Lord of Chaos

  “Light,” he muttered absently, “you jump around like a drop of water on a hot griddle. I’ll see them when I have time.” For a moment he rubbed at his forehead, and his eyes seemed to see nothing. With a blink he was seeing her again. “Do you intend to stay until they come back?” He really did want to be rid of her.

  At the door she paused, but he was already stalking up the room, hands clasped behind his back, talking to himself. Softly, but she could make out some. “Where are you hiding, burn you? I know you’re there!”

  Shivering, she let herself out. If he really was going mad already, there was no changing it. The Wheel weaved as the Wheel willed, and its weaving must be accepted.

  Realizing that she was eyeing the servants passing up and down the hall, wondering which might be Aes Sedai agents, she made herself stop. The Wheel weaved as the Wheel willed. With a nod for Somara, she squared her shoulders and tried very hard not to scuttle on her way to the nearest servants’ entrance.

  There was little talk as Arilyn’s best coach lurched away from the Sun Palace followed by the wagon that had borne the chests, burdened now only with the serving women and driver. Steepling her fingers in the coach, Nesune tapped them thoughtfully against her lips. A fascinating young man. A fascinating subject for study. Her foot touched one of the specimen boxes under the seat; she never went anywhere without proper specimen boxes. One would think that the world must have been catalogued long since, yet since leaving Tar Valon she had tucked away fifty plants, twice as many insects, and the skins and bones of a fox, three sorts of lark, and no fewer than five species of ground squirrel that she was sure were nowhere in the records.

  “I did not realize you were friendly with Alviarin,” Coiren said after a time.

  Galina sniffed. “It is not necessary to be friends to know she was well when we left.” Nesune wondered whether the woman knew that she pouted. Only the shape of her mouth perhaps, but one had to learn to live with one’s face. “Do you think he truly knew?” Galina went on. “That we had . . . It is impossible. He must have been guessing.”

  Nesune’s ears perked, though she continued to tap her lips. That was clearly an effort to change the subject, and a sign that Galina was nervous besides. Silence had held as long as it did because no one wanted to mention al’Thor and there seemed no other topic possible. Why did Galina not want to speak of Alviarin? The two certainly were not friends; it was a rare Red who had a friend outside her Ajah. Nesune filed the question in its own mental cubbyhole.

  “If he was guessing, he could make his fortune at the fairs.” Coiren was no fool. Bombastic beyond all reason, but never a fool. “However ridiculous it might seem, we must assume he can sense saidar in a woman.”

  “That might be disastrous,” Galina muttered. “No. It cannot be. He must have guessed. Any man who can channel would assume we would embrace saidar.”

  The woman’s pout irritated Nesune. This entire expedition irritated her. She would have been more than happy to join it if asked, but Jesse Bilal had not asked; Jesse had practically shoved her onto her horse physically. However it might be in other Ajahs, the head of the Browns’ council was not expected to behave so. Worst of all, though, Nesune’s companions were so focused on young al’Thor that they seemed to have gone blind to all else.

  “Do you have any notions,” she mused aloud, “as to the sister who shared our interview?”

  It might not have been a sister — three Aiel women seemed to turn up when she went into the Royal Library, and two could channel — but she wanted to see their reactions. She was not disappointed; or rather, she was. Coiren only sat up straight, but Galina stared. It was all Nesune could do not to sigh. They truly were blind. Only a few paces from a woman able to channel, and they had not sensed her because they could not see her.

  “I don’t know how she was hidden,” Nesune went on, “but it will be interesting to discover.” It had to have been his work; they would have seen any weaving of saidar. They did not ask whether she was sure; they knew she always identified a guess.

  “Confirmation that Moiraine is alive.” Galina settled back with a grim smile. “I suggest we set Beldeine to find her. Then we take her and bundle her into the basement. That takes her away from al’Thor, and we can carry her to Tar Valon along with him. I doubt he’ll even notice, so long as we let enough gold glitter under his nose.”

  Coiren shook her head emphatically. “We have no more confirmation than we already had, not of Moiraine. It may be this mysterious Green. As far as finding whoever it is, I agree, but we must consider the rest carefully. I will not risk everything that has been so carefully planned. We must be aware that al’Thor is connected to this sister — whoever she may be — and that his plea for time may be only a strategy. Fortunately, we have time.” Galina nodded, however reluctantly; she would marry and settle on a farm before she risked their plans.

  Nesune allowed herself a small sigh. Aside from pomposity, stating the obvious was Coiren’s only real fault. She did have a good mind, when she used it. And they did have time. Her foot touched one of the specimen boxes again. However events spun out, the paper she intended to write on al’Thor would be the culmination of her life.

  Chapter 28

  Letters

  * * *

  Lews Therin was there — Rand was sure of it — but not a whisper sounded in his head that was not his own. For the rest of the day he did try to think of other things, useless as they might be. Berelain was ready to jump out of her skin for the number of times he popped in on her to ask about something she was perfectly capable of handling without him; he was not sure, but he thought she started trying to avoid him. Even Rhuarc began to look a little hunted after the tenth time Rand cornered him over the Shaido; the Shaido had not stirred, and the only choices Rhuarc could see were to leave them in Kinslayer’s Dagger or dig them out. Herid Fel had wandered off, as Idrien quickly pointed out he often did, and was nowhere to be found; when Fel became lost in thought, he sometimes lost his way in the city, too. Rand shouted at her. Fel was not her fault, not her responsibility, but Rand left her white and trembling. His temper rippled like a line of thunderstorms sweeping in from the horizon. He shouted at Meilan and Maringil till they shook in their boots and left him with pasty faces, reduced Colavaere to incoherent tears and actually sent Anaiyella running with her skirts hiked to her knees. For that matter, when Amys and Sorilea came to ask what he had told the Aes Sedai, he shouted at them as well; from the look on Sorilea’s face as they stalked away, he suspected that might have been the first time anyone had ever raised voice to her. It was knowing — knowing — that Lews Therin was really there, more than a voice, a man hiding inside his head.

  He was almost afraid to fall asleep when night came, afraid Lews Therin might seize control while he slept, and when he did sleep his troubled dreams made him toss and mutter. The first hint of light though the windows woke him in tangled sweat-soaked sheets, with grainy eyes, a mouth that tasted like a horse six days dead, and legs that ached. The dreams he remembered had all been of running from something he could not see. He levered himself out of the great four-posted bed and made his ablutions at the gilded washstand. With the sky just turning gray outside, the gai’shain who would bring fresh water had not appeared yet, but last night’s did well enough.

  He had nearly finished shaving when he stopped, razor poised against his cheek, staring at himself in the mirror on the wall. Running. He had been sure it was the Forsaken he was running from in those dreams, or the Dark One, or Tarmon Gai’don, or maybe even Lews Therin. So full of himself; surely the Dragon Reborn would dream of being pursued by the Dark One. For all his protests that he was Rand al’Thor, it seemed that he could forget as easily as anyone else. Rand al’Thor had run away from Elayne, from his fear of loving Elayne, just as he had run from fear of loving Aviendha.

  The mirror shattered, shards dropping into the porcelain washbasin. The pieces remaining in the frame cast back a fragmented image of his fac
e.

  Releasing saidin, he carefully scraped away the last bit of lather and folded the razor deliberately. No more running. He would do what he had to do, but no more running.

  Two Maidens were waiting in the corridor when he emerged. Harilin, a lanky redhead about his age, went running for the others as soon as he appeared. Chiarid, a merry-eyed blonde old enough to be his mother, accompanied him through hallways where only a few servants stirred, surprised to see him so early. Usually Chiarid liked to make jokes at his expense when they were alone — he understood some; she saw him as a younger brother who needed to be kept from getting too big for his hat — but she felt his mood this morning and said not a word. She did give his sword one disgusted glance, but only one.

  Nandera and the rest of the Maidens caught up before he was halfway to the Traveling chamber, and caught his silence as quickly. So did the Mayeners and Black Eyes guarding the square-carved door. Rand thought he might leave Cairhien without anyone speaking until a young woman in the red-and-blue of Berelain’s personal servants rushed in and bobbed a deep curtsy just as he opened the gateway.

  “The First sends this,” she panted, extending a letter with a large green seal. Apparently she had run all the way trying to find him. “It’s from the Sea Folk, my Lord Dragon.”

  Rand stuffed the letter into his coat pocket and stepped through the gateway, ignoring the woman’s question as to whether there was any reply. Silence suited him this morning. He ran a thumb along the carving on the Dragon Scepter. He would be strong and hard, and put all this self-pity behind him.

  The dark Grand Hall in Caemlyn brought Alanna nestling back into his head. Night still held here, but she was awake; he knew as surely as he knew she was weeping, as surely as he knew her tears stopped moments after he closed the gateway behind the last of the Maidens. A small ball of ragged unreadable emotion still sat in the back of his head, yet he was certain she knew he had returned. No doubt she and her bond had played their part in his flight, but he accepted the bond now even if he did not like it. That nearly made him chuckle wryly; he had better accept it, since he could not change it. She had tied a thread to him — no more than a thread; Light, let it be no more — and it should not cause trouble unless he let her close enough to make it a leash. He wished Thom Merrilin were there; Thom probably knew all about Warders and bonds; he knew surprising things. Well, finding Elayne would find Thom. That was all there was to it.

  Saidin made a globe of light, Fire and Air, to illumine the way out of the throne room. The ancient queens, hidden in the darkness far overhead, did not bother him at all. They were only pictures in colored glass.

  The same could not be said of Aviendha. Outside his apartments Nandera dismissed the Maidens except for Jalani, and the two went in with him to check the rooms while he used the Power to light the lamps and tossed the Dragon Scepter onto a small ivory-inlaid table that had considerably less gilt than it would have had in the Sun Palace. All the furnishings were that way, with less gilding and more carving, usually lions or roses. One large red carpet covered the floor, with gold thread outlining roses.

  Without saidin in him, he doubted he could have heard the Maidens’ soft footfalls, but before they crossed the anteroom Aviendha came stalking out of the still dark bedchamber with her hair in wild disarray and her belt knife in hand. And wearing only her skin. At the sight of him she went stiff as a post and stalked back the way she had come, little short of running. A small light appeared through the doorway, a lamp lit. Nandera laughed softly and exchanged amused glances with Jalani.

  “I will never understand Aiel,” Rand muttered, pushing the Source away. It was not so much that the Maidens found the situation funny; he had long since given up on Aiel humor. It was Aviendha. She might think it very funny to undress for bed in front of him, but let him catch so much as a glimpse of ankle when she did not choose to show it, and she turned into a scalded cat. Not to mention blaming him.

  Nandera chortled. “It is not Aiel you cannot understand, but women. No man has ever understood women.”

  “Men, on the other hand,” Jalani put in, “are very simple.” He stared at her, with the baby fat still on her cheeks, and she colored faintly. Nandera looked ready to laugh out loud.

  Death, Lews Therin whispered.

  Rand forgot everything else. Death? What do you mean?

  Death comes.

  What kind of death? Rand demanded. What are you talking about?

  Who are you? Where am I?

  Rand felt as though a fist had clutched his throat. He had been sure, but . . . This was the first time Lews Therin had said anything to him, something clearly and plainly addressed to him. I am Rand al’Thor. You are inside my head.

  Inside . . . ? No! I am myself! I am Lews Therin Telamon! I am meeeeeeeeee! The cry faded away into the distance.

  Come back, Rand shouted. What death? Answer me, burn you! Silence. He shifted uneasily. Knowing was one thing, but a dead man, inside him, talking of death, made him feel unclean, like the faintest brush of the taint on saidin.

  Something touched his arm, and he nearly seized at the Source again before he realized it was Aviendha. She must have flown into her clothes, yet she looked as if she had taken an hour to arrange every hair to her liking. People said Aiel showed no emotion, but it was just that they were more reserved than most. Their faces told as much as anyone else’s if you knew what to look for. Aviendha was torn between concern and wanting to be angry.

  “Are you well?” she asked.

  “I was just thinking,” he told her. True enough. Answer me, Lews Therin! Come back and answer me! Why had he ever thought silence suited the morning?

  Unfortunately, Aviendha took him at his word, and if there was nothing to be concerned about . . . She put her fists on her hips. That was one thing he understood about women, Aiel, Two Rivers or whoever; fists on hips meant trouble. He need not have bothered lighting the lamps; her eyes were hot enough to light the room. “You went away without me again. I promised the Wise Ones to stay near you until I must go, but you make my promise nothing. You have toh to me for this, Rand al’Thor. Nandera, from now on I must be told where he is going and when. He must not be allowed to go without me if I should accompany him.”

  Nandera hesitated not a moment before nodding. “It shall be as you wish, Aviendha.”

  Rand squared around on both women. “Now, just you wait! Nobody is to be told my comings and goings unless I say so.”

  “I have given my word, Rand al’Thor,” Nandera said in a flat voice. She looked him in the eye with no notion of backing up.

  “As do I,” Jalani said just as levelly.

  Rand opened his mouth, then closed it again. Bloody ji’e’toh. No use mentioning he was the Car’a’carn, of course. Aviendha looked faintly surprised that he had even protested; apparently to her it was a foregone conclusion. He shifted his shoulders uneasily, though not because of Aviendha. That unclean feel was still there, and stronger. Maybe Lews Therin had come back. Silently Rand called to him, but there was still no answer.

  A tap on the door barely preceded Mistress Harfor, who made her usual deep curtsy. The First Maid showed no sign of the early hour, of course; whatever the time of day, Reene Harfor always looked as if she had just gotten dressed. “There have been arrivals in the city, my Lord Dragon, which Lord Bashere thought you should be told of as soon as possible. Lady Aemlyn and Lord Culhan entered yesterday at noon, and are staying with Lord Pelivar. Lady Arathelle came an hour later, with a large retinue. Lord Barel and Lord Macharan, Lady Sergase and Lady Negara entered separately in the night, with only a few retainers each. None has presented their respects at the Palace.” She delivered the last in the same even tone, with no hint of her own opinion.

  “That is good news,” he told her, and it was, whether they had left respects or not. Aemlyn and her husband Culhan were nearly as powerful as Pelivar, Arathelle more powerful than any except Dyelin and Luan. The others were of minor Houses, and only Bare
l among them High Seat of his House, but the nobles who had opposed “Gaebril” were beginning to gather. At least, it was good news provided he found Elayne before they decided to try taking Caemlyn away from him.

  Mistress Harfor eyed him a moment, then extended a blue-sealed letter. “This was delivered late last evening, my Lord Dragon. By a stableboy. A dirty stableboy. The Sea Folk Wavemistress was not well pleased that you were gone when she appeared for her audience.” This time her disapproval was clear in her voice, though not whether it was for the Wavemistress or Rand missing the audience or the means of the letter’s delivery.

  He sighed; he had forgotten all about the Sea Folk here in Caemlyn. That reminded him of the letter he had been given in Cairhien, and he dug it out. Both green wax and blue bore the same impression, though he could not make out what it was supposed to be. Two things like flattened bowls with a thick ornate line running from one through the other. Each was addressed to “The Coramoor,” whoever or whatever that was. Himself, he supposed. Maybe that was what the Sea Folk called the Dragon Reborn. He broke the blue seal first. There was no salutation, and it was certainly unlike anything else Rand had ever seen addressed to the Dragon Reborn.

  The Light willing, you will perhaps return to Caemlyn eventually. As I have traveled far to see you, perhaps I will find time for it when you do.

  Zaida din Parede Blackwing

  of Clan Catelar, Wavemistress

  It seemed Mistress Harfor was right; the Wavemistress was not best pleased. The green seal hid little better.

  If it pleases the Light, I will receive you on the deck of White Spray at your earliest convenience.

  Harine din Togara Two Winds

  of Clan Shodein, Wavemistress

  “Are they bad news?” Aviendha asked.

  “I don’t know.” Frowning at the letters, he was barely aware of Mistress Harfor admitting a woman in the red-and-white and exchanging quiet words with her. Neither of these Sea Folk women sounded like anybody he wanted to spend an hour with. He had read every translation of the Prophecies of the Dragon he could find, and though the clearest was often murky, he remembered nothing that indicated the Atha’an Miere. Perhaps, on their ships at sea and their distant islands, they would be one people untouched by him or Tarmon Gai’don. He owed this Zaida an apology, but maybe he could fob her off with Bashere; Bashere certainly had enough titles to flatter anybody’s vanity. “I don’t think so.”