The Gathering Storm

"With the testing? It seems appropriate that there should be some kind of test to determine worthiness, and the performing of difficult weaves under stress strikes me as fulfilling that need."

"I didn't mean that," Nynaeve said, "I mean the system that determines how we are treated. By each other."

Daigian flushed. It was inappropriate to refer to another's power, in any way. But, well, Nynaeve had never been very good at conforming to other people's expectations. Particularly when they expected foolishness. "There you sit," she said, "knowing as much as any other Aes Sedai— knowing more than many, I'd wager—and the moment any Accepted just off apron strings gains the shawl, you have to do what she says."

Daigian's blush deepened. "We should move on."

It just wasn't right. Nynaeve let the matter drop, however. She'd stepped in this particular pit once before in teaching the Kinswomen to stand up for themselves in front of Aes Sedai. Before long, they'd been standing up to Nynaeve too, which had not been her intention. She wasn't certain she wanted to attempt a similar revolution among the Aes Sedai themselves.

She tried to turn back to the tutoring, but that sense of an impending storm kept drawing her eyes to the window. The room was on the second floor and had a good view of the camp outside. It was by pure happenstance that Nynaeve caught a glimpse of Cadsuane; that gray bun set with innocent-looking ter'angreal was obvious even from a distance. The woman was crossing the courtyard, Corele at her side, walking at a fair clip.

What is she doing? Nynaeve wondered. Cadsuane's pace made her suspicious. What had happened? Something to do with Rand? If that man had gotten himself hurt again . . .

"Excuse me, Daigian," Nynaeve said, standing. "I just remembered something that I must see to."

The other woman started. "Oh. Well, all right then, Nynaeve. We can continue another time, I suppose."

It wasn't until Nynaeve had hurried out the door and down the stairs that she realized Daigian had actually used her name. She smiled as she walked out onto the green.

There were Aiel in the camp. That itself wasn't uncommon; Rand often had a complement of Maidens to act as guards. But these Aiel were men, wearing the dusty brown cadin'sor and carrying spears at their sides. A fair number of them wore the headbands bearing Rand's symbol on them.

That was why Cadsuane had been in such a hurry; if the Aiel clan chiefs had arrived, then Rand would be wanting to meet with them. Nynaeve strode across the green—which wasn't very green at all—in a huff. Rand hadn't sent for her. Probably not because he didn't want to include her, but because he was just too wool-headed to think of it. Dragon Reborn or not, the man rarely thought to share his plans with others. She would have thought that after all this time, he would have reali2ed the importance of getting advice from someone a little more experienced than he. How many times now had he gotten himself kidnapped, wounded or imprisoned because of his rashness?

All these others in camp might bow and scrape and dote on him, but Nynaeve knew that he was really just a sheepherder from Emond's Field. He still got into trouble the same way he had when he and Matrim had pulled pranks as boys. Only now instead of flustering the village girls he could throw entire nations into chaos.

On the far northern side of the green—directly opposite the manor house, close to the front of the bulwark—the Aiel newcomers were setting up their camp, complete with tan tents. They arranged them differently than the Saldaeans; instead of straight rows, the Aiel preferred small groups, organized by society. Some of Bashere's men called greetings to passing Aiel, but none moved to help. Aiel could be a prickly bunch, and while Nynaeve found the Saldaeans to be far less irrational than most, they were Borderlanders. Skirmishes with Aiel had been a way of life for them in earlier years, and the Aiel war itself was not so distant. For now, they all fought on the same side, but that didn't keep the Saldaeans from stepping a little more carefully now that the Aiel had arrived in force.

Nynaeve scanned for signs of Rand or any Aiel she knew. She doubted that Aviendha would be with the group; she would be back in Caemlyn with Elayne, helping secure the throne of Andor. Nynaeve still felt guilty for leaving them, but somebody had needed to help Rand cleanse saidin. That wasn't the sort of thing you left him to do alone. Now, where was he?

Nynaeve stopped at the boundary between the Saldaeans and the new Aiel camp. Soldiers carrying lances nodded to her in respect. Aiel in brown and green glided across the grass, their motions smooth as water.

Women in blues and greens carried wash from the stream beside the manor house. Broad-needled pines shivered in the wind. The camp bustled like the village green at Bel Tine. Which way had Cadsuane gone?

She sensed channeling in the northeast. Nynaeve smiled, setting off with a determined step, yellow skirt swishing. The channeling would either be an Aes Sedai or a Wise One. Sure enough, she soon saw a larger Aiel tent erected at the corner of the green. She strode straight for it, her stares—or perhaps her reputation—encouraging Saldaean soldiers to get out of her way. The Maidens guarding the entrance did not try to stop her.

Rand stood inside, wearing black and red, leafing through maps on a sturdy wooden table, his left arm held behind his back. Bashere stood at his side, nodding to himself and studying a small map he held before him.

Rand looked up as Nynaeve entered. When had he started looking so much like a Warder, with that instant glance of assessment? Those eyes which picked out every threat, body tense as if expecting an attack at any time? / should never have let that woman take him from the Two Rivers, she thought. Look what it's done to him.

She immediately frowned at her own foolishness. If Rand had stayed in the Two Rivers, he would have gone mad and perhaps destroyed them all—assuming, of course, the Trollocs, the Fades or the Forsaken themselves hadn't accomplished the task first. If Moiraine hadn't come for Rand, he'd now be dead. With him would have gone the light and hope of the world. It was just hard to abandon her old prejudices.

"Ah, Nynaeve," Rand said, relaxing and turning back to his maps. He motioned for Bashere to inspect one of them, then turned back to her. "I was about to send for you. Rhuarc and Bael are here."

Nynaeve raised an eyebrow, folding her arms. "Oh?" she asked flatly. "And here I'd assumed that all the Aiel in the camp meant we had been attacked by Shaido."

His face hardened at her tone, and those eyes of his grew . . . dangerous. But then he lightened, shaking his head, almost as if to clear it. Some of the old Rand—the Rand who had been an innocent sheepherder— seemed to return. "Yes, of course you would have noticed," he said. "I'm glad you are here. We will begin as soon as the clan chiefs return. I insisted they see their people settled before we began."

He waved for her to sit; there were cushions on the floor, but no chairs. Aiel spurned those, and Rand would want them to be comfortable. Nynaeve eyed him, surprised at how tight her own nerves had become. He was just a wool-headed villager, no matter how much influence he'd found. He was.

But she could not shake away that look in his eyes, that flash of anger. Holding a crown was said to change many men for the worse. She intended to see that didn't happen to Rand al'Thor, but what recourse would she have if he suddenly decided to have her imprisoned? He wouldn't do that, would he? Not Rand.

Semirhage said he was mad, Nynaeve thought. Said that. . . he heard voices from his past life. Is that what is happening when he cocks his head, as if listening to things that nobody else can hear?

She shivered. Min was there in the tent, of course, sitting and reading a book in the corner: The Wake of the Breaking. Min looked too intently at the pages; she'd listened to the exchange between Rand and Nynaeve. What did she think of the changes in him? She was closer to him than anyone—close enough that, if they'd all been back in Emond's Field, Nynaeve would have given the two of them a tongue-lashing strong enough to make their heads spin. Even though they weren't in Emond's Field and she was no longer Wisdom, she'd made certain that Rand knew of her displeasure. His response had been simple: "If I marry her, my death will bring her even more pain."

More idiocy, of course. If you were planning to go into danger, then it was all the more reason to get married. Obviously. Nynaeve seated herself on the floor, arranging her skirts, and pointedly did not think of Lan. He had such a long distance to cover, and. . . .

And she had to make sure that she was given his bond before he reached the Blight. Just in case.