Authors: Robert Jordan
“What are you grinning at?” Aviendha asked, peering at the letter curiously. There was still a touch of anger around her mouth for what he had put her through.
“It’s just pleasant to hear from somebody simple in her ways,” he told her. The Game of Houses was simple compared with
ji’e’toh.
There was enough of the name to let him know who sent it, but if the parchment fell into the wrong hands, it would seem a note to a friend, or maybe a warm reply to a petitioner. Alliandre Maritha Kigarin, Blessed of the Light, Queen of Ghealdan, would certainly never sign a letter so intimately to someone she had never met, above all not to the Dragon Reborn. Plainly she was worried about the Whitecloaks in Amadicia, and about the Prophet, Masema. He was going to have to do something about Masema. Alliandre was being cautious, not risking any more on paper than she had to. And she reminded him to burn this. The fires of his heart. Still, it was the first time any ruler had approached him without his sword at that nation’s throat. Now if he could just find Elayne and give her Andor before he had another battle here.
The door opened gently and he looked up, but saw nothing and returned to the letter, wondering whether he had dug out everything that was in it. Reading, he rubbed his nose. Lews Therin and his talk of death. Rand could not rid himself of that feel of filth.
“Jalani and I will take our places outside,” Nandera said.
He nodded absently over the letter. Thom would probably find six things in the first glance that he had missed.
Aviendha put a hand on his arm, then snatched it away. “Rand al’Thor, I must talk with you seriously.”
Suddenly everything came together in his head. The door had opened. He was smelling filth, not just feeling it, but it was not really a smell. Dropping the letter, he pushed Aviendha away from him hard enough that she toppled with a startled yell—clear of him, though; clear of danger; everything seemed to have slowed down—and seized
saidin
as he spun.
Nandera and Jalani were just turning back to see what had made Aviendha shout. Rand had to look carefully to see the tall man in a gray coat that neither Maiden saw at all as he glided right by them, dark lifeless eyes fixed on Rand. Even concentrating, Rand found his own gaze wanting to slide past the Gray Man. That was what he was; one of the Shadow’s assassins. As the letter was settling to the floor, the Gray Man realized Rand had seen him. Aviendha’s shout still hung in the air and she was in mid bounce from sitting down hard; a knife appeared in the Gray Man’s hand, held low, and he darted forward. Rand wrapped him in coils of Air almost contemptuously. And a wrist-thick bar of fire flashed past his shoulder, burned a hole through the Gray Man’s chest large enough for a fist. The assassin died before he could twitch; his head fell over, and those eyes, no more dead than they had been, stared at Rand.
Dead, whatever had been done to the Gray Man to make him hard to see no longer held. Dead, he suddenly was as visible as anyone else. Aviendha, just starting to gather herself on the floor, gave a startled yelp, and Rand felt the goose bumps that told him she had embraced
saidar.
Nandera’s hand jerked toward her veil with a bit-off exclamation, and Jalani half-raised hers.
Rand let the corpse fall, but he held on to
saidin
as he turned to confront Taim, standing in the doorway of his bedchamber. “Why did you kill him?” Only part of the cold hardness in his voice came from the Void. “I had him captured; he might have told me something, maybe even who sent him. What are you doing here anyway, sneaking in through my bedroom?”
Taim strolled in completely at ease, wearing a black coat with dragons entwined around the sleeves in blue and gold. Aviendha scrambled to her feet, and despite
saidar
, her eyes said she was as ready to use her drawn belt knife on Taim as she was to sheathe it. Nandera and Jalani had veiled, and stood poised on their toes, spears ready. Taim ignored them; Rand felt the Power leave the man. Taim did not even seem concerned that
saidin
still filled Rand. That peculiar almost-smile quirked his lips as he glanced at the dead Gray Man.
“Nasty things, the Soulless.” Anybody else would have shivered; not Taim. “I came to your balcony by gateway because I thought you would want to hear the news right away.”
“Somebody who learns too fast?” Rand broke in, and Taim flashed that half-smile again.
“No, not one of the Forsaken in disguise, not unless he’s managed to disguise himself as a boy not much past twenty. His name is Jahar Narishma, and he has the spark, though it has not come out yet. Men usually show later than women. You should return to the school; you would be surprised by the changes.”
Rand did not doubt it. Jahar Narishma was never an Andoran name; Traveling had no limits that he knew, but it seemed Taim’s recruiting had ventured far afield. He said nothing, only glanced at the corpse on the carpet.
Taim grimaced, but he was not out of countenance, only irritated. “Believe me, I wish he was still alive as much as you do. I saw him and acted without thinking; the last thing I want is to see you dead. You seized him the moment I channeled, but it was too late to stop.”
I must kill him
, Lews Therin muttered, and the Power surged in Rand. Frozen, he struggled to push
saidin
away, and it was a struggle. Lews Therin was trying to hang on, trying to channel. Finally, slowly, the One Power faded like water draining from a hole in a bucket.
Why?
he demanded.
Why do you want to kill him?
There was no answer, only mad laughter and weeping in the distance.
Aviendha was looking at him with a face full of concern. She had put up her knife, but the tingle along his skin said she retained
saidar.
The two Maidens had unveiled, now that it seemed clear Taim’s appearance was no attack; they managed to keep one eye on Taim, one on the rest of the room, and still give each other abashed glances for some reason.
Rand took a chair beside the table where his sword lay atop the Dragon Scepter. The struggle had lasted only moments, but his knees felt weak. Lews Therin had almost taken over, almost taken over
saidin
at least. Before, at the school, he had been able to fool himself, but not this time.
If Taim noticed anything, he showed no sign of it. Bending to pick up the letter, he glanced at it before handing it to Rand with a minimal bow.
Rand stuffed the parchment into his pocket. Nothing shook Taim; nothing disturbed his balance. Why did Lews Therin want to kill him? “The way you were all for going after the Aes Sedai, I’m surprised you don’t suggest striking at Sammael. You and me together, maybe a few of
the stronger students, dropping right on top of him in Illian through a gateway. That man had to come from Sammael.”
“Perhaps,” Taim said shortly, glancing at the Gray Man. “I would give a great deal to be sure.” That had the ring of simple truth. “As for Illian, I doubt it would be as simple as disposing of a pair of Aes Sedai. I keep thinking what I would do in Sammael’s place. I would have Illian warded in boxes, so if a man even thought of channeling, I’d know right where he was, and I would burn even the ground to ash before he had time to take a breath.”
That was how Rand saw it, too; no one knew better than Sammael how to defend a place. Maybe it was just that Lews Therin was insane. Maybe jealous, too. Rand tried to tell himself he had not been avoiding the school because
he
was jealous, but he always felt a prickle of something around Taim. “You’ve delivered your news. I suggest you go see to training this Jahar Narishma. Train him well. He may have to use his ability soon enough.”
For a moment Taim’s dark eyes glittered, then he bowed his head slightly. Without a word he seized
saidin
and opened a gateway right there. Rand made himself sit, empty, until the man was gone, the gateway thinning in a blazing line of light; he could not risk another struggle with Lews Therin, not when he might lose and find himself fighting Taim. Why
did
Lews Therin want the man dead? Light, Lews Therin seemed to want everybody dead, himself included.
It had been a most eventful morning, especially considering that the sky was still gray. Good news outweighed bad. He eyed the Gray Man sprawled on the carpet; that wound had probably been cauterized as soon as made, but Mistress Harfor would be sure to let him know, without saying a word, if there was even one bloodstain. As for this Sea Folk Wavemistress, she could stew in her own petulance for all of him; he had enough to handle without adding
another
touchy woman.
Nandera and Jalani were still shifting from foot to foot near the door. They should have gone to their places outside as soon as Taim left.
“If you two are upset over the Gray Man,” he said, “forget it now. Only a fool expects to notice one of the Soulless except by chance, and neither one of you is a fool.”
“It is not that,” Nandera said stiffly. Jalani’s jaw was so tight she was plainly fighting to hold her tongue.
Just that quickly, he understood. They did not believe they should have spotted the Gray Man, but they were still ashamed they had not. Ashamed of that, and fearful of the shame of having word of their “failure”
spread. “I don’t want anyone to know Taim was here, or what he said. People are anxious enough knowing the school is somewhere near the city without being afraid Taim or one of the students will just appear. I think the best way is just to keep quiet about everything that happened this morning. We can’t keep a corpse secret, but I want you to promise you’ll say nothing except that a man tried to kill me and died for it. That’s all I intend to tell anybody, and I’d hate for you to make me out a liar.”
The gratitude on their faces was remarkable. “I have
toh
,” they murmured almost together.
Rand cleared his throat roughly; that was not what he had been after, but at least he had eased their minds. Suddenly a way to deal with Sulin popped into his head. She would not like it, but it would still be meeting her
toh
, maybe the more so because she would not like it, and it would relieve his conscience somewhat and at least meet some of his
toh
to her.
“Get on to your guarding now, or I’ll start thinking
you
want to stare at my eyebrows.” That
was
what Nandera had said. Aviendha was fascinated by his
eyebrows
? “Go on. And find somebody to haul this fellow away.” They left, all smiles and flickering handtalk, and he stood, taking Aviendha by the arm. “You said we had to talk. Come into the bedroom until this room is cleaned up.” If there was a stain, maybe he could channel it out.
Aviendha jerked free. “No! Not there!” Drawing a deep breath, she moderated her tone, but she still looked suspicious, and more than a little angry. “Why can we not talk here?” No reason except a dead man on the floor, but that did not count with her. She pushed him back into his chair almost violently, then studied him and took another breath before speaking.
“
Ji’e’toh
is the core of the Aiel. We
are ji’e’toh.
This morning you shamed me to the bone.” Folding her arms beneath her breasts and fixing him eye to eye, she lectured him on his ignorance and the importance of hiding it until she could rectify the matter, then went on to the fact that
toh
had to be met at all costs. She spent some time on that.
He was sure this was not what she had meant when she said she had to talk with him, but he was enjoying looking into her eyes too much to wonder. Enjoying it. Bit by bit he chased down the pleasure her eyes gave him and crushed it until only a dull ache remained.
He thought he had hidden it, but his face must have changed. Aviendha slowly trailed off and stood there staring at him, breathing hard. With a visible effort she pulled her eyes away. “At least you understand now,” she muttered. “I must. . . . I need to. . . . So long as you understand.”
Gathering her skirts, she swept across the room—the corpse might as well have been a bush she had to step around—and out.
Leaving him in a room dimmer for some reason, alone with a dead man. That fit all too well. When
gai’shain
came to bear away the Gray Man, they found Rand laughing softly.
Padan Fain sat with his feet up on a hassock, studying the beauty of new-breaking sunlight glittering on the curved blade of the dagger that he turned over and over in his hands. Carrying it at his belt was not enough; from time to time he simply had to handle it. The large ruby set in the pommel shone with a deep malevolence. The dagger was part of him, or he of it. The dagger was part of Aridhol, what men called Shadar Logoth, but then, he was part of Aridhol too. Or it was part of him. He was quite mad and knew it very well, but being mad, he did not care. Sunlight gleamed on steel, steel more deadly now than any made at Thakan’dar.
A rustling caught his ear, and he glanced toward where the Myrddraal sat waiting his pleasure on the far side of the room. It did not try to meet his gaze; he had broken it of that long since.
He tried to return to his contemplation of the blade, to the perfect beauty of perfect death, the beauty of what Aridhol had been and would be again, but the Myrddraal had broken his concentration. Spoiled it. He very nearly went over and killed the thing. Halfmen took a long time to die; how long if he used the dagger? As if sensing his thoughts, it stirred again. No, it could be useful still.
It was hard for him to concentrate on one thing for long anyway. Except Rand al’Thor, of course. He could feel al’Thor, could point to him, this close. Al’Thor pulled at him, pulled till it hurt. There was a difference lately, a difference that had come suddenly, almost as if someone else had suddenly taken a partial possession of al’Thor, and in doing so pushed away a part of Fain’s own possession. No matter. Al’Thor belonged to him.
He wished he could feel al’Thor’s pain; surely he had caused him pain at least. Pinpricks only so far, but enough pinpricks would drain him dry. The Whitecloaks were set hard against the
Dragon Reborn.
Fain’s lips peeled back in a sneer. Unlikely Niall would have ever supported al’Thor any more than Elaida would have, but it was best not to take too much for granted with Rand bloody al’Thor. Well, he had brushed them both with what he carried from Aridhol; they might possibly trust their own mothers, but never al’Thor now.