The Gathering Storm

each group of Trollocs from the sides or behind. That way, we can pick the best battlefields to suit our needs.'

'Rand,' Nynaeve said, her anger fading to horror. 'Lan will die!'

'Then who am I to deny him that?' Rand said. 'We all deserve the chance to find peace.'

Nynaeve found her mouth hanging open. He actually believed that! Or he was convincing himself to believe it, at least.

'My duty is to kill The Dark One,' Rand said, as if to himself. 'I kill him, then I die. That is all.'

'But—'

'That is enough, Nynaeve.' Rand spoke softly in that dangerous voice of his. He would not be pressed further.

Nynaeve sat back, stewing, trying to decide how to press him on the topic. Light! He would leave the people of the Borderlands to suffer and die in the Trolloc invasions? The people there wouldn't care if the Dark One had been defeated—they would be cooking in stewpots. That would leave Lan and the Malkieri to fight alone, a tiny force to resist the might of every monster that the Blight could spit out.

The Seanchan would wage their war to the south and the west. The Trollocs would attack from the north and the east. The two would meet, eventually. Andor and the other kingdoms would be turned into a massive battleground, the people there—good people, like those in the Two Rivers—would have no chance against such warfare. They'd be crushed.

So what could she do to change it? She had to come up with a new strategy to influence Rand. Everything, in her heart, pointed at protecting Lan. She had to get him help!

The group rode through open grassland spotted occasionally with farms. They passed one on the right, a solitary farmstead not unlike many back in the Two Rivers. Yet, in the Two Rivers, she'd never seen a farmer watch travelers with such open hostility. The red-bearded man in dirtied trousers, with sleeves rolled nearly to his shoulders, leaned against a half-finished fence, his axe laid casually—but very visibly—on the logs beside him.

His field had seen better years; though the soil had been neatly plowed and harrowed, the furrows had spat forth only the smallest of sprouts. The field was spotted with empty patches where seeds had inexplicably refused to take root, and the plants that were growing had a yellowish cast to them.

A group of younger men were pulling a stump free from a neighboring field, yet to Nynaeve's practiced eye, they weren't actually trying to get any work done. They didn't have the harness hooked to their ox, and they hadn't loosened the stump in the earth by digging about it. Those lengths of wood lying in the grass were too stout and smoothly worked to be the shafts of tools. Quarterstaffs. It was almost an amusing display— considering the fact that Rand had two hundred Aiel with him—but it said something. These men expected trouble and were preparing for it. No doubt they could feel the storm themselves.

This area, close to trade routes and within reach of Tear, was relatively safe from bandits. It was also just far enough north to avoid being caught in squabbles between Illian and Tear. This should have been a place where farmers didn't need to turn good lumber into quarterstaffs, nor watch strangers with eyes that expected attack.

That wariness would serve them well when the Trollocs reached them—assuming the Seanchan hadn't conquered them and pressed them into their armies by that point. Nynaeve tugged her braid again.

Her mind turned back to Lan. She had to do something! But Rand wasn't seeing sense. That left only Cadsuane's mysterious plan. Fool woman, refusing to explain it. Nynaeve had made the first step, offering an allegiance, and how had Cadsuane reacted? With presumptuous arrogance, of course. How dare she welcome Nynaeve into her little group of Aes Sedai like a child who had been wandering in the woods!

How would Nynaeve's task—discovering where Perrin was—help Lan? During the past week, Nynaeve had pressed Cadsuane for more information, but had failed. 'Perform this task well, child,' Cadsuane had said, 'and perhaps we shall give you more responsibility in the future. You've proven yourself willful at times, and we can't have that.'

Nynaeve sighed. Find out where Perrin was. How was she supposed to do that? The Two Rivers folk had been of little use. Many of their men were traveling with Perrin, but they hadn't been seen for some time. They were in the south somewhere, Altara or Ghealdan, likely. But that left a large area to search.

She should have known that the Two Rivers would not provide an easy answer. Cadsuane had obviously already tried reaching Perrin herself, and must have failed. That's why she'd given the task to Nynaeve. Had Rand sent Perrin on some secret mission?

'Rand?' she said.

He was muttering roughly to himself.

She shivered. 'Rand,' she said more sharply.

He stopped muttering, then glanced at her. She thought she could see the anger hidden there, deep within him, a flash of annoyance at her interruption. Then it was gone, replaced by the frighteningly cool control. 'Yes?' he asked.

'Do you . . . know where Perrin is?'

'He has tasks set before him and performs them,' Rand said, turning away. 'Why do you wish to know?'

Best not to mention Cadsuane. 'I'm still worried about him. And about Mat.'

'Ah,' Rand said. 'You are particularly unaccustomed to lying, aren't you, Nynaeve?'

She felt her face flush in embarrassment. When had he learned to read people so well! 'I am worried about him, Rand al'Thor,' she said. 'He has a peaceful, unassuming nature—and always did let his friends push him around too much.'

There. Let Rand think about that.

'Unassuming,' Rand said musingly. 'Yes, I suppose he is still that. But peaceful? Perrin is no longer too . . . peaceful.'

So he had been in touch with Perrin recently. Light! How had Cadsuane known, and how had Nynaeve missed those communications? 'Rand, if you have Perrin working on something for you, then why have you kept it secret? I deserve to—'

'I haven't been meeting with him, Nynaeve,' Rand said. 'Calm yourself. There are simply things that I know. We are connected, Perrin, myself and Mat.'

'How? What do you—'

'That is all I will say on it, Nynaeve,' Rand interrupted, slicing into her sentence with soft words.

Nynaeve settled back, gritting her teeth again. The other Aes Sedai spoke of being in control of their emotions, but obviously they didn't have to deal with Rand al'Thor. Nynaeve could be calm too, if she weren't expected to manage the most bullheaded fool of a man who had ever put on a pair of boots.

They rode in silence for a time, the overcast sky hanging above them like a distant field of graymoss peat. The meeting place with the Border-landers was a nearby crossroads. They could have Traveled directly there, but the Maidens had prevailed upon Rand to arrive a short distance out and approach more carefully. Traveling was extremely convenient, but it also could be dangerous. If your enemies knew where you would appear, you could open a gateway and find yourself ambushed by a line of archers. Even sending scouts through the gateway first wasn't as safe as Traveling to a spot where nobody was expecting you.

The Aiel learned, and adapted, quickly. Surprising, really. The Waste was terribly unvaried; every part looked just about the same. Of course, she had overheard some Aiel guards saying something similar about the wetlands.

This particular crossroads hadn't been important in years. If Verin or one of the other Brown sisters had been there, they'd likely have been able to explain exactly why. All Nynaeve knew was that the kingdom which had once held this land had fallen long ago, and the only remnant was the independent city of Far Madding. The Wheel of Time turned. The most grand of kingdoms fell, rusted and eventually changed into lazy fields, ruled only by farmers determined to grow a particularly good crop of barley. It had happened to Manetheren, and it had happened here. Great highways that had once transported legions now dwindled to obscure country roads in need of maintenance.

As they continued, Nynaeve let Moonlight fall back from Rand's position. That placed her riding near Narishma, with his dark, braided hair, bells tinkling on the ends. He wore black, like most Asha'man, and the Sword and Dragon twinkled on his collar. He'd changed in the months since being bonded as a Warder. She could no longer look at him and see a boy. This was a man, with the grace of a soldier, the careful eyes of a Warder. A man who