People did not respond to anger. They did not respond to demands. Silence and questions, these were far more effective. Indeed, Merise—a fully trained Aes Sedai—wilted before that stare.

He put no emotion into it. His rage, his anger, his passion—it was all still there, buried within. But he had surrounded it with ice, cold and immobilizing. It was the ice of the place Semirhage had taught him to go, the place that was like the void, but far more dangerous.

Perhaps Merise could sense frozen rage within him. Or perhaps she could sense the other thing, the fact that he’d used that . . . power. Distantly, Lews Therin began to cry. The madman did that whenever Rand thought of what he had done to escape Semirhage’s collar.

“What you did, it was a foolish move,” Merise continued. “You should—”

“Do you think me a fool, then?” Rand asked softly.

Respond to demands with silence, respond to challenges with questions. It was amazing how it worked. Merise cut off, then shivered visibly. She glanced down, to the pouch on his saddle where he carried the small statue of a man holding aloft a sphere. Rand fingered it, holding his reins loosely.

He did not flaunt the statuette. He simply carried it, but Merise and most of the others knew the nearly unlimited power he could tap if he wished. It was a weapon greater than any other ever known. With it, he might be able to annihilate the world itself. And it sat innocently on his saddle. That had an effect on people.

“I . . . No, I don’t,” she admitted. “Not always.”

“Do you think that failures should be unpunished?” Rand asked, voice still soft. Why had he lost his temper? These little annoyances were not worth his passion, his fury. If one bothered him too much, all he needed do was snuff it out, like a candle.

A dangerous thought. Had that been his? Had it been Lews Therin’s? Or . . . had the thought come from . . . elsewhere?

“Surely you have been too harsh,” Merise said.

“Too harsh?” he asked. “Do you realize her mistake, Merise? Have you considered what could have happened? What should have happened?”

“I—”

“The end of all things, Merise,” he whispered. “The Dark One with control of the Dragon Reborn. The two of us, fighting on the same side.”

She fell silent, then said, “Yes. But mistakes, you yourself have made them. They might have ended in similar disaster.”

“I pay for my mistakes,” he said, turning away. “I pay for them each day. Each hour. Each breath.”

“I—”

“Enough.” He did not yell the word. He spoke firmly, but quietly. He made her feel the full force of his displeasure, his gaze seizing her own. She suddenly slumped in her saddle, looking up at him with wide eyes.

There was a loud cracking noise from the side, followed by a sudden crash. Screams broke the air. Rand turned with alarm. A balcony filled with onlookers had broken free of its supports and fallen to the street, smashing like a barrel hit by a boulder. People groaned in pain, others called out for help. But the sounds had come from both sides of the street. Rand frowned and turned; a second balcony—directly across from the first—had fallen as well.

Merise paled, then turned her horse hastily, heading to help the wounded. Other Aes Sedai were already hurrying to Heal those who had fallen.

Rand kneed Tai’daishar forward. That had not been caused by the Power, but by his ta’veren nature changing probability. Wherever he visited, remarkable and random events occurred. Large numbers of births, deaths, weddings and accidents. He had learned to ignore them.

He had rarely seen an occurrence quite so . . . violent, however. Could he be sure it wasn’t due to some interaction with the new force? That unseen yet tempting well of power Rand had tapped, used and enjoyed? Lews Therin thought what happened should have been impossible.

The original reason mankind had bored into the Dark One’s prison had been power. A new source of energy for channeling, like the One Power, but different. Unknown and strange, and potentially vast. That source of power had turned out to be the Dark One himself.

Lews Therin whimpered.

Rand carried the access key with him for a reason. It linked him to one of the greatest sa’angreal ever created. With that power and the aid of Nynaeve, Rand had cleansed saidin. The access key had allowed him to tap an unimaginable river, a tempest as vast as the ocean. It had been the greatest thing he had ever experienced.

Until the moment when he had used the unnamed power.

That other force called to him, sang to him, tempted him. So much power, so much divine wonder. But it terrified him. He didn’t dare touch it, not again.

And so he carried the key. He was not certain which of the two sources of energy was more dangerous, but as long as both called to him, he was able to resist both. Like two people, both yelling for his attention, they drowned one another out. For the moment.

Besides, he would not be collared again. The access key wouldn’t have helped him against Semirhage—no amount of the One Power would aid a man if he were caught unaware—but perhaps it would in the future. Once, he hadn’t dared carry it for fear of what it offered. He no longer had room to indulge such weakness.

The destination was easy to pick out; about five hundred Cairhienin armsmen were camped on the grounds of a spacious, stately mansion. Aiel also had tents on the grounds—but they had also claimed nearby buildings, and several nearby roofs. For the Aiel, camping in a place was essentially the same thing as guarding it, as an Aiel resting was about twice as alert as a regular soldier on patrol. Rand had left the larger bulk of his force outside the city; he would leave it to Dobraine and his stewards to find quarters for Rand’s men within the walls.

Tags: Robert Jordan The Wheel of Time Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net