The Gathering Storm

"I need—" he began.

"No," she repeated, confidence growing. "You will bow before me, Rand al'Thor. It will not happen the other way around." Such darkness! How could one man contain it? He seemed to throw a shadow the size of a mountain.

She could not ally with this creature. That seething hatred, it terrified her, and terror was an emotion with which she was unfamiliar. This man could not be allowed freedom to do as he wished. He had to be contained.

He watched her for a moment longer. "Very well," he said. His voice was ice.

He spun, stalking away from the pavilion, not looking back. His entourage followed; they all, including the marath'damane with the braid, looked disturbed. As if they themselves weren't certain what—or who— they followed in this man.

;You wish for peace," Tuon said. "Have you terms for your . . . offer?"

"It is not an offer, but a necessity," al'Thor said. He spoke with softness. All of these people spoke with such quick words, yet al'Thor's had a weight to them. He reminded her of her mother. "The Last Battle comes. Surely your people remember the prophecies. By prosecuting this war of yours, you endanger us all. My forces—everyone's forces—are needed in the struggle against the Shadow."

The Last Battle would be between the Empire and the forces of the Dark One. Everybody knew that. The prophecies clearly showed that the Empress would defeat those who served the Shadow, and then she would send the Dragon Reborn in to duel with Lighteater.

How much had he fulfilled? He didn't seem blinded yet, so that had yet to happen. The Essanik Cycle said that he would stand on his own grave and weep. Or did that prophecy refer to the dead walking, as they did already? Certainly, some of those spirits had walked across their own graves. The writings were unclear, sometimes.

This people seemed to have forgotten many of the prophecies, just as they forgot their oaths to watch for the Return. But she did not say this. Watch your words carefully. . . .

"You believe the Last Battle is close, then?" she asked.

"Close?" al'Thor asked. "It is as close as an assassin, breathing his foul breath upon your neck as he slides his knife across your skin. It is close like the last chime of midnight, after the other eleven have struck. Close? Yes, it is close. Horribly close."

Had the madness taken him already? If it had, that would make things much more difficult. She studied him, searching for signs of insanity. He seemed in control of himself.

A sea breeze blew through the canopy, ruffling the canvas and carrying with it the scent of rotten fish. Many things seemed to be rotting these days.

Those creatures, she thought. The Trollocs. What did their appearance foretell? Tylee had destroyed them, and the scouts had found no others. Looking at the intensity of this man, she hesitated. Yes, the Last Battle was close, perhaps as close as he said. That made it all the more important that she unify these lands beneath her banner.

"You must see why this is so important," the Dragon Reborn said. "Why do you fight me?"

"We are the Return," Tuon said. "The omens said it was time for us to come, and we expected to find a united kingdom, ready to praise us and lend us armies for the Last Battle. Instead, we found a fractured land that had forgotten its oaths and prepared for nothing. How can you not see that we must fight? It does not bring us pleasure to kill you, no more than it brings a parent joy to discipline a child who has gone astray."

Al'Thor seemed incredulous. "We are children to you?"

"It was a metaphor only," Tuon said.

He sat for a moment, then rubbed his chin with his hand. Did he blame her for the loss of the other one? Falendre had spoken of it.

"A metaphor," he said. "An apt one, perhaps. Yes, the land did lack unity. But I have forged it together. The solder is weak, perhaps, but it will hold long enough. If not for me, then your war of unification would be commendable. As it is, you are a distraction. We must have peace. Our alliance need last only until my life ends." He met her eyes. "I assure you that will not be overly long."

She sat at the wide table, arms folded before her. If al'Thor stretched out his arm, he would not be able to reach her. That was intentional, though the precaution was laughable, in hindsight. He would not need his hand should he decide to kill her. Best not to think of that.

"If you see the value of unification," she said, "then perhaps you should unite your lands beneath the Seanchan banner, have your people take the oaths and—" The woman standing behind al'Thor, the marath'damam, opened eyes wide as Tuon spoke.

"No," al'Thor said, interrupting Tuon.

"But surely you can see that one ruler, with—"

"No," he said, softly, yet more firmly. More dangerous. "I will not see another person chained by your foul leashes."

"Foul? They are the only way to deal with those who can channel!"

"We have survived without them for centuries."

"And you have—"

"This is not a point I will concede," al'Thor said.