Winter's Heart

a sitting room. It was not large, but it always seemed snug, with a good fireplace and a small table with four chairs. Certainly as much as she and Lan needed. Her hopes for privacy were dashed as soon as they entered the sitting room, though. The First Maid was waiting in the middle of the flowered carpet, as stately as a queen, as neatly turned out as if she had just finished dressing, and not at all pleased. And in one corner of the room was a roughly dressed, lumpy fellow with a horrible wart on his nose and a scrip dangling heavily from his shoulder.

'This man claims he has something you want urgently,' Mistress Harfor said once she had made brief courtesies. Very brief, if proper; she did not waste them on anyone except Elayne. She sounded equally disapproving of Nynaeve and the fellow with the wart. 'I don't mind telling you, I do not like the looks of him.'

Tired as Nynaeve was, embracing the Source was almost beyond her, but she managed it in a flash, spurred by thoughts of assassins and the Light knew what. Lan must have caught some change in her face, because he took a step toward the warty fellow; he did not touch his sword, but suddenly his whole stance seemed as if the blade were already drawn. How he sometimes managed to read her mind when another held his bond, she could not say, but she was pleased. She had managed to match Talaan—in strength, at least!—but she was not sure she could channel enough right then to knock over a chair. 'I never,' she began.

'Pardon, Mistress,' the lumpy fellow muttered hurriedly, tugging his greasy forelock. 'Mistress Thane said you wanted to see me right away. Women's Circle business, she said. Something about Cenn Buie.'

Nynaeve gave herself a shake, and after a moment remembered to close her mouth. 'Yes,' she said slowly, staring at the fellow. Seeing anything but that awful wart was difficult, but she was certain she had never laid eyes on him before. Women's Circle business. No man would be allowed a sniff of that. It was secret. She held on to saidar, though. 'I… remember, now. Thank you, Mistress Harfor. I'm sure you have all sorts of things to see to.'

Rather than take the hint, the First Maid hesitated, frowning at her suspiciously. That frown slid around to the lumpy man, then settled on Lan and vanished. She nodded to herself, as if his presence somehow made the difference! 'I will leave you, then. I'm sure Lord Lan can handle this fellow.'

Stifling her indignation, Nynaeve barely waited for the door to close before rounding on the lumpy fellow and his wart. 'Who are you?' she demanded. 'How do you know those names? You're no Two Riv—'

The man… rippled. There was no other word for it. He rippled and stretched taller, and suddenly it was Rand, grimacing and swallowing, in rumpled woolens with those awful heads glittering red-and-gold on the backs of his hands and a leather scrip on his shoulder. Where had he learned that? Who had taught him? She resisted the idea of disguising herself, just for a moment, to show him she could do as much.

'I see you didn't take your own advice,' Rand said to Lan, just as if she were not there. 'But why do you let her pretend to be Aes Sedai? Even if the real Aes Sedai let her, she can get hurt.'

'Because she is Aes Sedai, sheepherder,' Lan replied quietly. He did not look at her either! And he still seemed ready to draw his sword in a heartbeat. 'As for the other… Sometimes, she is stronger than you. Did you take it?'

Rand looked at her then. To frown disbelievingly. Even when she pointedly adjusted her shawl so the yellow fringe swayed. What he said though, shaking his head slowly, was 'No. You're right. Sometimes you're just too weak to do what you should.'

'What are you two blathering about?' she said sharply.

'Just things that men talk about,' Lan replied.

'You wouldn't understand,' Rand said.

She sniffed at that. Gossip and idle chatter, that was what men's talk was, nine times in ten. At best. Wearily, she let go of saidar. Reluctantly. She did not need to protect herself against Rand, certainly, but she would have liked to hold on a little longer, just to touch it, tired or not.

'We know about Cairhien, Rand,' she said, sinking gratefully into a chair. Those cursed Sea Folk had worn her out! 'Is that why you're here, dressed that way? If you're trying to hide from whoever it was…' He looked tired. Harder than she remembered, but very tired. He remained standing, though. Strangely, he seemed much like Lan, ready to draw a sword he was not wearing. Maybe that attempt to kill him would be enough to make him see sense. 'Rand, Egwene can help you.'

'I'm not hiding exactly,' he said. 'At least, just until I kill some men who need killing.' Light, he was as matter of fact about it as Alivia! Why did he and Lan keep eyeing one another and pretending they were not? 'Anyway, how could Egwene help?' he went on, setting the scrip on the table. It made a soft but solid sound of weight inside. 'I suppose she's Aes Sedai, too?' He sounded amused! 'Is she here, as well? You three, and two real Aes Sedai. Only two! No. I don't have time for that. I need you to keep something until—'

'Egwene is the Amyrlin Seat, you fool woolhead,' she growled. It was nice to be able to interrupt someone else for a change. 'Elaida is a usurper. I hope you've had sense enough not to go near her! You wouldn't leave that meeting on your own two legs, I can tell you! There are five real Aes Sedai here, including me, and three hundred more with Egwene and an army, ready to pull Elaida down. Look at yourself! Whatever your brave talk, somebody almost killed you, and you're sneaking around dressed like a stableman! What safer place for you than with Egwene? Even those Asha'man of yours wouldn't dare go against three hundred sisters!' Oh, yes; very nice indeed. He tried to mask his surprise, but he made a poor job of it, staring at her.

'You'd be surprised what my Asha'man would dare,' he said dryly after a minute. 'I suppose Mat is with Egwene's army?' Putting a hand to his head, he staggered.

Only half a step, but she was out of her chair before he could right himself. Embracing saidar with an effort, she reached up to clasp his head between her hands, and laboriously wove a Delving around him. She had tried finding a better way to find what ailed someone, so far without success. It was enough. No sooner had the weave settled on him than her breath caught. She had known about the wound in his side from Falme, never healing completely, resisting all the Healing she knew, like a pustule of evil in his flesh. Now there was another half-healed wound atop the old, and that pulsed with evil, too. A different sort of evil, somehow, like a mirror of the other, yet just as virulent. And she could not touch either with the Power. She did not really want to—just thinking of it made her skin crawl!—but she tried. And something unseen held her away. Like a ward. A ward she could not see. A ward of saidin?

That made her stop channeling and step back. She clung to the Source; no matter how tired she was, she would have had to force herself to let go. No sister could think of the male half of the Power without at least a touch of fear. He looked down at her calmly, and that made her shiver. He seemed another man entirely from the Rand al'Thor she had watched grow up. She was very glad that Lan was there, hard as that was to admit. Suddenly she realized that he had not relaxed by a whisker. He might chatter with Rand like two men over pipes and ale, but he thought Rand was dangerous. And Rand looked at Lan as if he knew it, and accepted it.

'None of that is important now,' Rand said, turning to the scrip on the table. She did not know whether he meant his wounds or where Mat was. From the scrip he produced two statuettes a foot high, a wise-looking, bearded man and an equally wise and serene woman, each in flowing robes and holding aloft a clear crystal sphere. From the way he handled them, they were heavier than they appeared. 'I want you to keep these hidden for me until I send for them, Nynaeve.' One hand on the figure of the woman, he hesitated. 'And for you. I'll need you when I use them. When we use them. After I take care of those men. That has to come first.'

'Use them?' she said suspiciously. Why did killing anyone have to come first? That was hardly the important question, though. 'For what? Are they ter'angreal?'

He nodded. 'With this, you can touch the greatest sa'angreal ever made for a woman. It's buried on Tremalking, I understand, but that doesn't matter.' His hand moved to the figure of the man. 'With this one, I can touch its male twin. I was told by… someone… once, that a man and woman using those sa'angreal could challenge the Dark One. They might have to be used for that, one day, but in the meantime, I hope they're enough to cleanse the male half of the Source.'

'If it could be done, wouldn't they have done it in the Age of Legends?' Lan said quietly. Quiet the way steel sliding from a scabbard was quiet. 'You said once that I could get her hurt.' It seemed impossible his voice could grow any harder, but it did. 'You could kill her, sheepherder.' And his tone made clear that he would not allow that.

Rand met Lan's cold blue stare with one just as cold. 'I don't know why they didn't. I don't care why. It has to be tried.'

Nynaeve bit her lower lip. She supposed Rand made this a public occasion—shifting from public to private,