The Gathering Storm

"We can find a way, Rand," Nynaeve said. "Surely there is a way to win but also let you live."

"No," he growled softly. "Do not tempt me down that path again. It only leads to pain, Nynaeve. I ... I used to think about leaving something behind to help the world survive once I died, but that was a struggle to keep living. I can't indulge myself. I'll climb this bloody mountain and face the sun. You all will deal with what comes next. That is how it must be."

She opened her mouth to object again, but he gave her a sharp glance. "That is how it must be, Nynaeve."

She closed her mouth.

"You did well tonight," Rand said. "You have saved us all a lot of trouble."

"I did it because I want you to trust me," Nynaeve said, then immediately cursed herself. Why had she said that? Was she really so tired that she blabbed the first thing that came to her mind?

Rand just nodded. "I do trust you, Nynaeve. As much as I trust anyone; more than I trust most. You think you know what is best for me, even against my wishes, but that is something I can accept. The difference between you and Cadsuane is that you actually care about me. She only cares about my place in her plans. She wants me to be part of the Last Battle. You want me to live. For that, you have my thanks. Dream on my behalf, Nynaeve. Dream for things I no longer can."

He leaned down to pick up Min; he managed it despite his missing hand, snaking one arm underneath her and gripping with his hand as he lifted her up. She stirred, then snuggled in close to him, waking and murmuring a complaint that she could walk. He didn't put her down; perhaps because of the exhaustion in her voice. Nynaeve knew she stayed up with her books most nights, pushing herself almost as hard as Rand did.

Carrying Min, he walked toward the door. "We will deal with the Seanchan first," he said. "Be well prepared for that meeting. I will take care of Graendal soon after."

He left her then. The flickering lamp finally gave out, leaving only the one on the table.

Rand had surprised her again. He was still a wool-headed fool, but he was a surprisingly self-aware one. How could a man understand so much, yet still be so ignorant?

And why couldn't she come up with an argument against what he'd said? Why couldn't she make herself yell at him that he was wrong? There was always hope. By surrendering that most important emotion, he might make himself strong—but risked losing all reason he might have to care about the outcome of his battles.

For some reason, she couldn't find words for the argument.

CHAPTER 34

Legends

All right," Mat said, unrolling one of Roidelle's best maps on his table. Talmanes, Thorn, Noal, Juilin and Mandevwin had arranged their chairs around the table. Beside the map of the area, Mat unrolled a sketch of the layout of a medium-sized town. It had taken some doing to find a merchant willing to sketch them a map of Trustair, but after Hinderstap, Mat didn't like to go into a town without knowing what they were up against.

Mat's pavilion was shaded by the pine forest outside, and the day was cool. Occasionally, the wind would blow, and a small sprinkle of dead pine needles would shake free from the boughs above and fall to the ground, some scratching the top of the tent as they fell. Outside, soldiers called to one another and pots clanged as the midday meal was distributed.

Mat studied the town map. It was time to stop being a fool. The whole world had decided to turn against him—even rural mountain towns were death traps, these days. Next he knew, the daisies on the sides of the road would be ganging up to try and eat him.

That thought gave him pause as he remembered the poor peddler, sinking into the phantom Shiotan town. When that ghostly place had vanished, it had left behind a meadow with butterflies and flowers. Including daisies. Burn me, he thought.

Well, Matrim Cauthon wasn't about to end up dead on some random backwater road. This time he would plan and he would be ready. He nodded to himself in satisfaction.

"The inn is here," Mat said, pointing at the town map. "The Shaken Fist. Two separate travelers agreed that it was a fine inn, the nicest of the three in the town. The woman looking for me hasn't made any effort to hide her whereabouts, so that means she thinks that she is well protected. We can expect guards."

Mat pulled out another of Roidelle's maps, one that better showed the geography around Trustair. The town sat in a small hollow, surrounded by gently rolling hills beside a small lake fed by highland springs. The lake reportedly produced some fine trout, the salting of which was the town's main trade.

"I want three squads of light cavalry here," Mat said, pointing at an upper slope. "They'll be hidden by the trees, but will have full view of the skies. If a red nightflower goes up, they're to come in directly along the main road here for a rescue. We'll have a hundred crossbowmen sequestered on either side of the town as a backup to the cavalry. If the nightflower is green instead, the cavalry is to march in and secure the main roads to the town, here, here and here."

Mat looked up, pointing at Thom. "Thorn, you'll take Harnan, Fer-gin and Mandevwin as 'apprentices' and Noal can be your footman."

"Footman?" Noal asked. He was a gnarled man, missing teeth, with a hooked beak of a nose. But he was tough as an old, battle-scored sword passed down from father to son. "Why does a gleeman need a footman?"

"All right," Mat said. "You can be his brother then, who doubles as a manservant. Juilin, you—"

"Wait, Mat," Mandevwin said, scratching his face near his eye patch. "I'm to be an apprentice gleeman? I'm not certain my voice is suited to fine singing. You've heard me, I warrant. And with only one eye, I doubt I'll fare well at juggling."

"You're a new apprentice," Mat said. "Thom knows you don't have any talent, but he took pity on you because your great-aunt—with whom you've lived since your parents died in a tragic oxen stampede—took sick of the clover pox and went crazy. She started feeding you table scraps and treated you like the family hound, Marks, who'd run away when you were just seven."

Mandevwin scratched his head. His hair was streaked with gray. "Aren't I a little old to be an apprentice, though?"

"Nonsense," Mat said. "You're young at heart, and since you never married—the only woman you ever loved ran away with the tanner's son—Thorn's arrival offered you an opportunity to start fresh."