open, still staring at his map.

“All right, Rand,” Nynaeve demanded after a few minutes, her arms folded. “What game is this?”

“How would you beat her, Nynaeve?” Rand asked. “She won’t be goaded into fighting me, like Rahvin or Sammael were. She won’t be easily trapped either. Graendal understands people better than anyone. Twisted she may be, but she is crafty, and should not be underestimated. Torhs Margin made that mistake, I recall, and you know his fate.”

Min frowned. “Who?” she asked, looking at Nynaeve. The Aes Sedai shrugged.

Rand glanced at them. “I believe in history he was known at Torhs the Broken.”

Again, Min shook her head. Nynaeve joined her. Neither was deeply versed in history, true, but Rand acted as if they should know this name. Rand’s face hardened, and he blushed just faintly, turning away from them. “The question remains,” he said, voice soft but tense. “How would you fight her, Nynaeve?”

“I don’t care to play your games, Rand al’Thor,” Nynaeve replied with a huff. “You’ve obviously already decided what you intend to do. Why ask me?”

“Because what I am about to do should frighten me,” he said. “It doesn’t.”

Min shivered. Rand nodded to the Maidens standing in the doorway. Moving lightly, they crossed the room, leaped through the gateway, and spread through the pine forest, quickly vanishing from sight. All twenty together made less noise than Ramshalan had.

Min waited. On the other side of the gateway, a distant sun was hidden from sight, giving a late-afternoon light to the shadowed forest floor. After a few moments, white-haired Sulin stepped into view and nodded to Rand. All clear.

“Come,” Rand said, and walked to the gateway. Min followed, though Nynaeve—breaking into a trot—beat her to the gateway.

They stepped out onto a carpet of brown pine needles, dirtied from a long slumber beneath the vanished winter snows. Branches nudged one another in the breeze, and the mountain air was more chilly than the breeze had indicated. Min wished for a cloak, but there wasn’t time to go fetch one. Rand strode directly through the forest, Nynaeve trotting up to him and speaking in a low voice.

Nynaeve wouldn’t get anything useful out of Rand, not when he was in this kind of mood. They would just have to see what he revealed. Min caught sight of some the Aiel in the woods, but only brief glimpses when they obviously weren’t taking care to hide. They certainly had taken well to life in the wetlands. How did a people raised in the Waste know so instinctively how to hide in a forest?

Up ahead, the trees broke. Min hastened to join Rand and Nynaeve, who had stopped at the top of a gently sloping ridge. Here, they could see over the forest, and the trees continued down below like a sea of green and brown. The pines parted at the shores of a small mountain lake, caught in a triangular depression of the land.

Atop a ridge of its own, high above the water, was an impressive white stone structure. Rectangular and tall, it was built in the form of several towers stacked atop one another, each one slightly thinner than the one beneath. That gave the palace an elegant shape—fortified, yet palatial. “It’s beautiful,” she said breathlessly.

“It was built during a different time,” Rand said. “A time when people still thought that the majesty of a structure lent it strength.”

The palace was distant, but not so distant that Min couldn’t make out the figures of men walking the battlements on guard, halberds at their shoulders, breastplates reflecting the late sunlight. A late party of hunters rode in through the gates, a fine buck deer lashed to the packhorse, and a group of workers chopped at a fallen tree nearby, perhaps for firewood. A pair of serving women in white carried poles, bucket at each end, up from the lake, and lights were winking on in windows the length of the structure. It was a living, working estate bundled up in a single massive building.

“Do you think Ramshalan found his way?” Nynaeve said, arms folded, obviously trying not to look impressed.

“Even a fool like him could not miss that,” Rand said, eyes narrowing. He still carried the statuette in his pocket. Min wished he had left the thing behind. It made her uncomfortable, the way he fingered it. Caressed it.

“So you sent Ramshalan to die,” Nynaeve said. “What will that accomplish?”

“She won’t kill him,” Rand said.

“How can you be sure of that?”

“It isn’t her way,” Rand said. “Not when she can use him against me.”

“You don’t expect her to believe that story you told him,” Min said. “About sending him out to test the allegiance of the Domani lords?”

Rand slowly shook his head. “No. I hope for her to believe something of that tale, but I do not expect it. I meant what I said about her, Min—she’s more crafty than I am. And I fear that she knows me far better than I know her. She will compel Ramshalan and pull from him that entire conversation we had. From there, she will find a way to use that conversation against me.”

“How?” Min asked.

“I don’t know. I wish I did. She’ll think of something clever, then infect Ramshalan with a very subtle Compulsion that I won’t be able to anticipate. I’ll be left with the choice to keep him nearby and see what he does, or to send him away. But of course, she will think of that as well, and whatever I do will set in motion her other plans.”

“You make it sound as if you can’t win,” Nynaeve said, frowning. She didn’t seem to notice the chill at all. In fact, neither did Rand. Whatever that “trick” about ignoring cold and heat was, Min had never been able to figure it out. They claimed it had nothing to do with the power, but if that were so, why were Rand and the Aes Sedai the only ones who could manage it? The Aiel didn’t seem to be bothered by the cold either, but they didn’t count. They never seemed bothered by regular human concerns, though they could be very touchy about the most random and insignificant things.

“We can’t win, you say?” Rand asked. “Is that what we’re trying to do? Win?”

Nynaeve raised an eyebrow. “Do you not answer questions anymore?”

Rand turned, looking at Nynaeve. Standing on the other side of him, Min couldn’t see what was in his face, but she could see Nynaeve grow pale. It was her own fault. Couldn’t she sense how on edge Rand was? Perhaps Min’s chill didn’t just come from the cold. She moved up close to him, but he didn’t put his arm around her as he might once have. When he finally turned away from Nynaeve, the Aes Sedai slumped slightly, as if she had been dangling, held up by his gaze.

Rand did not speak for some time, and so they waited quietly on the mountain ridge as the distant sun made its way toward the horizon. Shadows lengthened, fingers stretching away from the sun. Down below, by the fortress walls, a group of grooms began walking some horses to give them exercise. More lights had been lit in the fortress windows. How many people did Graendal have in there? Scores, if not hundreds.

A crashing sound in the brush suddenly drew Min’s attention; it was accompanied by curses. She jumped as the noise cut off quite abruptly.

A small group of Aiel approached a few moments later, leading a disheveled Ramshalan, his fine clothing stuck with needles and scratched from branches. He dusted himself off, then took a step toward Rand.

The Maidens held him back. He glanced at them, cocking his head. “My Lord Dragon?”

“Is he infected?” Rand asked of Nynaeve.

“By what?” she asked.

“Graendal’s touch.”

Nynaeve walked over to Ramshalan and looked at him for a moment. She hissed and said, “Yes. Rand, he’s under a heavy Compulsion. There are a lot of weaves here. Not as bad as the chandler’s apprentice, or maybe just more subtle.”

“I say,” Ramshalan said, “my Lord Dragon, what is going on? The lady of the castle down there was quite friendly—she is an ally, my Lord. You have nothing to fear from her! Very refined, I must say.”

“Is that so?” Rand asked quietly. It was growing dark, sun setting behind the distant mountains. Besides the dim evening light, the only illumination came from the still-open gateway behind them. It shone with lamplight, an inviting portal back to warmth, away from this place of shadow and coldness.

Rand’s voice sounded so hard. Worse than Min had ever heard it before.

“Rand,” she said, touching his arm. “Let’s go back.”

“I have something I must do,” he said, not looking at her.

“Think about it some more,” Min said. “At least take some advice. We can ask Cadsuane, or—”

“Cadsuane held me in a box, Min,” he said very softly. His face was clasped in shadow, but as he turned toward her, his eyes reflected the light from the open gateway. Orange and red. There was an edge of anger to his tone. I shouldn’t have mentioned Cadsuane, she realized. The woman’s name was one of the few things that could still get emotion out of him.

“A box, Min,” Rand whispered. “Though Cadsuane’s box had walls that were invisible, it was as binding as any that ever held me. Her tongue was far more painful a rod than any that was taken to my skin. I see that now.”

Rand pulled away from Min’s touch.

“What is the purpose of all this?” Nynaeve demanded. “You sent this man to suffer a Compulsion, knowing what it would do to him? I won’t watch another man squirm and die because of this! Whatever she has compelled him to do, I won’t remove it! It will be your own fault if it brings your death.”

“My Lord?” Ramshalan asked. The growing terror in his voice put Min on edge.

The sun set; Rand was now just a silhouette. The fortress was only a black profile with lanterns lighting the holes in its walls. Rand stepped up to the lip of the ridge, removing the access key from his pocket. It started to glow just faintly, a red light coming from its very heart. Nynaeve inhaled sharply.

“Neither of you were there when Callandor failed me,” he said into the night. “It happened twice. Once I tried to use it to raise the dead, but I got only a puppeted body. Once I tried to use it to destroy the Seanchan, but I caused as much death among my own armies as I caused among theirs.

“Cadsuane told me that the second failure came from a flaw in Callandor itself. It cannot be controlled by a lone man, you see. It only works if he’s in a box. Callandor is a carefully enticing leash, intended to make me surrender willingly.”

The access key’s globe burst alight with a more brilliant color, seeming crystalline. The light within was scarlet, the core brilliant and bright. As if someone had dropped a glowing rock into a pool of blood.

“I see a different answer to my problems,” Rand said, voice still almost a whisper. “Both times Callandor failed me, I was being reckless with my emotion. I allowed temper to drive me. I can’t kill in anger, Min. I have to keep that anger inside; I must channel it as I channel the One Power. Each death must be deliberate. Intentional.”

Min couldn’t speak. Couldn’t phrase her fears, couldn’t find the words to make him stop. His eyes remained in the darkness, somehow, despite the liquid light he held before him. That light hurled shadows away from his figure, as if he was the point of a silent explosion. Min turned to Nynaeve; the Aes Sedai watched with wide eyes, mouth slightly open. She couldn’t find words either.

Min turned back to Rand. When he’d been close to killing her with his own hand, she hadn’t feared him. But then, she’d known that it wasn’t Rand hurting her, but Semirhage.

But this Rand—hand aflame, eyes so intent yet so dispassionate—terrified her.

“I’ve done it before,” he whispered. “I once said that I didn’t kill women, but it was a lie. I murdered a woman long before I faced Semirhage. Her name was Liah. I killed her in Shadar Logoth. I struck her down, and I called it mercy.”

He turned to the fortress palace below.

“Forgive me,” he said, but it didn’t seem directed at Min, “for calling this mercy as well.”

Something impossibly bright formed in the air before him, and Min cried out, backing away. The air itself seemed to warp, as if pulling away from Rand in fear. Dust blew from the ground in a circle around him, and the trees groaned, lit by the brilliant white light, the pine needles rattling like a hundred thousand insects scrambling over one another. Min could no longer make out Rand, only a blazing, brilliant force of light. Pure power, gathered, making the hairs on her arms rise with the force of its nebulous energy. In that moment, she felt as if she could understand what the One Power was. It was there, before her, made incarnate in the man Rand al’Thor.

And then, with a sound like a sigh, he released it. A column of pure whiteness exploded from him and burned across the silent night sky, illuminating the trees below it in a wave. It moved as quick as a snap of the fingers, striking the wall of the distant fortress. The stones came alight, as if they were breathing in the force of the energy. The entire fortress glowed, transforming into living light, an amazing, spectacular palace of unadulterated energy. It was beautiful.

And then it was gone. Burned from the landscape—and the Pattern—as if it had never been there. The entire fortress, hundreds of feet of stone and everyone who had lived in it.

Something hit Min, something like a shocking wave in the air. It wasn’t a physical blast, and it didn’t make her stumble, but it twisted her insides about. The forest around them—still lit by the glowing access key in Rand’s hands—seemed to warp and shake. It was as if the world itself were groaning in agony.

It snapped back, but Min could still feel that tension. In that instant, it seemed as if the very substance of world had been near to breaking.

“What have you done?” Nynaeve whispered.

Rand didn’t reply. Min could see his face again, now that the enormous column of balefire had vanished, leaving behind only the glowing access key. He was in ecstasy, mouth agape, and he held the access key aloft before himself as if in victory. Or in reverence.

Then he gritted his teeth, eyes opening wide, lips parted as if he were under great pressure. The light flashed once, then immediately vanished. All became dark. Min blinked in the sudden darkness, trying to get her eyes to adjust. The powerful image of Rand seemed burned into her vision. Had he really done what she thought he had? Had he burned away an entire fortress with balefire?

All those people. Men returning from the hunt . . . women carrying water . . . soldiers on the walls . . . the grooms outside . . .

They were gone. Burned from the Pattern. Killed. Dead forever. The horror of it made Min stumble back, and she pressed her back against a tree to keep herself upright.

So many lives, ended in an instant. Dead. Destroyed. By Rand.

A light appeared from Nynaeve, and Min turned, seeing the Aes Sedai illuminated by the warm, soft glow of a globe above her hand. Her eyes seemed almost afire with a light of their own. “You are out of control, Rand al’Thor,” she declared.

“I do what must be done,” he said, speaking now from the shadows. He sounded exhausted. “Test him, Nynaeve.”

“What?”

“The fool,” Rand said. “Is her Compulsion still there? Is Graendal’s touch gone?”

“I hate what you just did, Rand,” Nynaeve snarled. “No. ‘Hate’ isn’t strong enough. I loathe what you’ve done. What has happened to you?”

“Test him!” Rand whispered, voice dangerous. “Before condemning me, let us first determine if my sins have achieved anything beyond my own damnation.”

Nynaeve breathed in deeply, then glanced at Ramshalan, who was still held in the grip of several Aiel Maidens. Nynaeve reached out and touched his forehead, concentrating. “It’s gone,” she said. “Erased.”

“Then she is dead,” Rand said from the darkness.

Light! Min thought, realizing what he’d done. He didn’t use Ramshalan as a courier, or as bait. He used the man as a way of proving to himself that Graendal was dead. Balefire burned someone out of the Pattern completely, making it so that their most recent actions never occurred. Ramshalan would remember visiting Graendal, but her Compulsion no longer existed. In a way, she’d been killed before Ramshalan had visited her.

Min felt at her neck, where the bruises of Rand’s hand on her neck hadn’t yet faded.

“I don’t understand,” Ramshalan said, his voice nearly a squeak.

“How do you fight someone smarter than yourself?” Rand whispered. “The answer is simple. You make her think that you are sitting down across the table from her, ready to play her game. Then you punch her in the face as hard as you can. You have served me well, Ramshalan. I will forgive you for boasting to Lords Vivian and Callswell that you could manipulate me however you wished.”

Ramshalan slumped in shock, and the Maidens let him fall to his knees. “My Lord!” he said. “I had too much wine that night, and—”

“Hush,” Rand said. “As I said, you have served me well this day. I will not execute you. You will find a village two days’ walk to the south.”

With that, Rand turned; to Min’s eyes, he was just a shadow rustling in the forest. He walked to the gateway and stepped through. Min hurried to follow him, and Nynaeve did likewise. The Maidens came last, leaving Ramshalan kneeling stupefied in the forest. When the last Maiden was through the gateway, the portal slid closed, cutting off the sounds of Ramshalan whimpering in the dark.

“What you have done is an abomination, Rand al’Thor,” Nynaeve said as soon as the gateway was closed. “There looked to have been dozens, maybe hundreds, of people living in that palace!”

“Each one made into an idiot by Graendal’s Compulsion,” Rand replied. “She never lets anyone close to her without destroying their mind first. The boy she sent to work the jail barely knew a fraction of the torture most of her pets receive. She leaves them without ability to think or act—all they can do is kneel and adore her, perhaps run errands at her command. I did them a favor.”

“A favor?” Nynaeve asked. “Rand, you used balefire! They were burned out of existence!.”

“As I said,” Rand replied softly. “A favor. Sometimes, I wish the same blessing for myself. Good night, Nynaeve. Sleep as well you can, for our time in Arad Doman is at an end.”

Min watched him go, wishing to sprint after him, but holding herself back. Once he was gone from the room, Nynaeve slumped into one of the room’s maroon chairs, sighing and leaning her head against her hand.

Min felt like doing the same. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized just how drained she was. Being around Rand lately did that to her, even when he wasn’t engaged in activities as terrible as the ones this night.

“I wish Moiraine were here,” Nynaeve muttered softly, then froze, as if surprised to have heard herself say that.

“We have to do something, Nynaeve,” Min said, looking at the Aes Sedai.

Nynaeve nodded absently. “Maybe.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, what if he’s right?” Nynaeve asked. “Wool-headed fool though he is, what if he really does have to be like this to win? The old Rand could never have destroyed an entire fortress full of people to kill one of the Forsaken.”

“Of course he couldn’t have,” Min said. “He still cared about killing then! Nynaeve, all those lives ...”

“And how many people would still be alive now if he’d been this ruthless from the start?” Nynaeve asked, looking away. “If he’d been capable of sending his followers into danger as he did Ramshalan? If he’d been able to strike without worrying about whom he would have to kill? If he’d ordered his troops into Graendal’s fortress, her followers would have resisted fanatically, and they would have ended up dead anyway. And she would have escaped.

“This might be what he has to be. The Last Battle is nearly upon us, Min. The Last Battle! Can we dare send a man to fight the Dark One who won’t sacrifice for what needs to be done?”

Min shook her head. “Dare we send him as he is, with that look in his eyes? Nynaeve, he’s stopped caring. Nothing matters to him anymore but defeating the Dark One.”

“Isn’t that what we want him to do?”

“I. . . .” She stopped. “Winning won’t be winning at all if Rand becomes something as bad as the Forsaken . . . We—”

“I understand,” Nynaeve said suddenly. “Light burn me, but I do, and you’re right. I just don’t like the answers those conclusions are giving me.”

“What conclusions?”

Nynaeve sighed. “That Cadsuane was right,” she said. Nearly under her breath, she added, “Insufferable woman.” She stood up. “Come on. We need to find her and discover what her plans are.”

Min stood, joining Nynaeve. “You’re certain she has plans? Rand was harsh with her. Maybe she’s just staying with us to watch him flounder and fail without her.”

“She has plans,” Nynaeve said. “If there’s one thing we can count on with that woman, it’s that she’s scheming. We just have to convince her to let us in on it.”

“And if she won’t?” Min asked.

“She will,” Nynaeve said, looking at the place where Rand’s gateway had split the rug. “Once we tell her about tonight, she will. I dislike the woman, and I suspect she returns the emotion, but neither of us can handle Rand alone.” She pursed her lips. “I worry we won’t be able to handle him together. Let’s go.”

Min followed. “Handle” Rand? That was another problem. Nynaeve and Cadsuane were both so concerned with handling that they failed to see that it might be best to help him instead. Nynaeve cared for Rand, but she saw him as a problem to be fixed, rather than a man in need.

And so Min accompanied the Aes Sedai out of the mansion. They walked into the dark courtyard—Nynaeve making a globe of light—and hurried around the back, past the stable and toward the gatekeeper’s cottage. They passed Alivia on the way; the former damane looked disappointed. Likely, she’d been turned away by Cadsuane and the others again—Alivia spent a great deal of time trying to get the Aes Sedai to train her in new weaves.

They finally reached the gatekeeper’s cottage—at least, the gatekeeper’s cottage was what it had been until Cadsuane prevailed upon him to move out. It was a single-story, thatch-roofed structure of painted yellow wood. Light shone out between the shutters on the windows.

Nynaeve stepped up to the front and knocked on the sturdy oak door; it was answered shortly by Merise. “Yes, child?” the Green asked, as if intentionally trying to goad Nynaeve.

“I have to speak with Cadsuane,” Nynaeve growled.

“Cadsuane Sedai, she has no business with you right now,” Merise said, moving to close the cottage door. “Return tomorrow, and perhaps she will see you.”

“Rand al’Thor just burned an entire palace full of people from existence with balefire,” Nynaeve said, loud enough to be heard by those inside the cottage. “I was with him.”

Merise froze.

“Let her in,” Cadsuane’s voice said from inside. Reluctantly, Merise pulled open the door. Inside, Min saw Cadsuane sitting on some cushions on the floor with Amys, Bair, Melaine and Sorilea. The front room—the main room—of the cottage was decorated with a simple brown rug on the floor, mostly obscured by the seated women. A gray stone fireplace burned with a calm flame at the back, the wood nearly consumed, the fire low. A stool sat in the corner, with a pot of tea on it.

Nynaeve barely gave the Wise Ones a glance. She pushed her way into the cottage, and Min followed more hesitantly.

“Tell us of this event, child,” Sorilea said. “We felt the world warping from here, but did not know what had caused it. We assumed it to be the Dark One’s work.”

“I’ll tell you,” Nynaeve said, then took a deep breath, “but I want to be a part of your plans.”

“We shall see,” Cadsuane said. “Relate your experience.”

Min took a seat on a wooden stool at the side of the room as Nynaeve gave her account of Natrin’s Barrow. The Wise Ones listened, tight-lipped. Cadsuane just nodded occasionally. Merise, face full of horror, refilled cups of tea from the pot on the stool—by the smell it was Tremalking black—then set it to hang by the fire. Nynaeve finished, still standing.

Oh, Rand, Min thought. This must be tearing you apart inside. But she could feel him through the bond; his emotions seemed very cold.

“You were wise to come to us with this, child,” Sorilea said to Nynaeve. “You may withdraw.”

Nynaeve’s eyes opened wide with anger. “But—”

“Sorilea,” Cadsuane said calmly, cutting Nynaeve off. “This child could be of use to our plans. She is still close to the al’Thor boy; he trusted her enough to take her with him this evening.”

Sorilea glanced toward the other Wise Ones. Aged Bair and sun-haired Melaine both nodded. Amys seemed thoughtful, but did not object.

“Perhaps,” Sorilea said. “But can she be obedient?”

“Well?” Cadsuane asked of Nynaeve. They all seemed to be ignoring Min. “Can you?”

Nynaeve s eyes were still wide with anger. Light, Min thought. Nynaeve? Obey Cadsuane and the others? She’s going to explode at them!

Nynaeve tugged on her braid with a white-knuckled grip. “Yes, Cadsuane Sedai,” she said through clenched teeth. “I can.”

The Wise Ones seemed surprised to hear her speak the words, but Cadsuane nodded again, as if she’d expected that response. Who could expect Nynaeve to be so ... well, reasonable?

“Sit down, child,” Cadsuane said with a wave of the hand. “Let’s see if you can follow orders. You might be the only one of the current crop who is salvageable.” That made Merise flush.

“No, Cadsuane,” Amys said. “Not the only one. Egwene has much honor.”

The other two Wise Ones nodded.

“What is the plan?” Nynaeve said.

“Your part in it is—” Cadsuane began.

“Wait,” Nynaeve said. “My part? I want to hear the whole thing.”

“You’ll hear when we’re ready to tell you,” Cadsuane said curtly. “And don’t make me regret my decision to speak in your behalf.”

Nynaeve forced her mouth shut, eyes aflame. But she did not snap at them.

“Your part,” Cadsuane continued, “is to find Perrin Aybara.”

“What good will that do?” Nynaeve asked, then added, “Cadsuane Sedai.”

“That is our business,” Cadsuane said. “He has been traveling in the south recently, but we can’t discover exactly where. The al’Thor boy might know where he is. Find out for us, and perhaps I’ll explain the point.”

Nynaeve nodded reluctantly, and the others turned to a discussion of how much strain from balefire the Pattern could take before unraveling completely. Nynaeve listened in silence, obviously trying to glean more about Cadsuane’s plan, though there didn’t seem to be many clues.

Min only half-listened. Whatever the plan, someone would need to watch out for Rand. His deed this day would be destroying him inside, no matter what he proclaimed. There were plenty of others worrying about what he would do at the Last Battle. It was her job to get him to that Last Battle alive and sane, with his soul in one piece.

Somehow.