The Gathering Storm

"You all claim that I have grown too hard, that I will inevitably shatter and break if I continue on. But you assume that there needs to be something left of me to continue on. That I need to climb back down the mountain once I've reached the top.

"That's the key, Nynaeve. I see it now. I will not live through this, and so I don't need to worry about what might happen to me after the Last Battle. I don't need to hold back, don't need to salvage anything of this beaten up soul of mine. I know that I must die. Those who wish for me to be softer, willing to bend, are those who cannot accept what will happen to me." He looked down at Min again. Many times before, Nynaeve had seen affection in his eyes when he regarded her, but this time they were blank. Set in that same, emotionless face.

"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.

s of times? Nynaeve thought with a shiver. You've seen it, or Lews Tberin saw it? Which memories rule you right now?

She looked at Kerb, sick to her stomach. His eyes weren't blank from being dazed as she'd thought; they were more empty than that. When Nynaeve had been younger, new to her role as Wisdom, a woman had been brought to her who had fallen off of her wagon. The woman had slept for days, and when she'd finally awoken, she'd had a stare like this one. No hint that she recognized anyone, no clue that there was any soul left in the husk that was her body.

She'd died about a week later.

Rand spoke to Kerb again. "I need a location," Rand said. "Something. If there is any vestige within you that resisted, any scrap that fought her, I promise you revenge. A location. Where is she?"

Spittle dripped from the boy's lips. They seemed to quiver. Rand stood up, looming, still holding the youth's eyes with his own. Kerb shivered, then whispered two words.

"Natrin's Barrow."