He stopped, looking at her, seeing her as if for the first time.
"These are not slaves with their minds already burned away by Graendal. That is an entire city full of innocent people!"
"I wouldn't harm the people of the city," Rand said, voice emotionless. "That army deserves the demonstration, not the city. A rain of fire upon them, perhaps. Or lightning to strike and bite."
"They have done nothing other than ask you to meet with them!" Nynaeve said, edging her horse closer to him. That ter'angreal sat like a viper in his hand. Once, it had cleansed the Source. If only it had melted away as the female one had!
She wasn't certain what would happen if he aimed a weave into the protective bubble of Far Madding, but she suspected it would still work. The Guardian didn't stop weaves from being made; Nynaeve had been able to craft weaves just fine, when she'd drawn upon her Well.
Either way, she knew that she had to stop Rand from turning his anger—or whatever it was he felt—upon his allies. "Rand," she said softly. "If you do this, there will be no turning back."
"There's already no turning back for me, Nynaeve," he said, his eyes intense. Those eyes shifted, sometimes seeming gray, sometimes blue. Today, they looked iron gray. He continued, voice flat. "My feet started on this path the moment Tarn found me crying on that mountain."
"You don't have to kill anyone today. Please."
He turned to look back at the city. Slowly, mercifully, the access key stopped glowing. "Hurin!" he barked.
He must be close to fraying, Nynaeve thought. His anger is slipping out in his voice.
The thief-taker rode up to the front of the group. The Aiel kept their distance, however. "Yes, Lord Rand?"
"Return to your masters inside of their box," Rand said, voice under control again. "You are to give them a message for me."
"What message, Lord Rand?"
Rand hesitated, then slipped the access key back in its place. "Tell them that it will not be long before the Dragon Reborn rides to battle at Shayol Ghul. If they wish to return to their posts with honor, I will provide them with transport back to the Blight. Otherwise, they can remain here, hiding. Let them explain to their children and grandchildren why they were hundreds of leagues away from their posts when the Dark One was slain and the prophecies fulfilled."
Hurin looked shaken. "Yes, Lord Rand."
With that, Rand turned his horse about and rode back toward the clearing. Nynaeve followed, too slowly. Beautiful though Moonlight was, she'd have traded the beautiful mare in an instant for a biddable, dependable Two Rivers horse like Bela.
Hurin stayed behind. He still looked shaken. His reunion with "Lord Rand" had obviously been far from what he expected. Nynaeve gritted her teeth as the trees obscured her view of him. Inside the clearing, Rand had opened another gateway, a direct gateway to Tear.
They rode out into the Traveling ground prepared outside the Stone of Tear's stableyards. The air was hot and muggy in Tear, despite the overcast sky, and thick with the sounds of men training and gulls shrieking. Rand rode out to where stablehands waited, then dismounted, his face unreadable.
As Nynaeve climbed off of Moonlight and handed the reins to a ruddy-faced stable worker, Rand walked past her. "Look for a statue," he said.
"What?" she asked with surprise.
He glanced back at her, stopping. "You asked where Perrin was. He's camped with an army beneath the shade of an enormous fallen statue shaped like a sword stabbing the earth. I'm certain scholars here can tell you where it is; it's very distinctive."
"How . . . how do you know that?"
Rand just shrugged. "I just do."
"Why tell me?" she asked, walking alongside him across the yard of packed earth. She hadn't expected him to give up the information—he had gotten into the habit of holding onto whatever he knew, even if that knowledge was meaningless.
"Because," he said, striding toward the keep, voice growing almost too soft to hear, "I ... have a debt to you for caring when I cannot. If you seek Perrin out, tell him that I will soon need him."
With that, he left her.
Nynaeve stood in the horse yard, watching him go. There was a wet scent to the air, the smell of new rain, and she could feel that she'd missed a sprinkle. Not enough to clear the air or muddy the ground, but enough to leave wetted sections of stone in shaded corners. To her right, men galloped and exercised horses beneath the dun sky, riding across sandy earth between pickets. The Stone was the only fortress she knew of with exercise areas for cavalry—but, then, the Stone was far from ordinary.
The rumble of hoofbeats was like the sound of a distant storm, and she found herself glancing northward. The storm there felt closer than it had before. She'd assumed it was gathering in the Blight, but now she wasn't so certain.
She took a deep breath, then hastened to the keep. She passed Defenders in their immaculate uniforms, the upper arm portions ribbed and puffy, breastplates smooth and curved. She passed stableboys, each probably dreaming of one day wearing that same uniform, but for now only leading horses back to the stables for hay and currying. She passed dozens of servants in linens, doubtless far more comfortable than Nynaeve's maroon wool.
The keep itself was a towering rock of a structure, sheer walls broken only by windows. Except that she could still spot the place where Mat had destroyed a section of stone with his Illuminator's fireworks when coming to rescue Nynaeve and the others from their imprisonment. Fool boy. Where was he? She hadn't seen him in ... in quite a long time. Since Ebou Dar had fallen to the Seanchan. In a way, she felt as though she'd abandoned him, though she'd never admit that. Why, she'd embarrassed herself enough in front of the Daughter of the Nine Moons when she'd defended that scoundrel! She still didn't know what had come over her.