The Gathering Storm - By Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson Page 0,173

as the male? Was that what had allowed the Dark One to counterstrike and taint saidin, driving Lews Therin and the remaining men of the Hundred Companions insane?

Could it be that simple? How many Aes Sedai would he need? Would he need any? Plenty of Wise Ones could channel. Surely there was more to it than that.

There was a game children played, Snakes and Foxes. It was said that the only way to win was to break the rules. What of his other plan, then? Could he break the rules by slaying the Dark One? Was that something that even he, the Dragon Reborn, dared contemplate?

He crossed the creaking wood floor of the hallway and pushed open the door to his room. Min lay propped up by pillows on the log bed, wearing her embroidered green trousers and a linen shirt, as she leafed through yet another book by the light of a lamp. An elderly serving woman bustled about, collecting dishes from Min’s evening meal. Rand threw off his coat, sighing to himself and flexing his hand.

He sat down on the side of the bed as Min set aside her book, a volume called A Comprehensive Discussion of Pre-Breaking Relics. She sat up and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. Bowls clinked as the serving woman gathered them, and she bowed in apology, moving with extra speed as she placed them in her carrying basket.

“You’re pushing yourself too hard again, sheepherder,” Min said.

“I have to.”

She pinched his neck hard, and he flinched, grunting. “No you don’t,” she said, her voice close to his ear. “Haven’t you been listening to me? What good will you be if you wear yourself out before you reach the Last Battle? Light, Rand, I haven’t heard you laugh in months!”

“Is this really a time for laughter?” he asked. “You would have me be happy while children starve and men slaughter one another? I should laugh to hear that Trollocs are still getting through the Ways? I should be happy that the majority of the Forsaken are still out there somewhere, plotting how best to kill me?”

“Well, no,” Min said. “Of course not. But we can’t let the troubles in the world destroy us. Cadsuane says that—”

“Wait,” he snapped, twisting around so that he was facing her. She knelt on the bed, short dark hair curling down beneath her chin. She looked shocked by his tone.

“What does Cadsuane have to do with this?” he asked.

Min frowned. “Nothing.”

“She’s been telling you what to say,” Rand said. “She’s been using you to get to me!”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Min said.

“What has she said about me?”

Min shrugged. “She worries about how harsh you’ve become. Rand, what is this?”

“She’s trying to get to me, manipulate me,” he said. “She’s using you. What have you told her, Min?”

Min pinched him again sharply. “I don’t like that tone, looby. I thought Cadsuane was your counselor. Why should I need to watch what I say around her?”

The serving woman continued to clink dishes. Why couldn’t she just leave! This wasn’t the kind of discussion he wanted to have in front of strangers.

Min couldn’t be working with Cadsuane, could she? Rand didn’t trust Cadsuane by any measure. If she’d gotten to Min. . . .

Rand felt his heart twist. He wasn’t suspicious of Min, was he? She’d always been the one he could look to for honesty, the one who played no games with him. What would he do if he lost her? Burn me! he thought. She’s right. I’ve grown too harsh. What will become of me if I begin to grow suspicious of those that I know love me? I’ll be no better than mad Lews Therin.

“Min,” he said, softening his voice. “Maybe you’re right. Perhaps I’ve gone too far.”

She turned to look at him, relaxing. Then she stiffened, eyes widening in shock.

Something cold clicked around Rand’s neck.

Rand immediately raised his hand to his neck, spinning. The serving woman stood behind him, but her form was shimmering. She vanished and was replaced by a woman with dark skin and black eyes, her sharp face triumphant. Semirhage.

Rand’s hand touched metal. Too-cold metal that felt like ice, pressed against his skin. In a rage, he tried to pull free his sword from its black, dragon-painted sheath, but found that he could not do so. His legs strained as if against some incredible weight. He scratched at the collar—his fingers could still move—but the metal seemed to be a single solid