Rand's bay stallion was with the other group on the far side of the courtyard, with Ingtar, and a bannerman holding Ingtar's Gray Owl banner, and twenty other armored men with lances tipped with two feet of steel, all mounted already. The bars of their helmets covered their faces, and golden surcoats with the Black Hawk on the chest hid their plateandmail. Only Ingtar's helmet had a crest, a crescent moon above his brow, points up. Rand recognized some of the men. Roughtongued Uno, with a long scar down his face and only one eye. Ragan and Masema. Others who had exchanged a word, or played a game of stones. Ragan waved to him, and Uno nodded, but Masema was not the only one who gave him a cold stare and turned away. Their packhorses stood placidly, tails swishing.
The big bay danced as Rand tied his saddlebags and bundle behind the highcantled saddle. He put his foot in the stirrup and murmured, “Easy, Red,” as he swung into the saddle, but he let the stallion frisk away some of his stablebound energy.
To Rand's surprise, Loial appeared from the direction of the stables, riding to join them. The Ogier's hairyfetlocked mount was as big and heavy as a prime Dhurran stallion. Beside it, all the other animals looked the size of Bela, but with Loial in the saddle, the horse seemed almost a pony.
Loial carried no weapon that Rand could see; he had never heard of any Ogier using a weapon. Their stedding were protection enough. And Loial had his own priorities, his own ideas of what was needed for a journey. The pockets of his long coat had a telltale bulge, and his saddlebags showed the square imprints of books.
The Ogier stopped his horse a little way off and looked at Rand, his tufted ears twitching uncertainly.
“I didn't know you were coming,” Rand said. “I'd think you would have had enough of traveling with us. This time there's no telling how long it will be, or where we will end up.”
Loial's ears lifted a little. “There was no telling when I first met you, either. Besides, what held then, holds now. I can't let the chance pass to see history actually weave itself around ta'veren. And to help find the Horn ...”
Mat and Perrin rode up behind Loial and paused. Mat looked a little tired around the eyes, but his face wore a bloom of health.
“Mat,” Rand said, “I'm sorry for what I said. Perrin, I didn't mean it. I was being stupid.”
Mat only glanced at him, then shook his head and mouthed something to Perrin that Rand could not hear. Mat had only his bow and quiver, but Perrin also wore his axe at his belt, with its big halfmoon blade balanced by a thick spike.
“Mat? Perrin? Really, I didn't — ” They rode on toward Ingtar.
“That is not a coat for traveling, Rand,” Loial said.
Rand glanced down at the golden thorns climbing his crimson sleeve and grimaced. Small wonder Mat and Perrin still think I'm putting on airs. On returning to his room he had found everything already packed and sent on. All of the plain coats he had been given were on the packhorses, so the servants said; every coat left in the wardrobe was at least as ornate as the one he wore. His saddlebags held nothing in the way of clothes but a few shirts, some wool stockings, and a spare pair of breeches. At least he had removed the golden cord from his sleeve, though he had the red eagle pin in his pocket. Lan had meant it for a gift, after all.
“I'll change when we stop tonight,” he muttered. He took a deep breath. “Loial, I said things to you I should not have, and I hope you'll forgive me. You have every right to hold them against me, but I hope you won't.”
Loial grinned, and his ears stood up. He moved his horse closer. “I say things I should not all the time. The Elders always said I spoke an hour before I thought.”
Suddenly Lan was at Rand's stirrup, in his graygreen scaled armor that would make him all but disappear in forest or darkness. “I need to talk to you, sheepherder.” He looked at Loial. “Alone, if you please, Builder.” Loial nodded and moved his big horse away.
“I don't know if I should listen to you,” Rand told the Warder. “These fancy clothes, and all those things you told me, they didn't help much.”
“When you can't win a big victory, sheepherder, learn to settle for the small ones. If you made them think of you as something more than a farmboy who'll be easy to handle, then you won a small victory. Now be quiet and listen. I've only time for one last lesson, the hardest. Sheathing the Sword.”
“You've spent an hour every morning making me do nothing but draw this bloody sword and put it back in the scabbard. Standing, sitting, lying down. I think I can manage to get it back in the sheath without cutting myself.”
“I said listen, sheepherder,” the Warder growled. “There will come a time when you must achieve a goal at all costs. It may come in attack or in defense. And the only way will be to allow the sword to be sheathed in your own body.”
“That's crazy,” Rand said. “Why would I ever—?”
The Warder cut him off. “You will know when it comes, sheepherder, when the price is worth the gain, and there is no other choice left to you. That is called Sheathing the Sword. Remember it.”
The Amyrlin appeared, striding across the crowded courtyard with Leane and her staff, and Lord Agelmar at her shoulder. Even in a green velvet coat, the Lord of Fal Dara did not look out of place among so many armored men. There was still no sign of the other Aes Sedai. As they went by, Rand caught part of their conversation.
“But, Mother,” Agelmar was protesting, “you've had no time to rest from the journey here. Stay at least a few days more. I promise you a feast tonight such as you could hardly get in Tar Valon.”
The Amyrlin shook her head without breaking stride. “I cannot, Agelmar. You know I would if I could. I had never planned to remain long, and matters urgently require my presence in the White Tower. I should be there now.”
“Mother, it shames me that you come one day and leave the next. I swear to you, there will be no repetition of last night. I have tripled the guard on the city gates as well as the keep. I have tumblers in from the town, and a bard coming from Mos Shirare. Why, King Easar will be on his way from Fal Moran. I sent word as soon as ...”
Their voices faded as they crossed the courtyard, swallowed up by the din of preparation. The Amyrlin never as much as glanced in Rand's direction.
When Rand looked down, the Warder was gone, and nowhere to be seen. Loial brought his horse back to Rand's side. “That is a hard man to catch and hold, isn't he, Rand? He's not here, then he's here, then he's gone, and you don't see him coming or going.”
Sheathing the Sword. Rand shivered. Warders must all be crazy.
The Warder the Amyrlin was speaking to suddenly sprang into his saddle. He was at a dead gallop before he reached the widestanding gates. She stood watching him go, and her stance seemed to urge him to go faster.