Knife of Dreams (71 page)

“There won’t be another attack,” Rand said. “Not until whoever sent this one learns it failed, and maybe not then. This is all they sent. The Myrddraal wouldn’t have attacked piecemeal.” Logain grunted, but he could not argue with that.

Rand looked back toward the manor house. In some places, dead Trollocs lay right at the foundations. None had made it inside, but. . . .
Logain was right
, he thought, surveying the carnage. It
had
been a close-run thing. Minus the Asha’man and Aes Sedai Logain had brought, the end might well have been different. A very close-run thing. And if there
was
another attack, later . . . ? Plainly someone knew Ishamael’s trick. Or that blue-eyed man in his head really could locate him. Another attack would be larger. That, or come from some unexpected direction. Perhaps he should let Logain bring a few more Asha’man.

You should have killed them
, Lews Therin wept.
Too late, now. Too late.

The Source is clean now, fool
, Rand thought.

Yes
, Lews Therin replied.
But are they? Am I?

Rand had wondered that about himself. Half of the double wound in his side had come from Ishamael, the other half from Padan Fain’s dagger that carried the taint of Shadar Logoth. They often throbbed, and when they did, they seemed alive.

The circle of Maidens parted slightly to let through a white-haired serving man with a long sharp nose who looked even frailer than Ethin. He was trying to shelter beneath a two-tiered Sea Folk parasol missing half its fringe, of all things, but the aged blue silk had several ragged holes worn in it, so small rivulets fell on his yellow coat and one on his head. His thinning hair clung to his skull and dripped. He seemed wetter than if he had gone without. Doubtless one of Algarin’s forebears had obtained the thing somehow as a memento, but the obtaining must have been a story in itself. Rand doubted the Sea Folk gave up a clan Wavemistress’s parasol lightly.

“My Lord Dragon,” the old man said with a bow that spilled more water down his back, “Verin Sedai instructed me to give this to you straightaway.” From beneath his coat, he produced a paper, folded and sealed.

Rand hastily stuffed it into a pocket of his own coat against the rain. Ink ran easily. “Thank you, but it could have waited till I returned to the house. Best you get back inside before you’re soaked through completely.”

“She
did
say straightaway, my Lord Dragon.” The fellow sounded offended. “She is Aes Sedai.”

At Rand’s nod, he bowed again and started slowly back toward the manor house, his back stiff with pride, the parasol showering him with streams of water. She was Aes Sedai. Everyone hopped for Aes Sedai, even in Tear, where they were not much liked. What did Verin have to say that she needed to put in a letter? Thumbing the seal, Rand walked on.

His destination was one of the barns, its thatched roof partially blackened. This was the barn the Trollocs had gotten into. A burly fellow in a rough brown coat and muddy boots, leaning against a jamb in the open doors, straightened and for some reason hastily looked inside over his shoulder as Rand approached, the Maidens spreading out to surround the barn.

He stopped dead in the doorway, Min and the others halting beside him. Logain growled an oath. A pair of lanterns hanging from uprights that supported the loft gave a dim light, enough to see that every single surface was thick with crawling flies, even the straw-covered dirt floor. As many more buzzed around in the air, it seemed.

“Where did they come from?” Rand asked. Algarin might not be wealthy, yet his barns and stables were kept as clean as such places could
be. The burly man gave a guilty start. He was younger than most of the servants in the house, but his head was bald halfway back, and creases bracketed his wide mouth, fanned out from his eyes.

“Don’t know, my Lord,” he muttered, knuckling his forehead with a grimy hand. He focused on Rand so hard that it was plain he did not want to look into the barn. “I stepped to the door for a breath of fresh, and when I turned around, they was all over everything. I thought. . . . I thought maybe they’s
dead
flies.”

Rand shook his head in disgust. These flies were all too alive. Not every Saldaean defending this barn had died, but all of the Saldaean dead had been gathered here. Saldaeans disliked burials in rain. None of them could say why, but you just did not bury people while it was raining. Nineteen men lay in a neat row on the floor, as neat as it could be when some were missing limbs or had their heads split open. But they had been laid out carefully by their friends and companions, their faces washed, their eyes closed. They were why he had come there. Not to say good-bye or anything sentimental; he had not known any of these men more than to recognize a face here and there. He had come to remind himself that even what seemed a complete victory had its cost in blood. Still, they deserved better than to be crawling with flies.

I
need no reminders
, Lews Therin growled.

I’m not you
, Rand thought.
I have to harden myself.
“Logain, get rid of these bloody things!” he said aloud.

You’re harder than I ever was
, Lews Therin said. Suddenly he giggled.
If you’re not me, then who are you?

“Now I’m a flaming fly-whisk?” Logain muttered.

Rand rounded on him angrily, but Alivia spoke in that slurred drawl before he could get a word out.

“Let me try, my Lord.” She asked, in a manner of speaking, but like an Aes Sedai, she did not await permission. His skin tingled with goose bumps as she embraced
saidar
and channeled.

Flies always took shelter from even the lightest rain because one raindrop was enough to put a fly on the ground, easy prey until its wings dried off, yet suddenly the doorway was billowing with buzzing flies as if the rain were far preferable to the barn. The air seemed solid with them. Rand batted flies away from his face, and Min covered her face with her hands, the bond heavy with distaste, but they were interested only in flight. In moments, they were all gone. The balding man, staring at Alivia with his mouth hanging open, suddenly coughed and spat out two flies onto his
hand. Cadsuane gave him a look that snapped his mouth shut and sent his rough knuckle flying to his forehead. Just a look, yet she was who she was.

“So you watch,” she said to Alivia. Her dark eyes were fixed on the Seanchan woman’s face, but Alivia did not start or stammer. She was much less impressed by Aes Sedai than most people.

“And remember what I see. I must learn somehow if I am to help the Lord Dragon. I have learned more than you are aware of.” Min made a sound in her throat, very nearly a growl, and the bond swelled with anger, but the yellow-haired woman ignored her. “You are not angry with me?” she asked Rand, her voice anxious.

“I’m not angry. Learn as much as you can. You’re doing very well.”

She blushed and dropped her eyes like a girl startled by an unexpected compliment. Fine lines decorated the corners of her eyes, but sometimes it was hard to remember that she was a hundred years older than any living Aes Sedai, rather than half a dozen years younger than himself. He
had
to find someone to teach her more.

“Rand al’Thor,” Min said angrily, folding her arms beneath her breasts, “you are
not
going to let that woman—”

“Your viewings are never wrong,” he broke in. “What you see always happens. You’ve tried to change things, and it never worked. You told me so yourself, Min. What makes you think this time can be different?”

“Because it
has
to be different,” she told him fiercely. She leaned toward him as though ready to launch herself at him. “Because I
want
it to be different. Because it
will
be different. Anyway, I don’t know about everything I’ve seen. People move on. I was wrong about Moiraine. I saw all sorts of things in her future, and she’s dead. Maybe some of the other things I saw never came true either.”

It must not be different this time
, Lews Therin panted.
You promised!

A faint scowl appeared on Logain’s face, and he shook his head slightly. He could not like hearing Min question her ability. Rand almost regretted telling him about her viewing of him, though it had seemed harmless encouragement at the time. The man had actually asked Aes Sedai to confirm Min’s ability, though he had been wise enough to try to keep his doubting from Rand.

“I cannot see what makes this young woman so vehement for you, boy,” Cadsuane mused. She pursed her lips in thought, then shook her head, ornaments swaying. “Oh, you’re pretty enough, I suppose, but I just cannot see it.”

To avoid another argument with Min—she did not call them that; she
called them “talking,” but he knew the difference—Rand took out Verin’s letter and broke the blob of yellow sealing wax impressed with the head of a Great Serpent ring. The Brown sister’s spidery hand covered most of the page, a few letters blotted where raindrops had soaked the paper. He walked closer to the nearest lantern. It gave off a faint stink of spoiled oil.

As I said, I have done what I can do here. I believe that I can fulfill my oath to you better elsewhere, so I have taken Tomas and gone to be about it. There are many ways to serve you, after all, and many needs. I am convinced that you can trust Cadsuane, and you certainly should heed her advice, but be wary of other sisters, including those who have sworn fealty to you. Such an oath means nothing to a Black sister, and even those who walk in the Light may interpret it in ways you would disapprove of. You already know that few see that oath as invoking absolute obedience in all things. Some may find other holes. So whether or not you follow Cadsuane’s advice, and I repeat that you should, follow mine. Be very wary.

It was signed simply, “Verin.”

He grunted sourly.
Few
thought the oath meant absolute obedience? It was more like none. They obeyed, usually, yet the letter was not always the spirit. Take Verin herself. She warned him against the others doing things he might disapprove of, but she had not said where she was going or what she intended to do there. Was she afraid he might not approve? Maybe it was just Aes Sedai concealment. Sisters kept secrets as naturally as they breathed.

When he held out the letter to Cadsuane, her left eyebrow twitched slightly. She must have been truly startled to show so much, but she took the letter and held it where the lantern’s light illuminated it.

“A woman of many masks,” she said finally, handing the page back. “But she gives good advice here.”

What did she mean about masks? He was about to ask her when Loial and Elder Haman suddenly appeared in the doorway, each carrying a long-handled axe, with an ornately decorated head, on his shoulder. The white-haired Ogier’s tufted ears were laid back, his face grim, and Loial’s ears were flickering. With excitement, Rand guessed. It could be difficult to tell.

“I trust we are not interrupting?” Elder Haman said, his ears rising as he looked sadly at the line of bodies.

“You are not,” Rand told him, sticking the letter back in his pocket. “I wish I could come to your wedding, Loial, but—”

“Oh, that’s done, Rand,” Loial said. He
must
be excited; it was unlike him to interrupt. “My mother insisted. There won’t even be time for much of a wedding feast, maybe none, what with the Stump and me having to—” The older Ogier laid a hand on his arm. “What?” Loial said, looking at him. “Oh. Yes. Of course. Well.” He scrubbed under his broad nose with a finger the size of a fat sausage.

Something he was not supposed to be told? Even Ogier had secrets, it seemed. Rand fingered the letter in his pocket. But then, so did everyone else.

“I promise you this, Rand,” Loial said. “Whatever happens, I will be there with you at Tarmon Gai’don. Whatever happens.”

“My boy,” Elder Haman murmured, “I don’t think you should. . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head and rumbling under his breath, like a distant earthquake.

Rand crossed the straw in three strides and offered his right hand. Smiling widely, and with an Ogier that meant very wide, Loial took it in a hand that enveloped his. This close, Rand had to crane his neck to look up at his friend’s face. “Thank you, Loial. I can’t tell you how much hearing that means to me. But I’ll need you before then.”

“You . . . need me?”

“Loial, I’ve sealed the Waygates I know, in Caemlyn and Cairhien, Illian and Tear, and I put a very nasty trap on the one that was cut open near Fal Dara, but I couldn’t find the one near Far Madding. Even when I know there’s a Waygate actually in a city, I can’t find it by myself, and then there are all those cities that don’t exist anymore. I need you to find the rest for me, Loial, or Trollocs will be able to flood into every country at once, and no one will know they’re coming until they’re in the heart of Andor or Cairhien.”

Loial’s smile vanished. His ears trembled and his eyebrows drew down till the ends lay on his cheeks. “I can’t, Rand,” he said mournfully. “I must leave first thing tomorrow morning, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to come Outside again.”

“I know you’ve been out of the
stedding
a long time, Loial.” Rand tried to make his voice gentle, but it came out hard. Gentleness seemed a fading memory. “I’ll speak to your mother. I’ll convince her to let you leave after you’ve had a little rest.”