The Gathering Storm

She spun on her heels and hurried back the way she had come, her head bowed, barely daring to think about her plan. It could fail so easily. If al'Thor really was as dominated by his rage as she feared, then even this would not help him.

But if he really was that far gone, then there wasn't anything that would help him. That meant she had nothing to lose. Nothing but the world itself.

Pushing her way through crowds and occasionally taking to the muddy street to avoid them, she arrived at the mansion. Some Aiel had taken the camp where Dobraine's armsmen had staged until his withdrawal. They camped all about, some on the grounds, some in a wing of the mansion, others in nearby buildings.

Cadsuane made her way to the wing that belonged to the Aiel, and she was not stopped. She enjoyed privileges among the Aiel that none of the other sisters had been given. She found Sorilea and the other Wise Ones in conference in one of the libraries. They were sitting on the floor, of course. Sorilea nodded to Cadsuane as she entered. She was all bone, thin and leathery, yet never could a person think her frail. Not with those eyes, set into a face that, despite being worn by wind and sun, was too young for her age. How was it that the Wise Ones could live so long, yet not obtain the Aes Sedai agelessness? That was a question Cadsuane had not been able to answer.

She lowered her hood and joined the Wise Ones, seating herself on the floor, eschewing cushions. She looked Sorilea in the eyes. "I have failed," she said.

The Wise One nodded, as if she had thought this same thing. Cadsuane forced herself not to show her annoyance.

"There is no shame in failure," Bair said, "when that failure was the fault of another."

Amys nodded. "The Car'a'earn is stubborn beyond all men, Cadsuane Sedai. You have no toh toward us."

"Shame or toh," Cadsuane said, "it will all be irrelevant soon. But I have a plan. Will you help me?"

The Wise Ones shared a look among them.

"What is this plan?" Sorilea asked.

Cadsuane smiled, then began to explain.

Rand glanced over his shoulder, watching Cadsuane scuttle away. She probably thought that he hadn't noticed her hiding there at the side of the street. The cloak hid her face, but nothing could conceal that self-assured posture, not even the clumsy footgear. Even as she hurried, she seemed in control, and others moved out of her way reflexively.

She flirted with his prohibition, following him through the town like this. However, she had not shown him her face, and so he let her go. It had probably been a poor move to exile her in the first place, but there was no going back now. He would just have to control his temper in the future. Keep it wrapped in ice, steaming deep inside his chest, pulsing like a second heart.

He turned back to the docks. Perhaps there was no reason for him to check on the food distribution directly. However, he had found that the grain had a distinctly higher chance of getting to those who needed it if everyone knew they were being watched. This was a people who had been without a king for too long; they deserved to see that someone was in control.

Upon reaching the wharf, he turned Tai'daishar to angle along the back of the docks, moving at an unhurried pace. He glanced at the Asha'man riding beside him. Naeff had a strong, rectangular face and the lean build of a warrior; he'd been a soldier in the Queen's Guard of Andor before resigning in disgust during the reign of "Lord Gaebril." Naeff had found his way to the Black Tower, and now wore both the Sword and Dragon.

Eventually, Rand would probably have to either let Naeff return to his Aes Sedai—he had been among the first ones bonded—or bring her to him. He was loath to have another Aes Sedai nearby, although Nelavaire Demasiellin, a Green, was relatively pleasant as Aes Sedai went.

"Continue," Rand said to Naeff as they rode. The Asha'man had been running messages and meeting with the Seanchan with Bashere.

"Well, my Lord," Naeff said, "it's just my gut feeling, but I don't think they'll accept Katar for the meeting place. They always grow difficult when Lord Bashere or I mention it, claiming they will have to seek further instructions from the Daughter of the Nine Moons. Their tones imply that the 'instructions' will be that the location is unacceptable."

Rand spoke softly. "Katar is neutral ground, neither in Arad Doman nor deep within Seanchan lands."

"I know, my Lord. We've tried. I promise that we have."

"Very well," Rand said. "If they continue to be bullheaded about this, I will choose another location. Return to them and say we will meet at Falme."

From behind, Flinn whistled quietly.

"My Lord," Naeff said. "That's well within the Seanchan border."

"I know," Rand said, glancing at Flinn. "But it has a ... certain historic significance. We will be safe; these Seanchan are bound rigidly by their honor. They will not attack if we arrive under a banner of truce."

"Are you certain?" Naeff asked quietly. "I don't like the way they look at me, my Lord. There's contempt in their eyes, every one of them. Contempt and pity, as if I'm some lost hound, searching for scraps behind the inn. Burn me, but it makes me sick."

"They've got those collars of theirs handy, my Lord," Flinn said. "Flag of truce or not, they'll be itching to bind us all."

Rand closed his eyes, keeping the rage inside, feeling the salty sea air blow across him. He opened his eyes to a sky bounded by dark clouds.

He would not think of the collar at his neck, his hand strangling Min. That was the past.

He was harder than steel. He could not be broken.