The Gathering Storm - Sanderson, Brandon Page 0,6

a hook at the end. He still didn't know why. But it didn't matter.

The storm was coming and he had to be ready.

Watching the bowlegged soldiers tie Tanera's blanket-wrapped body across a saddle, Falendre fought the desire to begin weeping again, the desire to vomit. She was senior, and had to maintain some composure if she expected the four other surviving sul'dam to do so. She tried to tell herself she had seen worse, battles where more than a single sul'dam had died, more than one damane. That brought her too near thinking of exactly how Tanera and her Miri met their deaths, though, and her mind shied from it.

Huddling by her side, Nenci whimpered as Falendre stroked the damane's head and tried to send soothing feelings through the a'dam. That often seemed to work, but not so well today. Her own emotions were too roiled. If only she could forget that the damane was shielded, and by whom. By what. Nenci whimpered again.

"You will deliver the message as I directed you?" a man said behind her.

No, not just any man. The sound of his voice stirred the pool of acid in her belly. She made herself turn to face him, made herself meet those cold, hard eyes. They changed with the angle of his head, now blue, now gray, but always like polished gemstones. She had known many hard men, but had she ever known one hard enough to lose a hand and moments later take it as if he had lost a glove? She bowed formally, twitching the a'dam so that Nenci did the same. So far they had been treated well for prisoners under the circumstances, even to being given washwater, and supposedly they would not remain prisoners much longer. Yet with this man, who could say what might make that change? The promise of freedom might be part of some scheme.

"I will deliver your message with the care it requires," she began, then stumbled over her tongue. What honorific did she use for him? "My Lord Dragon," she finished hurriedly. The words dried her tongue, but he nodded, so it must have sufficed.

One of the marath'damane appeared through that impossible hole in the air, a young woman with her hair in a long braid. She wore enough jewelry for one of the Blood, and of all things, a red dot in the middle of her forehead. "How long do you mean to stay here, Rand?" she demanded as if the hard-eyed young man were a servant rather than who he was. "How close to Ebou Dar are we here? The place is full of Seanchan, you know, and they probably fly raken all around it."

"Did Cadsuane send you to ask that?" he said, and her cheeks colored faintly. "Not much longer, Nynaeve. A few minutes."

The young woman shifted her gaze to the other sul'dam and damane, all taking their lead from Falendre, pretending there were no marath'damane watching them, and especially no men in black coats. The others had straightened themselves as best they could. Surya had washed the blood from her face, and from her Tabi's face, and Malian had tied large compresses on them that made them appear to be wearing odd hats. Ciar had managed to clean off most of the vomit she had spilled down the front of her dress.

"I still think I should Heal them," Nynaeve said abruptly. "Hits to the head can cause odd things that don't come on right away."

Surya, her face hardening, moved Tabi behind her as if to protect the damane. As if she could. Tabi's pale eyes had widened in horror.

Falendre raised a pleading hand toward the tall young man. Toward the Dragon Reborn, it seemed. "Please. They will receive medical aid as soon as we reach Ebou Dar."

"Give over, Nynaeve," the young man said. "If they don't want Healing, they don't want it." The marath'damane scowled at him, gripping her braid so hard that her knuckles turned white. He turned his own attention back to Falendre. "The road to Ebou Dar lies about an hour east of here. You can reach the city by nightfall if you press. The shields on the damane will evaporate in about half an hour. Is that right for the saidar-woven shields, Nynaeve?" The woman scowled at him in silence. "Is that right, Nynaeve?"

"Half an hour," she replied finally. "But none of this is right, Rand al'Thor. Sending those damane back. It isn't right, and you know it."

For a moment,