Knife of Dreams (The Wheel of Time 11)

"You listen to me," Rand began, raising his voice against a peal of thunder.

"I told you I espected you and your friends in black coats to be civil to me, my friends and my guests," Cadsuane said sternly, "but I've decided that must be expanded to include each other." Her head was still bent over her embroidery hoop, but she spoke as if she were shaking a finger under their noses. "At least when I am present. That means if you continue squabbling, I may have to spank both of you." Harilin and Enaila began laughing so hard they got the string of their game in a snarl. Nynaeve laughed, too, though she tried to hide it behind her hand. Light, even Min smiled!

Logain bristled, jaw tightening until Rand thought he should hear the man's teeth grating. He was trying hard not to bristle himself. Cadsuane and her bloody rules. Her conditions for becoming his advisor. She pretended that he had asked for them, and every so often she added another to her list. The rules were not precisely onerous, though their existence was, but her way of presenting them was always like a poke with a sharp stick. He opened his mouth to tell her he was finished with her rules, and with her, too, if need be.

"Taim very likely will have to wait on the Last Battle, whatever he's about," Verin said suddenly. Her knitting, a shapeless lump that might have been anything, sat in her lap. "It will come soon. According to everything I've read on the subject, the signs are quite clear. Half the servants have recognized dead people in the halls, people they knew alive. It's happened often enough that they aren't frightened by it any longer. And a dozen men moving the cattle to spring pasture watched a considerable town melt into mist just a few miles to the north."

Cadsuane had raised her head and was staring at the stout Brown sister. "Thank you for repeating what you told us yesterday, Verin," she said dryly. Verin blinked, then took up her knitting again, frowning at it as though she, too, were unsure what it was going to be.

Min caught Rand's eyes, shaking her head slowly, and he sighed. The bond held irritation and wariness, the last a deliberate warning to him, he suspected. At times, she seemed able to read his mind. Well, if he needed Cadsuane, and Min said he did, then he needed her. He just wished he knew what she was supposed to teach him aside from how to grind his teeth. "Advise me, Cadsuane. What do you think of my plan?"

"At last the boy asks," she murmured, setting her embroidery down beside her sewing basket. "All his schemes in motion, some I've not been made privy to, and now he asks. Very well. Your peace with the Seanchan will be unpopular."

"A truce," he broke in. "And a truce with the Dragon Reborn will last only as long as the Dragon Reborn. When I die, everyone will be free to go to war with the Seanchan again if they wish."

Min slammed

her book shut and folded her arms beneath her breasts. "Don't you talk that way!'' she said, red-faced with anger. The bond also carried fear.

"The Prophecies, Min,'' he said sadly. Not sad for himself, but for her. He wanted to protect her, her and Elayne and Aviendha, but he would hurt them in the end.

"I said don't you talk that way! The Prophecies don't say you have to die! I'm not going to let you die, Rand al'Thor! Elayne and Aviendha and I won't let you!" She glared at Alivia, who her viewing had said would help Rand die, and her hands slid down her arms toward her cuffs.

"Behave, Min," he said. Her hands shot away from her cuffs, but she set her jaw, and the bond suddenly was flooded with stubbornness. Light, was he going to have to worry about Min trying to kill Alivia? Not that she was likely to succeed—as well try throwing a knife at an Aes Sedai as at the Seanchan woman—but she might get herself injured. He was not sure Alivia knew any weaves but those for weapons.

"Unpopular, as I say," Cadsuane said firmly, raising her voice. She favored Min with a brief frown before turning her attention back to Rand. Her face was smooth, composed, an Aes Sedai's face. Her dark eyes were hard, like polished black stones. "Especially in Tarabon, Amadicia and Altara, but also elsewhere. If you agree to allow the Seanchan to keep what they've already taken, what lands will you give away next? That is how most rulers will see matters."

Rand dropped back into his chair, stretching his legs in front of him and crossing his ankles. "It doesn't matter how unpopular it is. I went through that doorframe ter'angreal in Tear, Cadsuane. You know about that?" Golden ornaments bobbled as she nodded impatiently. "One of my questions for the Aelfinn was 'How can I win the Last Battle?'"

"A dangerous question to pose," she said quietly, "touching on the Shadow as it does. Supposedly, the results can be quite unpleasant. What was the answer?"

" 'The north and the east must be as one. The west and the south must be as one. The two must be as one.'" He blew a smoke ring, put another in the middle of it as it expanded. That was not the whole of it. He had asked how to win and survive. The last part of his answer had been 'To live, you must die.' Not something he was going to bring up in front of Min anytime soon. In front of anyone except Alivia, for that matter. Now he just had to figure out how to live by dying. "At first, I thought it meant I had to conquer everywhere, but that wasn't what they said. What if it means the Seanchan hold the west and south, as you could say they already do, and there's an alliance to fight the Last Battle, the Seanchan with everybody else?"

"It's possible," she allowed. "But if you're going to make this . . . truce . . . why are you moving what seems to be a considerable army to Arad Doman and reinforcing what is already in Illian?"

"Because Tarmon Gai'don is coming, Cadsuane, and I can't fight the Shadow and the Seanchan at the same time. I'll have a truce, or I'll crush them whatever the cost. The Prophecies say I have to bind the nine moons to me. I only understood what that meant a few days ago. As soon as Bashere returns, I'll know when and where I'm to meet the Daughter of the Nine Moons. The only question now is how do I bind her, and she'll have to answer that.''

He spoke matter-of-factly, now and then blowing a smoke ring for punctuation. Reactions varied. Loial just wrote very fast, trying to capture every word, while Harilin and Enaila went on with their game. If the spears had to be danced, they were ready. Alivia nodded fiercely, doubtless hoping it would come to crushing those who had kept her wearing an a’dam for five hundred years. Logain had found another winecup and filled it with the last of what was in the pitcher, but he merely held the cup rather than drinking, his expression unreadable. Now it was Rand whom Verin studied intently. But then, she had always been curious about him. But why in the Light would Min feel bone-deep sadness? And Cadsuane. . . .

"Stone cracks from a hard enough blow," she said, her face an Aes Sedai mask of calm. "Steel shatters. The oak fights the wind and breaks. The willow bends where it must and survives."

"A willow won't win Tarmon Gai'don," he told her.

The door creaked open again, and Ethin tottered in. "My Lord Dragon, three Ogier have arrived. They were most pleased to learn that Master Loial is here. One of them is his mother."

"My mother?" Loial squeaked, and even that sounded like a hollow wind gusting in caverns. He leaped up so fast that his chair fell over backward, wringing his hands, ears wilting. His head swung from side to side as if he were hunting for a way out besides the door. "What am I going to do, Rand? The other two must be Elder Haman and Erith. What am I going to do?"

"Mistress Covril said she was most anxious to speak with you, Master Loial," Ethin said in that creaky voice. "Most anxious. They are all damp from the rain, but she said they will wait for you in the Ogier sitting room upstairs."

"What am I going to do, Rand?"

"You said you want to marry Erith," Rand said as gently as he could. Gentleness was difficult except with Min.

"But my book! My notes aren't complete, and I'll never find out what happens next. Erith will take me back to Stedding Tsofu with her."

"Phaw!" Cadsuane picked up her embroidery again and began working the needle delicately. She was making the ancient symbol of Aes Sedai, the Dragon's Fang and the Flame of Tar Valon melded into a disc, black and white separated by a sinuous line. "Go to your mother, Loial. If she's Covril daughter of Ella daughter of Soong, you don't want to keep her waiting. As I expect you know."

Loial seemed to take Cadsuane's words as a command. He began wiping his pen nib again, capping his ink jar. But he did everything very slowly, with his ears drooping. Every so often he moaned sadly, half under his breath, "My book!'