The Gathering Storm - By Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson Page 0,239

second heart.

He turned back to the docks. Perhaps there was no reason for him to check on the food distribution directly. However, he had found that the grain had a distinctly higher chance of getting to those who needed it if everyone knew they were being watched. This was a people who had been without a king for too long; they deserved to see that someone was in control.

Upon reaching the wharf, he turned Tai’daishar to angle along the back of the docks, moving at an unhurried pace. He glanced at the Asha’man riding beside him. Naeff had a strong, rectangular face and the lean build of a warrior; he’d been a soldier in the Queen’s Guard of Andor before resigning in disgust during the reign of “Lord Gaebril.” Naeff had found his way to the Black Tower, and now wore both the Sword and Dragon.

Eventually, Rand would probably have to either let Naeff return to his Aes Sedai—he had been among the first ones bonded—or bring her to him. He was loath to have another Aes Sedai nearby, although Nelavaire Demasiellin, a Green, was relatively pleasant as Aes Sedai went.

“Continue,” Rand said to Naeff as they rode. The Asha’man had been running messages and meeting with the Seanchan with Bashere.

“Well, my Lord,” Naeff said, “it’s just my gut feeling, but I don’t think they’ll accept Katar for the meeting place. They always grow difficult when Lord Bashere or I mention it, claiming they will have to seek further instructions from the Daughter of the Nine Moons. Their tones imply that the ‘instructions’ will be that the location is unacceptable.”

Rand spoke softly. “Katar is neutral ground, neither in Arad Doman nor deep within Seanchan lands.”

“I know, my Lord. We’ve tried. I promise that we have.”

“Very well,” Rand said. “If they continue to be bullheaded about this, I will choose another location. Return to them and say we will meet at Falme.”

From behind, Flinn whistled quietly.

“My Lord,” Naeff said. “That’s well within the Seanchan border.”

“I know,” Rand said, glancing at Flinn. “But it has a . . . certain historic significance. We will be safe; these Seanchan are bound rigidly by their honor. They will not attack if we arrive under a banner of truce.”

“Are you certain?” Naeff asked quietly. “I don’t like the way they look at me, my Lord. There’s contempt in their eyes, every one of them. Contempt and pity, as if I’m some lost hound, searching for scraps behind the inn. Burn me, but it makes me sick.”

“They’ve got those collars of theirs handy, my Lord,” Flinn said. “Flag of truce or not, they’ll be itching to bind us all.”

Rand closed his eyes, keeping the rage inside, feeling the salty sea air blow across him. He opened his eyes to a sky bounded by dark clouds. He would not think of the collar at his neck, his hand strangling Min. That was the past.

He was harder than steel. He could not be broken.

“We must have peace with the Seanchan,” he said. “Differences notwithstanding.”

“Differences?” Flinn asked. “I don’t rightly think I’d call that a difference, my Lord. They want to enslave every one of us, maybe execute us. They think it’s a favor to do either!”

Rand held the man’s gaze. Flinn was not rebellious; he was as loyal as they came. But still Rand made him wilt and bow his head. Dissension could not be tolerated. Dissension and lies had brought him to the collar. No more.

“I’m sorry, my Lord,” Flinn finally said. “Burn me if Falme isn’t a fine choice! You’ll have them watching the skies with fear, you will.”

“Go with the message now, Naeff,” Rand said. “I want this settled.”

Naeff nodded, turning his horse and trotting away from the column, a small group of Aiel guards joining him. One could only Travel from a place one knew well, and so he couldn’t simply leave from dockside. Rand continued his ride, troubled by Lews Therin’s silence. The madman had been unusually distant lately. That should have pleased Rand, but it disturbed him instead. It had to do with the unnamed power that Rand had touched. He still often heard the madman weeping, whispering to himself, terrified.

“Rand?”

He turned, not having heard Nynaeve’s horse approach. She wore a bold green dress, modest by Domani standards, but still far more revealing than she’d ever have considered during her days in the Two Rivers. She has a right to change, Rand thought. What is a loosening of dress compared to the