a duel. We live to defend. And yet they left. Now, of all times. With thirteen Aes Sedai.” He glanced at her with those dark eyes of his. “I want to trust them. I know them for good people. But good people can do the wrong thing. Particularly when men who can channel are involved.”
Nynaeve fell silent. Narishma had a point, though what cause would the Borderlanders have to harm Rand? They’d fought the encroachment of the Blight and its Shadowspawn for centuries, and the struggle against the Dark One was imprinted on their very souls. They wouldn’t turn against the Dragon Reborn.
The Borderlanders had a special honor about them. It could be frustrating, true, but it was who they were. Lan’s reverence for his homeland—particularly when many other Malkieri had abandoned their identity—was part of what she loved about him. Oh, Lan. I’ll find someone to help you. I won’t let you ride into the Shadow’s jaws alone.
As they neared a small green hill, several Aiel returned from scouting. Rand pulled the group to a halt, waiting for the cadin’sor-clad scouts to pad up to him, several wearing the red headbands marked with the ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai. The scouts weren’t winded, despite the fact that they’d run all the way ahead to the meeting place and then back.
Rand leaned forward in his saddle. “Did they do as I asked? Did they bring no more than two hundred men, no more than four Aes Sedai?”
“Yes, Rand al’Thor,” said one of the scouts. “Yes, they kept to your requirements admirably. They have great honor.”
Nynaeve recognized the strange Aiel brand of humor in the tone of the man’s response.
“What?” Rand asked.
“One man, Rand al’Thor,” the Aiel scout said. “That is all that their ‘delegation’ consists of. He’s a short little thing of a man, though he looks like he knows how to dance the spears. The crossroads is behind this hill.”
Nynaeve looked ahead. Indeed, now that she knew to look, she could see another road running up from the south, presumably meeting with theirs just beyond the hill.
“What manner of trap is this?” Naeff asked, riding up beside Rand, his lean, warrior’s face concerned. “An ambush?”
Rand held up a hand for silence. He kicked his gelding into motion, and the scouts kept up without a word of complaint. Nynaeve was nearly left behind; Moonlight was a far more placid animal than she would have chosen for herself. She’d have words with the stable master when she returned to Tear.
They rounded the hillside, finding a dusty square of ground, scarred by old firepits where caravans had stopped for the night. A roadway smaller than the one they’d been using twisted up to the north and down to the south. A solitary Shienaran man stood in the center, where roads met, watching the oncoming procession. His shoulder-length gray hair hung loose around a lean face which complemented his wiry build. His round face was lined with marks of age; his eyes were small, and he seemed to be squinting.
Hurin? she thought with surprise. Nynaeve hadn’t seen the thief-taker since he’d accompanied her and a group of others back to the White Tower following the events at Falme.
Rand reined in his horse, allowing Nynaeve and the Asha’man to catch up. Aiel fanned out like leaves blown before a gust of wind, taking up watchful positions around the crossroads. She was fairly certain that both of the Asha’man had seized the Source, and likely Rand had as well.
Hurin shuffled uncomfortably. He looked much as Nynaeve remembered him. A tad more gray in the hair, but wearing the same simple brown clothing, with a sword-breaker and a shortsword at his waist. He had tied a horse to a fallen log nearby. The Aiel watched it suspiciously, as others might watch a pack of guard dogs.
“Why, Lord Rand!” Hurin called, voice uneven. “It is you! Well, you’ve certainly come up in the world, I must say. Good to—”
He cut off as he was raised from the ground. He made an “urk” of surprise, being turned on unseen weaves of Air. Nynaeve suppressed a shiver. Would seeing men channel ever stop bothering her?
“Who chased after you and me, Hurin,” Rand called, “the time when we were trapped in that distant shadow land? What nationality of men did I fell with the bow?”
“Men?” Hurin asked, voice almost a squawk. “Lord Rand, there were no men in that place! None that we met, beyond Lady Selene, that is.