“Ba’alzamon,” Perrin said suddenly. The name cut off all sound in the room. No one appeared to breathe. Perrin looked at Rand, then at Mat, his eyes strangely calm and more yellow than ever. “At the time I wondered where I’d heard that name before . . . the Eye of the World. Now I remember. Don’t you?”
“I don’t want to remember anything,” Mat said stiffly.
“We have to tell her,” Perrin continued. “It’s important now. We can’t keep it secret any longer. You see it, don’t you, Rand?”
“Tell me what?” Moira
ine’s voice was harsh, and she seemed to be bracing for a blow. Her gaze had settled on Rand.
He did not want to answer. He did not want to remember any more than Mat, but he did remember—and he knew Perrin was right. “I’ve. . . .” He looked at his friends. Mat nodded reluctantly, Perrin decisively, but at least they had done it. He did not have to face her alone. “We have had . . . dreams.” He rubbed the spot on his finger where the thorn had stuck him once, remembering the blood when he woke. Queasily remembering the sunburned feel of his face another time. “Except maybe they weren’t dreams, exactly. Ba’alzamon was in them.” He knew why Perrin had used that name; it was easier than saying the Dark One had been in your dreams, inside your head. “He said . . . he said all sorts of things, but once he said the Eye of the World would never serve me.” For a minute his mouth was as dry as dust.
“He told me the same thing,” Perrin said, and Mat sighed heavily, then nodded. Rand found he had spit in his mouth again. “You aren’t angry with us?” Perrin asked, sounding surprised, and Rand realized that Moiraine did not seem angry. She was studying them, but her eyes were clear and calm, if intent.
“More with myself than you. But I did ask you to tell me if you had strange dreams. In the beginning, I asked.” Though her voice remained level, a flash of anger crossed her eyes, and was gone in an instant. “Had I known after the first such, I might have been able to. . . . There has not been a Dreamwalker in Tar Valon for nearly a thousand years, but I could have tried. Now it is too late. Each time the Dark One touches you, he makes the next touching easier for him. Perhaps my presence can still shield you somewhat, but even then. . . . Remember the stories of the Forsaken binding men to them? Strong men, men who had fought the Dark One from the start. Those stories are true, and none of the Forsaken had a tenth of the strength of their master, not Aginor or Lanfear, not Balthamel or Demandred, not even Ishamael, the Betrayer of Hope himself.”
Nynaeve and Egwene were looking at him, Rand saw, him and Mat and Perrin all three. The women’s faces were a blood-drained blend of fear and horror. Are they afraid for us, or afraid of us?
“What can we do?” he asked. “There has to be something.”
“Staying close by me,” Moiraine replied, “will help. Some. The protection from touching the True Source extends around me a little, remember. But you cannot always remain close to me. You can defend yourself, if you have the strength for it, but you must find the strength and will within yourself. I cannot give it to you.”
“I think I’ve already found my protection,” Perrin said, sounding resigned rather than happy.
“Yes,” Moiraine said, “I suppose you have.” She looked at him until he dropped his eyes, and even then she stood considering. Finally she turned to the others. “There are limits to the Dark One’s power inside you. Yield even for an instant and he will have a string tied to your heart, a string you may never be able to cut. Surrender, and you will be his. Deny him, and his power fails. It is not easy when he touches your dreams, but it can be done. He can still send Halfmen against you, and Trollocs, and Draghkar, and other things, but he cannot make you his unless you let him.”
“Fades are bad enough,” Perrin said.
“I don’t want him inside my head again,” Mat growled. “Isn’t there any way to keep him out?”
Moiraine shook her head. “Loial has nothing to fear, nor Egwene, nor Nynaeve. Out of the mass of humanity, the Dark One can touch an individual only by chance, unless that person seeks it. But for a time, at least, you three are central to the Pattern. A Web of Destiny is being woven, and every thread leads straight to you. What else did the Dark One say to you?”
“I don’t remember it all that well,” Perrin said. “There was something about one of us being chosen, something like that. I remember him laughing,” he finished bleakly, “about who we were chosen by. He said I—we could serve him or die. And then we’d still serve him.”
“He said the Amyrlin Seat would try to use us,” Mat added, his voice fading as he remembered to whom he was speaking. He swallowed and went on. “He said just like Tar Valon used—he had some names. Davian, I think. I can’t remember very well, either.”
“Raolin Darksbane,” Perrin said.
“Yes,” Rand said, frowning. He had tried to forget everything about those dreams. It was unpleasant bringing them back. “Yurian Stonebow was another, and Guaire Amalasan.” He stopped suddenly, hoping Moiraine had not noticed how suddenly. “I don’t recognize any of them.”
But he had recognized one, now that he dredged them from the depths of memory. The name he had barely stopped himself from saying. Logain. The false Dragon. Light! Thom said they were dangerous names. Is that what Ba’alzamon meant? Moiraine wants to use one of us as a false Dragon? Aes Sedai hunt down false Dragons, they don’t use them. Do they? Light help me, do they?
Moiraine was looking at him, but he could not read her face. “Do you know them?” he asked her. “Do they mean anything?”
“The Father of Lies is a good name for the Dark One,” Moiraine replied. “It was always his way to seed the worm of doubt wherever he could. It eats at men’s minds like a canker. When you believe the Father of Lies, it is the first step toward surrender. Remember, if you surrender to the Dark One, he will make you his.”
An Aes Sedai never lies, but the truth she speaks may not be the truth you think you hear. That was what Tam had said, and she had not really answered his question. He kept his face expressionless and held his hands still on his knees, trying not to scrub the sweat off them on his breeches.
Egwene was crying softly. Nynaeve had her arms around her, but she looked as if she wanted to cry, too. Rand almost wished he could.
“They are all ta’veren,” Loial said abruptly. He seemed brightened by the prospect, looking forward to watching from close by as the Pattern wove itself around them. Rand looked at him incredulously, and the Ogier gave an abashed shrug, but it was not enough to dim his eagerness.
“So they are,” Moiraine said. “Three of them, when I expected one. A great many things have happened that I did not expect. This news concerning the Eye of the World changes much.” She paused, frowning. “For a time the Pattern does seem to be swirling around all three of you, just as Loial says, and the swirl will grow greater before it becomes less. Sometimes being ta’veren means the Pattern is forced to bend to you, and sometimes it means the Pattern forces you to the needed path. The Web can still be woven many ways, and some of those designs would be disastrous. For you, for the world.
“We cannot remain in Caemlyn, but by any road, Myrddraal and Trollocs will be on us before we have gone ten miles. And just at this point we hear of a threat to the Eye of the World, not from one source, but three, each seeming independent of the others. The Pattern is forcing our path. The Pattern still weaves itself around you three, but what hand now sets the warp, and what hand controls the shuttle? Has the Dark One’s prison weakened enough for him to exert that much control?”
“There’s no need for that kind of talk!” Nynaeve said sharply. “You’ll only frighten them.”
“But not you?” Moiraine asked. “It frightens me. Well, perhaps you are right. Fear cannot be allowed to affect our course. Whether this is a trap or a timely warning, we must do what we must, and that is to reach the Eye of the World quickly. The Green Man must know of this threat.”