The Gathering Storm - By Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson Page 0,243

not weep, but she was obviously terrified, her hands shaking as she held them out, her eyes wide, unblinking.

“No,” Rand said finally. “I need you to help choose a new king. What good would it do to search the countryside for your colleagues if I began to execute the Council members I’ve already found?”

She let out the breath she had been holding, and tension left her shoulders

“Lock her in the same dungeon where she imprisoned the King’s messenger,” Rand said to the Maidens. “Make sure she doesn’t suffer the same fate—at least, not until after I’m finished with her.”

Milisair cried out in despair. Aiel Maidens pulled her from the room screaming, but Rand had already put her from his head. Ramshalan watched her go with satisfaction; apparently, she’d insulted him several times in public. That was one point in her favor.

“The other members of the merchant council,” Rand said to the functionaries. “Have any of them had contact with the King?”

“None more recently than four or five months ago, my Lord,” said one of them, a stumpy, large-bellied Domani man named Noreladim. “Though we don’t know about Alamindra, as she was just recently . . . discovered.”

Perhaps she would have news, though he couldn’t see her having a better lead than a messenger who claimed to have come from Alsalam himself. Burn that woman for letting him die!

If Graendal sent the messenger, Lews Therin said suddenly, I’d have never been able to break him. She’s too good with Compulsion. Crafty, so crafty.

Rand hesitated. It was a good point. If the messenger had been subject to Graendal’s Compulsion, there would have been little chance of him being able to betray her location. Not unless the web of Compulsion had been lifted, which would have required a Healing beyond Rand’s skill. Graendal had always covered her tracks well.

But he wasn’t sure she was in the country. If he could find a messenger and Compulsion was there, he’d have enough. “I need to speak with anyone else who claims to have a message from the King,” he said. “Others in the city who might have had contact.”

“They will be found, Lord Dragon,” said the prim Ramshalan.

Rand nodded absently. If Naeff set up the meeting with the Seanchan as hoped, then Rand could leave Arad Doman soon after. He hoped to leave them with a king, hoped to find and kill Graendal. But he would settle for peace with the Seanchan and food for these people. He could not solve everyone’s problems. He could just force them into abeyance long enough for him to die at Shayol Ghul.

And thereby leave the world to break again once he was gone. He gritted his teeth. He had already wasted too much time worrying about things he could not fix.

Is that why I resist naming a Domani king? he thought. Once I die, that man would lose his authority, and Arad Doman would be back where it began. If I don’t leave a king who has the support of the merchants, then I’m essentially offering the kingdom up to the Seanchan the moment I die.

So many things to balance. So many problems. He couldn’t fix them all. He couldn’t.

“I don’t approve of this, Rand,” Nynaeve said, standing beside the door, arms folded. “And we’re not done talking about Lan, either.”

Rand waved a dismissive hand.

“He’s your friend, Rand,” Nynaeve said. “Light! And what of Perrin and Mat? Do you know where they are? What has happened to them?”

The colors swirled before his eyes, revealing an image of Perrin standing by a tent with Galad. Why was Perrin with Galad of all people? And when had Elayne’s half-brother joined the Whitecloaks? The colors changed to Mat, riding through the streets of a familiar city. Caemlyn? Thom was there, with him.

Rand frowned to himself. He could feel a pull from Perrin and Mat, both distant. It was their ta’veren natures, trying to draw them together. They both needed to be with him for the Last Battle.

“Rand?” Nynaeve asked. “Aren’t you going to respond?”

“About Perrin and Mat?” Rand asked. “They live.”

“How do you know?”

“I simply do.” He sighed, shaking his head. “And they had better remain alive. I’ll have need of them both before this is over.”

“Rand!” she said. “They’re your friends!”

“They’re threads in the Pattern, Nynaeve,” he said, rising. “I barely know them anymore, and I suspect they would say the same thing of me.”

“Don’t you care about them?”

“Care?” Rand walked down the steps of the raised platform that held