The heat in her eyes seemed to intensify, and she gripped her long, thick braid with one hand. “Lan told me once that Malkier lives so long as one man wears the hadori in pledge that he will fight the Shadow, so long as one woman wears the ki’sain in pledge that she will send her sons to fight the Shadow. I wear the ki’sain, Master Aldragoran. My husband wears the hadori. So do you. Will Lan Mandragoran ride to the Last Battle alone?”
He was laughing, shaking with it. And yet, he could feel tears rolling down his cheeks. It was madness! Complete madness! But he could not help himself. “He will not, my Lady. I cannot stand surety for anyone else, but I swear to you under the Light and by my hope of rebirth and salvation, he will not ride alone.” For a moment, she studied his face, then nodded once firmly and turned away. He flung out a hand after her. “May I offer you wine, my Lady? My wife will want to meet you.” Alida was Saldaean, but she definitely would want to meet the wife of the Uncrowned King.
“Thank you, Master Aldragoran, but I have several more towns to visit today, and I must be back in Tear tonight.”
He blinked at her back as she glided toward the door gathering her cloak. She had several more towns to visit today, and she had to be back in Tear tonight! Truly, Aes Sedai were capable of marvels!
Silence hung in the common room. They had not been keeping their voices low, and even the girl with the dulcimer had ceased plying her hammers. Everyone was staring at him. Most of the outlanders had their mouths hanging open.
“Well, Managan, Gorenellin,” he demanded, “do you still remember who you are? Do you remember your blood? Who rides with me for Tarwin’s Gap?”
For a moment, he thought neither man would speak, but then Gorenellin was on his feet, tears glistening his eyes. “The Golden Crane flies for Tarmon Gai’don,” he said softly.
“The Golden Crane flies for Tarmon Gai’don!” Managan shouted, leaping up so fast he overturned his chair.
Laughing, Aldragoran joined them, all three shouting at the top of their lungs. “The Golden Crane flies for Tarmon Gai’don!”
CHAPTER 21 Within the Stone
The mud of the outer city gave way to paved streets at the walls of Tear, where the first thing Rand noticed was the absence of guards. Despite the lofty stone ramparts with their towers, the city was less defended than Stedding Shangtai, where he and every other human had been gently but firmly refused entrance at first light. Here, the archers’ balconies on the towers were empty. The iron-strapped door of the squat gray guardhouse just inside the broad gates stood wide open, and a hard-faced woman in rough woolens, her sleeves shoved up her thin arms, sat there at a wooden tub scrubbing clothes with a washboard. She appeared to have taken up residence; two small, grubby children sucking their thumbs stared wide-eyed past her at him and his companions. At their horses, at least.
Tai’daishar was a sight to stare at, a sleek black stallion with a massive chest, a horse that drew attention, yet he had chosen to ride the animal anyway. If the Forsaken could find him as easily as they had at Algarin’s manor house, there was little point to hiding. Or at least to putting too much effort into it. He wore black riding gloves to conceal the dragons’ heads on his hands and the herons branded into his palms. His coat was dark gray wool without a stitch of embroidery, the stallion’s saddle cloth simple, and his sword’s hilt and scabbard had been covered in unworked boarhide ever since it came into his possession, nothing to pull a second glance.
Cadsuane, in unadorned gray wool, wore the hood of her dark green cloak well up to shield her Aes Sedai face, but Min, Nynaeve and Alivia had no need for hiding. Though Min’s flower-embroidered red coat and snug breeches might attract a little notice, not to mention her heeled red boots. He had seen women in Cairhien wearing clothes like that, copying her, yet it seemed unlikely that her fashion had spread to Tear, where modesty held sway. In public, at least. Nynaeve was wearing yellow-slashed blue silk and all of her jewelry, just partly concealed by her blue cloak, but Tear would be full of silks. She had wanted to wear her shawl! That was in her saddlebags, though. A little effort only.
The second thing he noticed was the sound, a rhythmic racketing clatter accompanied periodically by a piercing whistle. Faint at first, it seemed to be coming closer rapidly. Despite the early hour, the streets he could see from the gates were crowded. Half the people in sight appeared to be Sea Folk, the men bare-chested, the women in bright linen blouses, all wearing long sashes more colorful than those worn by Tairen commoners. Every head appeared to be turned toward that sound. Children darted through the throng, dodging carts most often pulled by oxen with wide horns, racing toward the noise. Several well-dressed men and women had dismounted from their sedan chairs and stood with the bearers to watch. A fork-bearded merchant with silver chains across the chest of his coat was half out of the window of a red-lacquered coach, shouting at his driver to manage the nervously dancing team while he strained for a better view.
White-winged pigeons, startled from pointed slate rooftops by a particularly sharp whistle, suddenly wheeled into the air. And two large flocks crashed into each other, pelting the folk below with stunned birds. Every single bird fell. A few people actually stopped staring toward the approaching noise and gaped at the sky. A surprising number snatched up fallen birds and wrung their necks, though, and not just barefoot people in worn woolens. A woman in silk and lace, standing beside one of the sedan chairs, quickly gathered half a dozen before gazing toward the noise with the birds dangling from her hands by their feet.
Alivia made a startled sound. “Is that ill luck or good?” she drawled. “It must be ill. Unless pigeons here are different?” Nynaeve gave her a sour look, but said nothing. She had been very quiet since Lan vanished the day before, a subject on which she was doubly silent.
“Some of those people are going to die of hunger,” Min said sadly. The bond quivered with sorrow. “Every last one I can see something about.”
How can I bide? Lews Therin laughed. I am ta’veren!
You’re dead, Rand thought at him sharply. People in front of him were going to starve, and he laughed? There was nothing to be done, of course, not when Min spoke, but laughing was another matter. I am ta’veren. Me!
What else was happening in Tear because of his presence? His being ta’veren did not always have any effect at all, but when it did, the result could blanket an entire city. Best to get on with what he had come for before the wrong people figured out what things like pigeons flying into one another meant. If the Forsaken were sending armies of Trollocs and Myrddraal after him, it was likely that Darkfriends would take any opportunity to put an arrow through his ribs. Making little effort to hide was not the
