“Trayal was one of the last among us to go along the 'Ways,” Alar said softly. “He came out as you see him. Will you touch him, Verin?”
Verin gave her a long look, then rose and strode to Trayal. He did not move as she laid her hands on his wide chest, not even a flicker of an eye to acknowledge her touch. With a sharp hiss, she jerked back, staring up at him, then whirled to face the Elders. “He is ... empty. This body lives, but there is nothing inside it. Nothing.” Every Elder wore a look of unbearable sadness.
“Nothing,” one of the Elders to Alar's right said softly. Her eyes seemed to hold all the pain Trayal's no longer could. “No mind. No soul. Nothing of Trayal remains but his body.”
“He was a fine Treesinger,” one of the men sighed.
Alar motioned, and the two women turned Trayal to lead him out; they had to move him before he began to walk.
“We know the risks,” Verin said. “But whatever the risks, we must follow the Horn of Valere.”
The Eldest nodded. “The Horn of Valere. I do not know whether it is worse news that it is in Darkfriend hands, or that it has been found at all.” She looked down the row of Elders; each nodded in turn, one of the men tugging his beard doubtfully first. “Very well. Verin tells me time is urgent. I will show you to the Waygate myself.” Rand was feeling half relieved and half afraid, when she added, “You have with you a young Ogier. Loial, son of Arent son of Halan, from Stedding Shangtai. He is far from his home.”
“We need him,” Rand said quickly. His words slowed under surprised stares from the Elders and Verin, but he went on stubbornly. “We need him to go with us, and he wants to.”
“Loial's a friend,” Perrin said, at the same time that Mat said, “He doesn't get in the way, and he carries his own weight.” Neither of them appeared comfortable at having the Elders' focus shift to them, but they did not back down.
“Is there some reason he cannot come with us?” Ingtar asked. “As Mat says, he has held his own. I don't know that we need him, but if he wants to come, why —?”
“We do need him,” Verin broke in smoothly. “Few any longer know the Ways, but Loial has studied them. He can decipher the Guidings.”
Alar eyed them each in turn, then settled to a study of Rand. She looked as if she knew things; all the Elders did, but she most of all. “Verin says you are ta'veren,” she said at last, “and I can feel it in you. That I can do so means that you must be very strongly ta'veren indeed, for such Talents ever run weakly in us, if at all. Have you drawn Loial, son of Arent son of Halan, into ta'maral'ailen, the Web the Pattern weaves around you?”
“I ... I just want to find the Horn and ...” Rand let the rest of it die. Alar had not mentioned Mat's dagger. He did not know whether Verin had told the Elders, or held it back for some reason. “He is my friend, Eldest.”
“Your friend,” Alar said. “He is young by our way of thinking. You are young, too, but ta'veren. You will look after him, and when the weaving is done, you will see that he comes safely home to Stedding Shangtai.”
“I will,” he told her. It had the feeling of a commitment, the swearing of an oath.
“Then we will go to the Waygate.”
Outside, Loial scrambled to his feet when they appeared, Alar and Verin leading. Ingtar sent Hurin off at a run to fetch Uno and the other soldiers. Loial eyed the Eldest warily, then fell in with Rand at the rear of the procession. The Ogier women who had been watching him were all gone. “Did the Elders say anything about me? Did she ...?” He peered at Alar's broad back as she ordered Juin to have their horses brought. She started off with Verin while Juin was still bowing himself away, bending her head to talk quietly.
“She told Rand to take care of you,” Mat told Loial solemnly as they followed, “and see you got home safely as a babe. I don't see why you can't stay here and get married.”
“She said you could come with us.” Rand glared at Mat, which made Mat chortle under his breath. It sounded odd, coming from that drawn face. Loial was twirling the stem of a trueheart blossom between his fingers. “Did you go picking flowers?” Rand asked.
“Erith gave it to me.” Loial watched the yellow petals spin. “She really is very pretty, even if Mat does not see it.”
“Does that mean you don't want to go with us after all?”
Loial gave a start. “What? Oh, no. I mean, yes. I do want to go. She only gave me a flower. Just a flower.” He took a book out of his pocket, though, and pressed the blossom under the front cover. As he returned the book, he murmured to himself, barely loud enough for Rand to hear, “And she said I was handsome, too.” Mat let out a wheeze and doubled over, staggering along clutching his sides, and Loial's cheeks colored. “Well ... she said it. I didn't.”
Perrin rapped Mat smartly on the top of his head with his knuckles. “Nobody ever said Mat was handsome. He's just jealous.”
“That's not true,” Mat said, straightening abruptly. “Neysa Ayellin thinks I'm handsome. She's told me so more than once.”
“Is Neysa pretty?” Loial asked.
“She has a face like a goat,” Perrin said blandly. Mat choked, trying to get his protests out.
Rand grinned in spite of himself. Neysa Ayellin was almost as pretty as Egwene. And this was almost like old times, almost like being back home, bantering back and forth, and nothing more important in the world than a laugh and twitting the other fellow.
As they made their way through the town, Ogier greeted the Eldest, bowing or curtsying, eyeing the human visitors with interest. Alar's set face kept anyone from stopping to speak, though. The only thing that indicated when they left the town was the absence of the mounds; there were still Ogier about, examining trees, or sometimes working with pitch and saw or axe where there were dead limbs or where a tree needed more sunlight. They handled the tasks tenderly.
Juin joined them, leading their horses, and Hurin came riding with Uno and the other soldiers, and the packhorses, just before Alar pointed and said, “It is over there.” The banter died.
Rand felt a momentary surprise. The Waygate had to be Outside the stedding — the Ways had been begun with the One Power; they could not have been made inside — but there was nothing to indicate they had crossed the boundary. Then he realized there was a difference; the sense of something lost that he had felt since entering the stedding was gone. That gave him another sort of chill. Saidin was there again. Waiting.