The Gathering Storm - By Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson Page 0,46

weary to his bones—that he knew he had to keep moving. Never stopping. If he did, his enemies would find him. Either that, or his own exhaustion, both mental and physical, would drag him down.

“Tell me this,” he demanded as he paced. “Where are the ships which have been promised? The Domani people starve while grain rots in the east. Logain said you had agreed to my demands, but I have seen nothing of your ships. It has been weeks!”

“Our ships are swift,” Harine said testily, “but there is a great distance to travel—and we must go through seas controlled by the Seanchan. The invaders have been extremely diligent with their patrols, and our ships have had to turn back and flee on several occasions. Did you expect that we would be able bring your food in an instant? Perhaps the convenience of these gateways has made you impatient, Coramoor. We must deal with the realities of shipping and war even if you do not.”

Her tone implied that he would have to deal with those realities in this case. “I expect results,” Rand said, shaking his head. “I expect no delays. I know you do not like being forced to keep your agreement, but I will suffer no lagging to prove a point. People die because of your slowness.”

Harine looked as if she’d been slapped. “Surely,” she said, “the Coramoor does not imply that we would not keep to our Bargain.”

The Sea Folk were stubborn and prideful, Wavemistresses more than most. They were like an entire race of Aes Sedai. He hesitated. I should not insult her so, not because I am frustrated about other things. “No,” he finally said. “No, I do not imply that. Tell me, Harine, were you punished much for your part in our agreement?”

“I was hung up by my ankles naked and strapped until I could scream no more.” As soon as the words left her mouth, her eyes opened in shock. Often, when influenced by Rand’s ta’veren nature, people said things they did not intend to admit.

“So harsh?” Rand said, genuinely surprised.

“It was not so bad as it could have been. I retain my position as Wavemistress for my clan.”

But it was obvious she had lost a great deal of face, or incurred great toh, or whatever the blasted Sea Folk called honor. Even when he wasn’t present, he caused pain and suffering!

“I am glad you have returned,” he forced himself to say. No smile, but a softer tone. That was the best he could do. “You have impressed me, Harine, with your levelheadedness.”

She nodded in thanks to him. “We will keep our Bargain, Coramoor. You needn’t fear.”

Something else struck him, one of the original questions he’d come to ask her. “Harine. I would ask you a somewhat delicate question about your people.”

“You may ask,” she said carefully.

“How do the Sea Folk treat men who can channel?”

She hesitated. “That is not a matter for the shorebound to know.”

Rand met her eyes. “If you agree to answer, then I will answer a question for you in return.” The best way to deal with the Atha’an Miere was not to push or bully, but to offer trade.

She paused. “If you give me two questions,” she said, “I will answer.”

“I will give you one question, Harine,” he said, raising a finger. “But I promise to answer you as truthfully as I can. It is a fair bargain, and you know it. I have little patience right now.”

Harine touched her fingers to her lips. “It is agreed, then, under the Light.”

“It is agreed,” Rand said. “Under the Light. My question?”

“Men who can channel are given a choice,” Harine said. “They can either step from the bow of their ship holding a stone which is also tied to their legs, or they can be dropped off on a barren isle with no food or water. The second is considered the more shameful option, but some few do take it, to live for a brief time longer.”

Not much different from what his own people did in gentling men, truth be told. “Saidin is cleansed now,” he said to her. “This practice must stop.”

She pursed her lips, regarding him. “Your . . . man spoke of this, Coramoor. Some find it difficult to accept.”

“It is true,” he said firmly.

“I do not doubt that you believe it to be so.”

Rand gritted his teeth, forcing down another burst of anger, his hand forming a fist. He had cleansed the taint! He, Rand al’Thor,