The Gathering Storm - By Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson Page 0,240

fact that I have ordered exiles and executions?

“What did you decide?” she asked.

“We will meet them at Falme,” he said.

She muttered quietly.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Oh, just something about you being a wool-headed fool,” she said, looking at him with defiant eyes.

“Falme will be agreeable to them,” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “It puts you perfectly within their hands.”

“I cannot afford to wait, Nynaeve,” he said. “This is a risk we must take. But I doubt they will attack.”

“Did you doubt it last time too?” she asked. “The time when they took your hand?”

He glanced down at his stump. “They are unlikely to have one of the Forsaken with them this time.”

“You can be sure?”

He met her eyes, and she held them, something few people could seem to manage these days. Finally, he shook his head. “I cannot be sure.”

She sniffed in response, indicating that she’d won that argument. “Well, we’ll just have to be extra careful. Perhaps memories of the last time you visited Falme will make them uncomfortable.”

“I hope so,” he said.

She muttered something else to herself, but he didn’t catch it. Nynaeve would never make an ideal Aes Sedai; she was far too free with her emotions, particularly her temper. Rand did not find it a fault; at least he always knew where he stood with Nynaeve. She was terrible at games, and that made her valuable. He trusted her. She was one of the few.

We do trust her, don’t we? Lews Therin asked. Can we?

Rand didn’t answer. He completed his review of the docks. Nynaeve stayed at his side. She seemed to be in a dark mood, though Rand couldn’t see why. With Cadsuane’s banishment, Nynaeve could fill the role as his primary advisor. Didn’t that please her?

Perhaps she was worried about Lan. As Rand turned his procession back toward the center of town, he asked, “Have you heard from him?”

Nynaeve glanced at him, eyes narrowing. “Who?”

“You know who,” Rand said, riding past a row of bright red banners waving atop a line of homes, each holding scions of the same family.

“His actions are none of your concern,” Nynaeve said.

“The entire world is my concern, Nynaeve.” He looked at her. “Would you not agree?”

She opened her mouth, no doubt to snap at him, but faltered as she met his eyes. Light, he thought, seeing the apprehension in her face. I can do it to Nynaeve, now. What is it that they see when they look at me? That look in her eyes almost made him frightened of himself.

“Lan will be well,” Nynaeve said, looking away.

“He has ridden to Malkier, hasn’t he?”

She flushed.

“How long?” Rand asked. “He hasn’t gotten to the Blight already, has he?” Turned loose to follow what he saw as both his duty and destiny, Lan would ride straight to Malkier alone. The kingdom—his kingdom—had been consumed by the Blight decades ago, when he’d been a babe.

“Two or three more months,” she said. “Perhaps a little longer. He rides to Shienar to stand at the Gap, even if he has to do so alone.”

“He seeks vengeance,” Rand said softly. “ ‘To avenge what cannot be defended.’ ”

“He does his duty!” Nynaeve said. “But . . . I do worry at his brashness. He insisted that I take him to the Borderlands, so I did, but I left him in Saldaea. I wanted him as far from the Gap as possible. He’ll have to cross some difficult terrain to get where he’s going.”

Rand felt an icy coldness as he considered Lan riding to the Gap. To his death, essentially. But there was nothing to be done about that. “I am sorry, Nynaeve,” he said, though he did not feel it. He had trouble feeling anything lately.

“You think I’d send him alone?” she snapped. “Wool-headed, both of you! I’ve seen that he’ll have his own army, although he doesn’t want one.”

And she was perfectly capable of it. Perhaps she’d sent warning to the remnants of the Malkieri in Lan’s name. Lan was a strange mixture; he refused to raise the banner of Malkier or claim his place as its king, for he feared leading the last of his countrymen to their deaths. Yet he would be perfectly willing to ride to that same death himself in the name of honor.

Is that what I do? Rand thought. Ride to my death in the name of honor? But no, it’s different. Lan has a choice. There were no prophecies saying that Lan would die, whatever the man’s assumptions about