The Gathering Storm - By Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson Page 0,237

her clogs to make sure they were sturdily affixed, then walked onto the muddied boardwalk and made her way down toward the docks. She would see just how accurate these rumors about spoilage were. Had the strange events surrounding al’Thor really grown more destructive, or was she just allowing herself to find what she feared?

Al’Thor. She had to face the truth: she had bungled her handling of him. Of course, she hadn’t made any mistakes with the male a’dam, whatever al’Thor claimed. Whoever had stolen the collar had been exceedingly powerful and crafty. Anyone capable of such a feat could just as easily have fetched another male a’dam from the Seanchan. They were likely to have plenty of them.

No, the a’dam had been taken from her own room in an effort to sow distrust; of that she was certain. Perhaps, even, the theft had been intended to mask something else: the returning of the figurine to al’Thor. His temperament had become so dark, there was no telling what destruction he could cause with that.

The poor, foolish boy. He should never have had to suffer collaring at the hands of one of the Forsaken; that would only remind him of the times he had been beaten and caged by Aes Sedai. It would make her job more difficult. If not impossible.

That was the question she had to face now. Was he beyond saving? Was it too late to change him? And if it was, what—if anything—could she do? The Dragon Reborn had to meet the Dark One at Shayol Ghul. If he did not, all was lost. But what if allowing him to meet the Dark One would be equally disastrous?

No. She refused to believe that their battle had already been lost. There had to be something that could be done to change al’Thor’s direction. But what?

Al’Thor hadn’t reacted like most peasants suddenly granted power; he hadn’t grown selfish or petty. He hadn’t hoarded wealth, nor had he struck with childish vengeance against any who had slighted him in his youth. Indeed, there had actually been a wisdom to many of his decisions—the ones that didn’t involve gallivanting into danger.

Cadsuane continued down the boardwalk, passing Domani refugees in their incongruously bright clothing. She occasionally had to step around clusters of them sitting on the damp logs, an impromptu camp growing up around the mouth to an alleyway or the unused side door of a building. None made way for her. What good was an Aes Sedai face if you covered it up? This city was just too packed.

Cadsuane slowed near a row of pennants which spelled out the name of the dock registrar. The docks themselves were just ahead, lined by twice as many Sea Folk ships as before, many of them rakers, the largest of Sea Folk vessels. More than a few were converted Seanchan ships, likely stolen from Ebou Dar during the mass escape a short while back.

The docks were crowded with people eager for grain. The crowds jostled and yelled, not looking at all worried about the “poisons” Quillin had mentioned. Of course, starvation could overcome a great number of fears. Dock workers controlled the crowds; among them were Aiel in brown cadin’sor, holding their spears and glaring as only Aiel could. There also appeared to be a fair number of merchants on the docks, probably hoping to secure some of the handouts for storage and later sale.

The docks looked much as they had every day since al’Thor’s arrival. What had made her pause? There seemed to be a prickling sensation on her back, as if. . . .

She spun to find a procession riding down the muddy street. Al’Thor sat proudly on his dark gelding, his clothing colored to match, with only a little red embroidery. As usual, he led a score of soldiers, advisors and a growing number of Domani sycophants.

She seemed to encounter him very frequently traveling the streets. She forced herself to hold her ground, not shying away into an alley, though she did pull her hood down a little lower to shade her face. Al’Thor gave no sign that he recognized her as he rode just in front of her. He seemed troubled by his own thoughts, as he often was. She wanted to yell at him that he needed to move more quickly, secure the crown of Arad Doman and move on, but she held her tongue. She would not let her nearly three hundred years of life end with an execution