Ahead of him down the street was a snow-white tower. The same tower. In just a little while, he thought, and rounded another corner. At the far end of this street, too, lay the white tower. Stubbornly he turned another corner, and another, and each time the alabaster tower met his eyes. He spun to run away from it ... and skidded to a halt. Before him, the white tower. He was afraid to look over his shoulder, afraid it would be there, too.
The faces around him were still friendly, but shattered hope filled them now, hope he had broken. Still the people gestured him forward, pleading gestures. Toward the tower. Their eyes shone with desperate need, and only he could fulfill it, only he could save them.
Very well, he thought. The tower was, after all, where he wanted to go.
Even as he took his first step forward disappointment faded from those about him, and smiles wreathed every face. They moved with him, and small children strewed his path with flower petals. He looked over his shoulder in confusion, wondering who the flowers were meant for, but behind him were only more smiling people gesturing him on. They must be for me, he thought, and wondered why that suddenly did not seem strange at all. But wonderment lasted only a moment before melting away; all was as it should be.
First one, then another of the people began to sing, until every voice was lifted in a glorious anthem. He still could not understand the words, but a dozen interweaving harmonies, shouted joy and salvation. Musicians capered through the on-flowing crowd, adding flutes and harps and drums in a dozen sizes to the hymn, and all the songs he had heard before blended in without seam. Girls danced around him, laying garlands of sweet- smelling blossoms across his shoulders, twining them about his neck. They smiled at him, their delight growing with every step he took. He could not help but smile back. His feet itched to join in their dance, and even as he thought of it he was dancing, his steps fitting as if he had known it all from birth. He threw back his head and laughed; his feet were lighter than they had ever been, dancing with ... He could not remember the name, but it did not seem important.
It is your destiny, a voice whispered in his head, and the whisper was a thread in the paean.
Carrying him like a twig on the crest of a wave, the crowd flowed into a huge square in the middle of the city, and for the first time he saw that the white tower rose from a great palace of pale marble, sculpted rather than built, curving walls and swelling domes and delicate spires fingering the sky. The whole of it made him gasp in awe. Broad stairs of pristine stone led up from the square, and at the foot of those stairs the people halted, but their song rose ever higher. The swelling voices buoyed his feet. Your destiny, the voice whispered, insistent now, eager.
He no longer danced, but neither did he stop. He mounted the stairs without hesitation. This was where he belonged.
Scrollwork covered the massive doors at the top of the stairs, carvings so intricate and delicate that he could not imagine a knife blade fine enough to fit. The portals swung open, and he went in. They closed behind him with an echoing crash like thunder.
'We have been waiting for you,' the Myrddraal hissed.
Rand sat bolt upright, gasping for breath and shivering, staring. Tam was still asleep on the bed. Slowly his breathing slowed. Half-consumed logs blazed in the fireplace with a good bed of coals built up around the fire irons; someone had been there to tend it while he slept. A blanket lay at his feet, where it had fallen when he woke. The makeshift litter was gone, too, and his and Tam's cloaks had been hung by the door.
He wiped cold sweat from his face with a hand that was none too steady and wondered if naming the Dark One in a dream brought his attention the same way that naming him aloud did.
Twilight darkened the window; the moon was well up, round and fat, and evening stars sparkled above the Mountains of Mist. He had slept the day away. He rubbed a sore spot on his side. Apparently he had slept with the sword hilt jabbing him in the ribs. Between that and an empty stomach and the night before, it was no wonder he had had nightmares.
His belly rumbled, and he got up stiffly and made his way to the table where Mistress al'Vere had left the tray, He twitched aside the white napkin. Despite the time he had slept, the beef broth was still warm, and so was the crusty bread. Mistress al'Vere's hand was plain; the tray had been replaced. Once she decided you needed a hot meal, she did not give up till it was inside you.
He gulped down some broth, and it was all he could do to put some meat and cheese between two pieces of bread before stuffing it in his mouth. Taking big bites, he went back to the bed.
Mistress al'Vere had apparently seen to Tam, as well. Tam had been undressed, his clothes now clean and neatly folded on the bedside table, and a blanket was drawn up under his chin. When Rand touched his father's forehead, Tam opened his eyes.
'There you are, boy. Marin said you were here, but I couldn't even sit up to see. She said you were too tired for her to wake just so I could look at you. Even Bran can't get around to find her when she has her mind set.'
Tam's voice was weak, but his gaze was clear and steady. The Aes Sedai was right, Rand thought. With rest he would be as good as ever.
'Can I get you something to eat? Mistress al'Vere left a tray.'
'She fed me already ... if you can call it that. Wouldn't let me have anything but broth. How can a man avoid bad dreams with nothing but broth in his ...' Tam fumbled a hand from under the cover and touched the sword at Rand's waist. 'Then it wasn't a dream. When Marin told me I was sick, I thought I had been ... But you're all right. That is all that matters. What of the farm?'
Rand took a deep breath. 'The Trollocs killed the sheep. I think they took the cow, too, and the house needs a good cleaning.' He managed a weak smile. 'We were luckier than some. They burned half the village.'
He told Tam everything that had happened, or at least most of it. Tam listened closely, and asked sharp questions, so he found himself having to tell about returning to the farmhouse from the woods, and that brought in the Trolloc he had killed. He had to tell how Nynaeve had said Tam was dying to explain why the Aes Sedai had tended him instead of the Wisdom. Tam's eyes widened at that, an Aes Sedai in Emond's Field. But Rand could see no need to go over every step of the journey from the farm, or his fears, or the Myrddraal on the road. Certainly not his nightmares as he slept by the bed. Especially he saw no reason to mention Tam's ramblings under the fever. Not yet. Moraine's story, though: there was no avoiding that.
'Now that's a tale to make a gleeman proud,' Tam muttered when he was done. 'What would Trollocs want with you boys? Or the Dark One, Light help us?'
'You think she was lying? Master al'Vere said she was telling the truth about only two farms being attacked. And about Master Luhhan's house, and Master Cauthon's.'
For a moment Tam lay silent before saying, 'Tell me what she said. Her exact words, mind, just as she said them.'
Rand struggled. Who ever remembered the exact words they heard? He chewed at his lip and scratched his head, and bit by bit he brought it out, as nearly as he could remember. 'I can't think of anything else,' he finished. 'Some of it I'm not too sure she didn't say a little differently, but it's close, anyway.'
'It's good enough. It has to be, doesn't it? You see, lad, Aes Sedai are tricksome. They don't lie, not right out, but the truth an Aes Sedai tells you is not always the truth you think it is. You take care around her.'
'I've heard the stories,' Rand retorted. 'I'm not a child.'
'So you're not, so you're not.' Tam sighed heavily, then shrugged in annoyance. 'I should be going along with you, just the same. The world outside the Two Rivers is nothing like Emond's Field.'
That was an opening to ask about Tam going outside and all the rest of it, but Rand did not take it. His mouth fell open, instead. 'Just like that? I thought you would try to talk me out of it. I thought you'd have a hundred reasons I should not go.' He realized he had been hoping Tam would have a hundred reasons, and good ones.
'Maybe not a hundred,' Tam said with a snort, 'but a few did come to mind. Only they don't count for much. If Trollocs are after you, you will be safer in Tar Valon than you could ever be here. Just remember to be wary. Aes Sedai do things for their own reasons, and those are not always the reasons you think.'
'The gleeman said something like that,' Rand said slowly.
'Then he knows what he's talking about. You listen sharp, think deep, and guard your tongue. That's good advice for any dealings beyond the Two Rivers, but most especially with Aes Sedai. And with Warders. Tell Lan something, and you've as good as told Moiraine. If he's a Warder, then he's bonded to her as sure as the sun rose
