Rand exchanged looks with Mat and Perrin. Mat's eyes shone with excitement, but Perrin wore a worried frown. Rand could remember every tale he had heard about the men who named themselves the Dragon Reborn, and if they had all proven themselves false Dragons by dying or disappearing without fulfilling any of the prophecies, what they had done was bad enough. Whole nations torn by battle, and cities and towns put to the torch. The dead fell like autumn leaves, and refugees clogged the roads like sheep in a pen. So the peddlers said, and the merchants, and no one in the Two Rivers with any sense doubted it. The world would end, so some said, when the real Dragon was born again.
“Stop this!” the Mayor shouted. “Be quiet! Stop working yourselves to a lather out of your own imaginations. Let Master Fain tell us about this false Dragon.” The people began to quieten, but Cenn Buie refused to be silent.
“Is this a false Dragon?” the thatcher asked sourly.
Master al'Vere blinked as if taken by surprise, then snapped, “Don't be an old fool, Cenn!” But Cenn had kindled the crowd again.
“He can't be the Dragon Reborn! Light help us, he can't be!”
“You old fool, Buie! You want bad luck, don't you?”
“Be naming the Dark One, next! You're taken by the Dragon, Cenn Buie! Trying to bring us all harm!”
Cenn looked around defiantly, trying to stare down the glowers, and raised his voice. “I didn't hear Fain say this was a false Dragon. Did you? Use your eyes! Where are the crops that should be knee high or better? Why is it still winter when spring should be here a month?” There were angry shouts for Cenn to hold his tongue. “I will not be silent! I've no liking for this talk, either, but I won't hide my head under a basket till a Taren Ferry man comes to cut my throat. And I won't dangle on Fain's pleasure, not this time. Speak it out plain, peddler. What have you heard? Eh? Is this man a false Dragon?”
If Fain was perturbed by the news he brought or the upset he had caused, he gave no sign of it. He merely shrugged and laid a skinny finger alongside his nose. “As to that, now, who can say until it is over and done?” He paused with one of his secretive grins, running his eyes over the crowd as if imagining how they would react and finding it funny. “I do know,” he said, too casually, “that he can wield the One Power. The others couldn't, But he can channel. The ground opens beneath his enemies' feet, and strong walls crumble at his shout. Lightning comes when he calls and strikes where he points. That I've heard, and from men I believe.”
A stunned silence fell. Rand looked at his friends. Perrin seemed to be seeing things he did not like, but Mat still looked excited.
Tam, his face only a little less composed than usual, drew the Mayor close, but before he could speak Ewin Finngar burst out.
“He'll go mad and die! In the stories, men who channel the Power always go mad, and then waste away and die. Only women can touch it. Doesn't he know that?” He ducked under a cuff from Master Buie.
“Enough of that from you, boy.” Cenn shook a gnarled fist in Ewin's face. “Show a proper respect and leave this to your elders. Get away with you!”
“Hold steady, Cenn,” Tam growled. “The boy is just curious. There's no need of this foolishness from you.”
“Act your age,” Bran added. “And for once remember you're a member of the Council.”
Cenn's wrinkled face grew darker with every word from Tam and the Mayor, until it was almost purple. “You know what kind of women he's talking about. Stop frowning at me, Luhhan, and you, too, Crawe. This is a decent village of decent folk, and it's bad enough to have Fain here talking about false Dragons using the Power without this Dragonpossessed fool of a boy bringing Aes Sedai into it. Some things just shouldn't be talked about, and I don't care if you will be letting that fool gleeman tell any kind of tale he wants. It isn't right or decent. ”
“I never saw or heard or smelled anything that couldn't be talked about,” Tam said, but Fain was not finished.
“The Aes Sedai are already into it,” the peddler spoke up. “A party of them has ridden south from Tar Valon. Since he can wield the Power, none but Aes Sedai can defeat him, for all the battles they fight, or deal with him once he's defeated. If he is defeated.”
Someone in the crowd moaned aloud, and even Tam and Bran exchanged uneasy frowns. Huddles of villagers clumped together, and some pulled their cloaks tighter around themselves, though the wind had actually lessened.
“Of course, he'll be defeated,” someone shouted.
“They're always beaten in the end, false Dragons.”
“He has to be defeated, doesn't he?”
“What if he isn't?”
Tam had finally managed to speak quietly into the Mayor's ear, and Bran, nodding from time to time and ignoring the hubbub around them, waited until he was finished before raising his own voice.
“All of you listen. Be quiet and listen!” The shouting died to a murmur again. “This goes beyond mere news from outside. It must be discussed by the Village Council. Master Fain, if you will join us inside the inn, we have questions to ask.”
“A good mug of hot mulled wine would not go far amiss with me just now,” the peddler replied with a chuckle. He jumped down from the wagon, dusted his hands on his coat, and cheerfully righted his cloak. “Will you be looking after my horses, if you please?”
“I want to hear what he has to say!” More than one voice was raised in protest.
“You can't take him off! My wife sent me to buy pins!” That was Wil Congar; he hunched his shoulders at the stares some of the others gave him, but he held his ground.
“We've a right to ask questions, too,” somebody back in the crowd shouted. “I—”
“Be silent!” the Mayor roared, producing a startled hush. “When the Council has asked its questions, Master Fain will be back to tell you all his news. And to sell you his pots and pins. Hu! Tad! Stable Master Fain's horses. ”