Robert Jordan - The Gathering Storm

Min felt like screaming.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

Rand did not turn from the mirror. "About what?"

"The Seanchan."

"There will be no peace," he said, straightening his coat collar. "I have failed." His tone was emotionless, yet somehow taut.

"It's all right to be frustrated, Rand."

"Frustration is pointless," he said. "Anger is pointless. Neither emotion will change facts, and the fact is that I have no more time to waste on the Seanchan. We will have to risk an attack from behind by riding to the Last Battle without stability in Arad Doman. It is not ideal, but it is what must happen."

The air shimmered above Rand, and a mountain appeared there. Viewings were so common around Rand that Min usually forced herself to ignore them unless they were new—though she did spend time some days trying to pick them all out and sort through them. This one was new, and it caught her attention. The towering mountain was blasted out on one side, making a jagged hole down the slope. Dragonmount? It was cloaked in dark shadows, as if shaded by clouds high above. That was odd; whenever she'd seen the mountain, it had reached higher than the clouds themselves.

Dragonmount in shadows. It would be important to Rand in the future. Was that a tiny prick of light shining from the heavens down onto the point of the mountain?

The viewing vanished. Though Min knew what some of them meant, this one baffled her. She sighed, leaning back in the red-cushioned chair. Her books lay scattered on the floor; she'd been dedicating more and more time to her studies, partly because she felt Rand's sense of urgency, and partly because she didn't know what else to do. She liked to think that she was capable of taking care of herself. And she'd begun to think of herself as a last defense for Rand.

Min had discovered just how useful she was as a "line of defense." She'd been about as useful as a child! In fact, she'd been a hindrance, a tool for Semirhage to use against him. She'd been indignant when Rand had suggested sending her away, giving him a tongue-lashing for even suggesting it. Send her away! To keep her safe? That was foolishness! She could take care of herself.

So she had thought. Now she saw that he'd been right.

That made her sick. So she studied and tried to stay out of his way. He'd changed on that day, as if something bright had turned off inside of him. A lamp flickering out, its oil gone, leaving only the casing. He looked at her differently, now. When those eyes of his studied her, did they see only a liability?

She shivered, trying to shove that thought from her mind.

Rand put on his boots, then did up their buckles.

He stood, reaching for the sword which leaned against his clothing chest. The black scabbard, with its lacquered red and gold dragon, sparkled in the light. Such a strange weapon those scholars had found beneath the submerged statue. The sword felt so old. Was Rand wearing it today as a symbol of something? A sign, perhaps, that he was riding to battle?

"You're going after her, aren't you?" Min found herself asking. "Graen-dal."

"I have to fix what problems I can," Rand said, pulling the ancient sword from the sheath and checking the blade. There was no heron mark, but the fine steel blade glistened in the lamplight, showing the undulating lines of its folded metal. It had been Power-forged, he claimed. He seemed to know things about it he did not share.

Rand snapped the blade into the black scabbard, looking at her. "Fix the problems you can, don't fret over the ones you cannot. It was something Tam once told me. Arad Doman will have to survive against the Seanchan on its own. The last thing I can do for the people here is remove one of the Forsaken from their soil."

"She might be waiting for you, Rand," Min said. "Did it occur to you that the boy Nynaeve found was a plant? Intended to be discovered, to lead you into a trap?"

He hesitated, then shook his head. "He was genuine, Min. Moghe-dien might have considered a trick like that, but not Graendal. She'd be too worried about being traced. We have to move quickly, before word reaches her that she has been compromised. I must strike now."

Min stood.

"Are you coming, then?" Rand asked, looking surprised.

She flushed. What if things go as poorly with Graendal as they did with SemirhageP What if I become a tool against him again?

"Yes," she said, just to prove to herself that she wasn't giving up. "Of course I'm coming. Don't think you can leave me behind!"

"I wouldn't dream of it," he said flatly. "Come."

She'd expected more of an argument.

From the night stand he picked up the statuette of a man holding aloft a globe. He turned the ter'angreal in his hand, inspecting it, then looked up at Min, as if in challenge. She said nothing.

He tucked the statuette into the oversized pocket of his coat, then strode from the room, ancient, Power-forged sword belted to his waist.

Min hurried after Rand. He glanced at the pair of Maidens guarding the door. "I go to battle," he said to them. "Bring no more than twenty."

The Maidens exchanged a brief moment of handtalk; then one loped ahead and the other tailed Rand as he marched down the hallway. Min hurried up beside him, heart thumping, her boots loud on the floorboards. He had rushed off like this to fight Forsaken before, but usually he took more time to plan. He'd maneuvered Sammael for months before striking at II-lian. He'd had barely a single day to decide what do with Graendal!

Min checked her knives, making certain they were secure in her sleeves, but it was just a nervous habit. Rand reached the end of the hallway, then strode down the stairs, his face still calm, his step quick but not hurried. Yet he seemed like a thunderstorm, contained and wrapped up, somehow bound and channeled toward a single goal. How she wished he'd just explode and lose his temper, the way he used to! He'd exasperated her then, but he'd never frightened her. Not as he did now, with those icy eyes she couldn't read, that aura of danger. Since the incident with Semirhage, he spoke of doing "whatever he had to" regardless of cost, and she knew that he must seethe at having failed to convince the Seanchan to ally with him. What would that combination of failure and determination lead him to do?

At the bottom of the wide staircase, Rand spoke to a servant. "Fetch for me Nynaeve Sedai and Lord Ramshalan. Bring them to the sitting room."

Lord Ramshalan? The overstuffed man from Lady Chadmar's former circle? "Rand," Min said quietly, reaching the bottom of the stairs, "what are you planning?"

He said nothing. He strode through the white marble entryway, entering the sitting room, which was decorated in deep reds to contrast with the white floor. He did not sit, but remained standing with his arms behind his back, studying the map of Arad Doman he'd ordered placed on the wall. The aged map hung where a fine oil painting once had, and seemed completely out of place in the room.

On the map, there was a black ink mark at the edge of a small lake to the southeast. Rand had placed it there the morning after Kerb died. It marked Natrin's Barrow.

"It was a fort, once," Rand said absently.

"The city where Graendal is hiding?" Min said, walking up beside him.

He shook his head. "It's not a city. I've sent scouts. It's just a solitary structure, built long ago to watch the Mountains of Mist and guard against incursion through the passes by Manetheren. It hasn't been used for military purposes since the Trolloc Wars; there's hardly need to worry about invasion from Two Rivers people who don't even remember the name Manetheren."

Min nodded. "Though, Arad Doman did get invaded by a shepherd from the Two Rivers."

Once that would have made him smile. She kept forgetting that he didn't do that anymore.

"A few centuries back," Rand said, eyes narrowed in thought, "the king of Arad Doman seized Natrin's Barrow back in the name of the throne. For some time before, it had been occupied by a minor noble family from Toman Head who had been trying to set up their own new kingdom. That happens on Almoth Plain occasionally. The Domani king liked the location, and used the fortress as a palace instead.

"He spent a great deal of time there, so much, in fact, that several of his merchant enemies gained too much power in Bandar Eban. The King fell, but his successors also used the fortress, and it became a popular retreat for the Crown when the King needed relaxation. The practice dwindled during the last hundred years or so, until it was granted to a distant cousin of the King about fifty years back. Their family has used it ever since. Among the general Domani populace, Natrin's Barrow has been largely forgotten."

"Except by Alsalam?" Min asked.

Rand shook his head. "No. I doubt he knew of it at all. I learned this history from the royal archivist, who had to search for hours to locate the name of the family using the place. There has been no contact with them for months, though they used to visit towns on occasion. The few farm-steaders in the area say that someone new seems to be living in the palace, though nobody knows where the former owner went. They seem surprised that they've never thought about how odd that is."

He eyed her. "This is exactly the sort of location Graendal would choose as her center of power. It's a jewel—a forgotten fortress of beauty and power, ancient and regal. Close enough to Bandar Eban for her to have a hand in ruling Arad Doman, but far enough away to be defensible and secluded. I made a mistake in my searches for her—I assumed she'd want a beautiful manor with gardens and grounds. I should have realized; it isn't just beauty that she collects, but prestige. A magnificent fortress for kings fits her just as much as an elegant manor house. Particularly since this one is more palace than fort now."

Footsteps in the entryway behind drew Min's attention, and a few seconds later a servant ushered in Nynaeve and the foppish Ramshalan, with his pointed beard and thin mustache. Today he had tiny bells at the end of the beard and wore a black velvet beauty mark on his cheek, also in the shape of a bell. He wore a loose silk costume of green and blue, the sleeves drooping, ruffled shirt poking out beneath. Min didn't care what fashion dictated, the man looked ridiculous. Like a disheveled peacock.

"My Lord called for me?" Ramshalan said, bowing extravagantly toward Rand.

Rand didn't turn away from the map. "I have a puzzle for you, Ramshalan," he said. "I want to know what you think."

"Please, don't hesitate, my Lord!"

"Then tell me this: How do I outthink an enemy I know is smarter than I am?"

"My Lord." Ramshalan bowed a second time, as if worried that Rand hadn't noticed the first one. "Surely you seek to trick me! There is nobody more intelligent than yourself."

"I wish that were true," Rand said softly. "I face some of the most crafty people who have ever lived. My current foe understands the minds of others in a way that I cannot hope to match. So how do I defeat her? She will vanish the moment I threaten her, running to one of a dozen other refuges she is sure to have set up. She won't fight me head-on, yet if I destroy her fortress in a surprise attack, I risk letting her slip away and never knowing if I've finished her."

"A problem indeed, my Lord," Ramshalan said. He looked confused.

Rand nodded, as if to himself. "I have to peer into her eyes, see into her soul, and know that it's her that I face and not some decoy. I have to do that without frightening her into running. How? How can I kill a foe who is more clever than myself, a foe who is impossible to surprise, yet who is also unwilling to confront me?"