The Gathering Storm

"This is what we all get," Min said, "for assuming we can make him do what we want."

The room fell still.

And suddenly Min realized that through their bond, she could feel Rand. Distant, to the west. "He's gone," she whispered.

"Yes," Tam said, sighing. "He opened one of those gateways right on the balcony. Left me alive, though I could have sworn—looking in his eyes—that he meant to kill me. I've seen that look in the eyes of men before, and one of the two of us always ended up bleeding on the floor."

"What happened, then?" Nynaeve asked.

"He . . . seemed to be distracted by something, suddenly," Tam said. "He took that little statue and dashed through the gateway."

Cadsuane raised an eyebrow. "And did you see, by chance, where that gateway took him?"

West, Min thought. Far to the west.

"I'm not certain," Tam admitted. "It was dark, though I thought. . . ."

"What?" Nynaeve prodded.

"Ebou Dar," Min said, surprising them all. "He's gone to destroy the Seanchan. Just as he told the Maidens he would."

"I don't know about that last part," Tam said. "But it did look like Ebou Dar."

"Light preserve us," Corele whispered.

CHAPTER 49

Just Another Man

Rand walked, stump shoved in the pocket of his coat, head down, carrying the access key securely wrapped in white linen and looped to his belt at his side. Nobody paid attention to him. He was just another man walking the streets of Ebou Dar. Nothing special, despite the fact that he was taller than most. He had reddish gold hair, maybe suggesting some Aiel blood. But a lot of strange people had fled to the city recently to seek Seanchan protection. What was one more?

As long as a person wasn't able to channel, he or she could find stability here. Safety.

That bothered him. They were his enemies. They were conquerors. He felt their lands shouldn't be peaceful. They should be terrible, full of suffering because of the tyrannical rule. But it wasn't like that at all.

Not unless you could channel. What the Seanchan did with this group of people was horrifying. Not all was well beneath this happy surface. And yet, it was shocking to realize how well they treated others.

Tinkers camped outside the city in large groups. Their wagons had not moved for weeks, and it seemed they were forming villages. As Rand had moved among them, he'd heard some of them speak of settling down. Others had objected to this, of course. They were the Tinkers, the Traveling People. How would they find the Song if they did not search for it? It was as much a part of them as the Way of the Leaf.

Last night, Rand had listened to them at one of the campfires. They'd welcomed him in, fed him, never asking who he was. He'd kept the dragon on his hand hidden and the access key carefully tucked in his coat pocket, looking at that fire burning down to coals.

He hadn't ever been to Ebou Dar itself; he'd only visited the hills to the north, where he'd fought the Seanchan while wielding Callandor. That had been a place of failure. Now he had returned to Altara. But for what?

In the morning, when the gates to the city had opened, he made his way inside with the others who had arrived at night. The Tinkers had taken them all in; apparently, they were receiving a ration of food from the Seanchan to house after-hour travelers. That was only one of their many occupations. They mended pots, sewed uniforms and did other odd jobs. For this, they received the protection of rulers for the first time in their long history.

He'd spent long enough with the Aiel to pick up some of their disdain for the Tinkers. Yet that disdain warred with his knowledge that the Tuatha'an—in many ways—followed more true, traditional Aiel ways. Rand could remember what it was like to live as they had. In the visions of Rhuidean, he had followed the Way of the Leaf. He'd also seen the Age of Legends. He'd lived those lives, the lives of others, for a few brief moments.

He walked along the packed streets of the muggy city, still in something of a daze. Last night, he had traded his fine black coat to a Tinker for a common brown cloak, ragged on the bottom and stitched in places. Not a Tinker cloak, just one that a Tinker had sewn up for a man who had never returned to claim it. It made him stand out less, even if it did require him to carry the access key looped to his belt, rather than his deep pocket. The Tinker also gave him a walking staff, which Rand used as he walked, slouching slightly. Height might make him memorable. He wanted to be invisible to these people.

He had nearly killed his father. He hadn't been forced to by Semi-rhage, or by Lews Therin's influence. No excuses. No argument. He, Rand al'Thor, had tried to kill his own father. He'd drawn in the Power, made the weaves and nearly released them.

Rand's rage was gone, replaced by loathing. He'd wanted to make himself hard. He'd needed to be hard. But this was where hardness had brought him. Lews Therin had been able to claim madness for his atrocities. Rand had nothing, no place to hide, no refuge from himself.

Ebou Dar. It was a busy, bulging city, split in half by its large river. Rand walked the west side, through squares edged with beautiful statues and streets lined with row upon row of white houses, many several stories high. He often passed men fighting with fists or knives, and nobody making any effort to break them apart. Even the women wore knives at their necks in jeweled scabbards, hanging above low-cut dresses worn over colorful petticoats.

He ignored them all. Instead, he thought on the Tinkers. Tinkers were safe here, but Rand's own father wasn't safe in his empire. Rand's friends feared him; he had seen it in Nynaeve's eyes.

The people here weren't afraid. Seanchan officers moved through the crowds, wearing those insectlike helms. The people made way for them, but out of respect. When Rand heard commoners speaking, they were glad for the stability. They actually praised the Seanchan for conquering them!