The Gathering Storm

were both younger. Eyes that demanded obedience.

'Your orders,' al'Thor said. 'They are from the king? That is why you throw yourselves against the Seanchan as you do?'

Ituralde nodded.

'I've heard of you, Rodel Ituralde,' al'Thor said. 'Men I trust, men I respect, trust and respect you. Rather than fleeing and hiding, you hunker down here to fight a battle you know will kill you. All because of your loyalty to your king. I commend that. But it is time to turn away and fight a battle that means something. One that means everything. Come with me, and I'll give you the throne of Arad Doman.'

Ituralde stood up sharply, alert. 'After commending my loyalty, you expect me to unseat my own king!'

'Your king is dead,' al'Thor said. 'Either that, or his mind has been melted like wax. More and more, I think Graendal has him. I see her touch on the chaos in this land. Whatever orders you have likely came from her. Why she wants you fighting the Seanchan, I haven't yet been able to determine.'

Ituralde snorted. 'You speak of one of the Forsaken as if you've had her as a dinner guest.'

Al'Thor met his eyes again. 'I remember each of them—their faces, their mannerisms, the way they speak and act—as if I've known them for a thousand years. I remember them better than I remember my own childhood, sometimes. I am the Dragon Reborn.'

Ituralde blinked. Burn me, he thought. / believe him. Bloody ashes! 'Let's . . . let's see this proof of yours.'

There were objections, of course, mostly from Lidrin, who thought it too dangerous. The others were shaken. Here was the man they'd sworn themselves to without ever meeting him. There seemed to be a ... a force about al'Thor, drawing Ituralde in, demanding that he do as asked. Well, he'd see the proof, first.

They sent runners for horses to ride out of the stedding, but al'Thor spoke as if Ituralde was his man already. 'Perhaps Alsalam lives,' al'Thor said as they waited. 'If so, I can see that you would not want his throne.

Would you like Amadicia? I will need someone to rule there and keep an eye on the Seanchan. The Whitecloaks fight there now; I'm not sure if I'll be able to stop that conflict before the Last Battle.'

The Last Battle. Light! 'I won't take it if you kill the king there,' Ituralde said. 'If the Whitecloaks have already killed him, or if the Seanchan have, then perhaps.'

King! What was he saying? Burn you! he thought to himself. At least wait until the proof is given before agreeing to accept thrones! There was a way about this man, the way he discussed events like the Last Battle—events that mankind had been fearing for thousands of years—as if they were items on the daily camp report.

Soldiers arrived with their horses, and Ituralde mounted, as did al'Thor, Wakeda, Rajabi, Ankaer, Melarned, Lidrin and a half-dozen lesser officers.

'I've brought a large number of Aiel into your lands,' Rand al'Thor said as they began to ride. 'I had hoped to use them to restore order, but they are taking longer than I'd wished. I'm planning to secure the members of the merchant council; perhaps once I have them in hand, I'll be able to improve the stability of the area. What do you think?'

Ituralde didn't know what to think. Securing the merchant council? That sounded like kidnapping them. What had Ituralde gotten himself into? 'It could work,' he found himself saying. 'Light, it's probably the best plan, all things considered.'

Al'Thor nodded, looking forward as they passed out of the palisade and moved out along a trail toward the edge of the stedding. 'I'll have to secure the Borderlands, anyway. I will care for your homeland. Burn those Borderlanders! What are they up to? No. No, not yet. They can wait. No, he'll do. He can hold it. I'll send him with Asha'man.' Suddenly, al'Thor turned to Ituralde. 'What could you do if I gave you a hundred men who could channel?'

'Madmen?'

'No, most of them are stable,' al'Thor said, taking no apparent offense. 'Whatever madness they incurred before I cleansed the taint is still there—removing the taint didn't heal them—but few of them were far gone. And they won't get worse, now that saidin is clean.'

Saidin? Clean? If Ituralde had his own men who could channel. . . . His own damane, in a way. Ituralde scratched his chin. It was coming at him quickly—but, then, a general had to be able to react quickly. 'I could use them well,' he said. 'Very well.'

'Good,' al'Thor said. They had left the stedding; the air felt different. 'You've got a lot of land to watch, but many of the channelers I'll give you can spin gateways.'

'Gateways?' Ituralde asked.

Al'Thor glanced at him, then seemed to grit his teeth, closing his eyes, shaking as if nauseated. Ituralde sat upright, suddenly alert, hand on his sword. Poison? Was the man wounded?

But no, al'Thor opened his eyes, and there seemed to be a look of ecstasy in those depths. He turned, waving a hand, and a line of light split the air in front of him. Men around Ituralde cursed, backing up. It was one thing for a man to claim he could channel; it was another to see him do so in front of you!

'That's a gateway,' al'Thor said as the line of light turned around, opening a large black hole in the air. 'Depending on the Asha'man's strength, a gateway can be made wide enough to drive wagons through. You can travel nearly anywhere with speed, sometimes instantly, depending on circumstances. With a few trained Asha'man, your army could dine in Caemlyn in the morning, then have lunch in Tanchico a few hours later.'

Ituralde rubbed his chin. 'Well now, that's a thing to see. A thing to see indeed.' If this man spoke truthfully, and these gateways really did work. . . . 'With this I could clear the Seanchan out of Tarabon, and maybe off the land entirely!'

'No,' al'Thor snapped. 'We make peace with them. From what my scouts say, it's going to be hard enough to bring them to agreement without promising them your head. I won't rile them further. There is no time for squabbling. We have more important matters to be about.'

'Nothing is more important than my homeland,' Ituralde said. 'Even if those orders are forged, I know Alsalam. He would agree with me. We won't stand for foreign troops on the soil of Arad Doman.'

'A promise, then,' al'Thor said. 'I will see the Seanchan out of Arad Doman. I promise you this. But we don't fight them away any further than that. In exchange, you go to the Borderlands and protect against an invasion there. Hold back the Trollocs if they come, and lend me some of your officers to help secure Arad Doman. It will be easier to restore order if the people see that their own lords are working with me.'

Ituralde considered, though he knew already what his answer would be. That gateway could spirit his men away from this death trap. With Aiel on his side—with the Dragon Reborn as an ally—he really did have

The Last of the Tabac

a chance of keeping Arad Doman secure. An honorable death was a good thing. But the ability to keep on fighting with honor . . . that was a prize far more precious.

'Agreed,' Ituralde said, holding out a hand.

AlThor took it. 'Go break camp. You're to be in Saldaea by nightfall.'

CHAPTER 11 The Death of Adrin

I think he should be beaten again, said Lerian, moving her fingers in the complex motions of Maiden handtalk. He is like a child, and when a child touches something dangerous, the