Perrin shrugged uneasily. He knew only bits and pieces of the Prophecies; he had liked hearing them even less since Rand had let Moiraine put that banner in his hands. No, it had been before that, even. Since a journey by Portal Stone had convinced him his life was bound to Rand’s.

Moiraine was continuing. “If you think he has simply to put out his hand, Loial son of Arent son of Halan, you are a fool, as is he if he thinks it. Even if he lives to reach Tear, he may never attain the Stone.

“Tairens have no love for the One Power, and less for any man claiming to be the Dragon. Channeling is outlawed, and Aes Sedai are tolerated at best, so long as they do not channel. Telling the Prophecies of the Dragon, or even possessing a copy of them, is enough to put you in prison, in Tear. And no one enters the Stone of Tear without permission of the High Lords; none but the High Lords themselves enter the Heart of the Stone. He is not ready for this. Not ready.”

Perrin grunted softly. The Stone would never fall till the Dragon Reborn held Callandor. How in the Light is he supposed to reach it—inside a bloody fortress!—before the fortress falls? It is madness!

“Why are we just sitting here?” Min burst out. “If Rand is going to Tear, why aren’t we following him? He could be killed, or . . . or. . . . Why are we sitting here?”

Moiraine put a hand on Min’s head. “Because I must be sure,” she said gently. “It is not comfortable being chosen by the Wheel, to be great or to be near greatness. The chosen of the Wheel can only take what comes.”

“I am tired of taking what comes.” Min scrubbed a hand across her eyes. Perrin thought he saw tears. “Rand could be dying while we wait.” Moiraine smoothed Min’s hair; there was a look almost of pity on the Aes Sedai’s face.

Perrin sat down on the end of Lan’s bed opposite Loial. The smell of people was thick in the room—people and worry and fear; Loial smelled of books and trees as well as worry. It felt like a trap, with the walls around them, and all so close. The burning slivers stank. “How can my dream tell where Rand is going?” he asked. “It was my dream.”

“Those who can channel the One Power,” Moiraine said quietly, “those who are particularly strong in Spirit, can sometimes force their dreams on others.” She did not stop her soothing of Min. “Especially on those who are—susceptible. I do not believe Rand did it on purpose, but the dreams of those touching the True Source can be powerful. For one as strong as he, they could possibly seize an entire village, or perhaps even a city. He knows little of what he does, and even less of how to control it.”

“Then why didn’t you have it, too?” he demanded. “Or Lan.” Uno stared straight ahead, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else, and Loial’s ears wilted. Perrin was too tired and too hungry to care whether he showed proper respect for an Aes Sedai. And too angry, as well, he realized. “Why?”

Moiraine answered calmly. “Aes Sedai learn to shield their dreams. I do it without thinking, when I sleep. Warders are given something much the same in the bonding. The Gaidin could not do what they must if the Shadow could steal into their dreams. We are all vulnerable when we sleep, and the Shadow is strong in the night.”

“There’s always something new from you,” Perrin growled. “Can’t you tell us what to expect once in a while, instead of explaining after it happens?” Uno looked as though he was trying to think of a reason to leave.

Moiraine gave Perrin a flat look. “You want me to share a lifetime of knowledge with you in a single afternoon? Or even a single year? I will tell you this. Be wary of dreams, Perrin Aybara. Be very wary of dreams.”

He pulled his eyes away from hers. “I am,” he murmured. “I am.”

After that, silence, and no one seemed to want to break it. Min sat staring at her crossed ankles, but apparently taking some comfort from Moiraine’s presence. Uno stood against the wall, not looking at anyone. Loial forgot himself enough to pull a book from his coat pocket and try to read in the dim light. The wait was long, and far from easy for Perrin. It’s not the Shadow in my dreams I’m afraid of. It’s wolves. I will not let them in. I won’t!

Lan returned, and Moiraine straightened eagerly. The Warder answered the question in her eyes. “Half of them remember dreaming of swords the last four nights running. Some remember a place with great columns, and five say the sword was crystal, or glass. Masema says he saw Rand holding it last night.”

“That one would,” Moiraine said. She rubbed her hands together briskly; she seemed suddenly full of energy. “Now I am certain. Though I still wish I knew how he left here unseen. If he has rediscovered some Talent from the Age of Legends. . . .”

Lan looked at Uno, and the one-eyed man shrugged in dismay. “I bloody forgot, with all this flaming talk about bloo—” He cleared his throat, shooting a glance at Moiraine. She looked back expectantly, and he went on. “I mean . . . uh . . . that is, I followed the Lord Dragon’s tracks. There’s another way into that closed valley, now. The . . . the earthquake brought down the far wall. It’s a hard climb, but you can get a horse up it. I found more tracks at the top, and there’s an easy way from there around the mountain.” He let out a long breath when he was done.

“Good,” Moiraine said. “At least he has not rediscovered how to fly, or make himself invisible, or something else out of legend. We must follow him without delay. Uno, I will give you enough gold to take you and the others as far as Jehannah, and the name of someone there who will see that you get more. The Ghealdanin are wary of strangers, but if you keep to yourselves, they should not trouble you. Wait there until I send word.”

“But we will go with you,” he protested. “We have all sworn to follow the Dragon Reborn. I do not see how the few of us can take a fortress that has never fallen, but with the Lord Dragon’s aid, we will do what must be done.”

“So we are ‘the People of the Dragon,’ now.” Perrin laughed mirthlessly. “ ‘The Stone of Tear will never fall till the People of the Dragon come.’ Have you given us a new name, Moiraine?”

“Watch your tongue, blacksmith,” Lan growled, all ice and stone.

Moiraine gave them both sharp looks, and they fell silent. “Forgive me, Uno,” she said, “but we must travel quickly if we are to have a hope of overtaking him. You are the only Shienaran fit enough for a hard ride, and we cannot afford the days the others will need to regain full strength. I will send for you when I can.”

Uno grimaced, but he bowed in acquiescence. At her dismissal, he squared his shoulders and left to tell the others.

“Well, I am going along, whatever you say,” Min put in firmly.

“You are going to Tar Valon,” Moiraine told her.

“I am no such thing!”

The Aes Sedai went on smoothly as if the other woman had not spoken. “The Amyrlin Seat must be told what has happened, and I cannot count on finding one I can trust who has messenger pigeons. Or that the Amyrlin will see any message I send by pigeon. It is a long journey, and hard. I would not send you alone if there were anyone to send with you, but I will see you have money, and letters to those who might help you on your way. You must ride quickly, though. When your horse tires, buy another—or steal one, if you must—but ride quickly.”

“Let Uno take your message. He’s fit; you said so. I am going after Rand.”

“Uno has his duties, Min. And do you think a man could simply walk up to the gates of the White Tower and demand an audience with the Amyrlin Seat? Even a king would be made to wait days if he arrived unannounced, and I fear any of the Shienarans would be left kicking their heels for weeks, if not forever. Not to mention that something so unusual would be known to everyone in Tar Valon before the first sunset. Few women seek audiences with the Amyrlin herself, but it does happen, and it should occasion no great comment. No one must learn even as much as that the Amyrlin Seat has received a message from me. Her life—and ours—could depend on it. You are the one who must go.”

Min sat there opening and closing her mouth, obviously searching for ano

ther argument, but Moiraine had already gone on. “Lan, I very much fear we will find more evidence of his passing than I would like, but I will rely on your tracking.” The Warder nodded. “Perrin? Loial? Will you come with me after Rand?” From her place against the wall, Min gave an indignant squawk, but the Aes Sedai ignored it.

“I will come,” Loial said quickly. “Rand is my friend. And I will admit it; I would not miss anything. For my book, you see.”

Perrin was slower to answer. Rand was his friend, whatever he had become in the forging. And there was that near certainty of their futures being linked, though he would have avoided that part of it if he could. “It has to be done, doesn’t it?” he said finally. “I will come.”

“Good.” Moiraine rubbed her hands together again, with the air of someone settling to work. “You must all ready yourselves at once. Rand has hours on us. I mean to be well along his trail before midday.”

Slender as she was, the force of her presence herded all of them but Lan toward the door, Loial walking stooped over until he was through the doorway. Perrin thought of a goodwife herding geese.

Once outside, Min hung back for a moment to address Lan with a too-sweet smile. “And is there any message you want carried? To Nynaeve, perhaps?”

The Warder blinked as if caught off guard, like a horse on three legs. “Does everyone know—?” He regained his balance almost immediately. “If there is anything else she needs to hear from me, I will tell her myself.” He closed the door nearly in her face.

“Men!” Min muttered at the door. “Too blind to see what a stone could see, and too stubborn to be trusted to think for themselves.”

Perrin inhaled deeply. Faint smells of death still hung in the valley air, but it was better than the closeness inside. Some better.

“Clean air,” Loial sighed. “The smoke was beginning to bother me a little.”

They started down the slope together. Beside the stream below, the Shienarans who could stand were gathered around Uno. From his gestures the one-eyed man was making up for lost time with his cursing.

“How did you two become privileged?” Min demanded abruptly. “She asked you. She didn’t do me the courtesy of asking.”

Loial shook his head. “I think she asked because she knew what we would answer, Min. Moiraine seems able to read Perrin and me; she knows what we’ll do. But you are a closed book to her.”

Min appeared only a little mollified. She looked up at them, Perrin head and shoulders taller on one side and Loial towering even higher on the other. “Much good it does me. I am still going where she wants as easily as you two little lambs. You were doing well for a while, Perrin. Standing up to her like she’d sold you a coat and the seams were popping open.”

“I did stand up to her, didn’t I,” Perrin said wonderingly. He had not really realized he had done that. “It was not so bad as I’d have thought it would be.”

“You were lucky,” Loial rumbled. “ ‘To anger an Aes Sedai is to put your head in a hornet’s nest.’ ”

“Loial,” Min said, “I need to speak to Perrin. Alone. Would you mind?”

“Oh. Of course not.” He lengthened his stride to its normal span and quickly moved ahead of them, pulling his pipe and tabac pouch from a coat pocket.

Perrin eyed her warily. She was biting her lip, as if considering what to say. “Do you ever see things about him?” he asked, nodding after the Ogier.

She shook her head. “I think it only works with humans. But I’ve seen things around you that you ought to know about.”

“I’ve told you—”

“Don’t be more thickheaded than you have to be, Perrin. Back there, right after you said you’d go. They were not there before. They must have to do with this journey. Or at least with you deciding to go.”

After a moment he said reluctantly, “What did you see?”

“An Aielman in a cage,” she said promptly. “A Tuatha’an with a sword. A falcon and a hawk, perching on your shoulders. Both female, I think. And all the rest, of course. What is always there. Darkness swirling ’round you, and—”

“None of that!” he said quickly. When he was sure she had stopped, he scratched his head, thinking. None of it made any sense to him. “Do you have any idea what it all means? The new things, I mean.”

“No, but they’re important. The things I see always are. Turning points in people’s lives, or what’s fated. It’s always important.” She hesitated for a moment, glancing at him. “One more thing,” she said slowly. “If you meet a woman—the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen—run!”

Perrin blinked. “You saw a beautiful woman? Why should I run from a beautiful woman?”

“Can’t you just take advice?” she said irritably. She kicked at a stone and watched it roll down the slope.

Perrin did not like jumping to conclusions—it was one of the reasons some people thought him slow-witted—but he totaled up a number of things Min had said in the last few days and came to a startling conclusion. He stopped dead, hunting for words. “Uh . . . Min, you know I like you. I like you, but. . . . Uh . . . you sort of remind me of my sisters. I mean, you. . . .” The flow stumbled to a halt as she raised her head to look at him, eyebrows arched. She wore a small smile.

“Why, Perrin, you must know that I love you.” She stood there, watching his mouth work, then spoke slowly and carefully. “Like a brother, you great wooden-headed lummox! The arrogance of men never ceases to amaze me. You all think everything has to do with you, and every woman has to desire you.”

Perrin felt his face growing hot. “I never. . . . I didn’t. . . .” He cleared his throat. “What did you see about a woman?”

“Just take my advice,” she said, and started down toward the stream again, walking fast. “If you forget all the rest,” she called over her shoulder, “heed that!”

He frowned after her—for once his thoughts seemed to arrange themselves quickly—then caught up in two strides. “It’s Rand, isn’t it?”

She made a sound in her throat and gave him a sidelong look. She did not slow down, though. “Maybe you aren’t so boneheaded after all,” she muttered. After a moment she added, as if to herself, “I’m bound to him as surely as a stave is bound to the barrel. But I can’t see if he’ll ever love me in return. And I am not the only one.”

“Does Egwene know?” he asked. Rand and Egwene had been all but promised since childhood. Everything but kneeling in front of the Women’s Circle of the village to speak the betrothal. He was not sure how far they had drifted from that, if at all.

“She knows,” Min said curtly. “Much good it does either of us.”

“What about Rand? Does he know?”

“Oh, of course,” she said bitterly. “I told him, didn’t I? ‘Rand, I did a viewing of you, and it seems I have to fall in love with you. I have to share you, too, and I don’t much like that, but there it is.’ You’re a wooden-headed wonder after all, Perrin Aybara.” She dashed a hand across her eyes angrily. “If I could be with him, I know I could help. Somehow. Light, if he dies, I don’t know if I can stand it.”

Perrin shrugged uncomfortably. “Listen, Min. I’ll do what I can to help him.” However much that is. “I promise you that. It really is best for you to go to Tar Valon. You’ll be safe there.”

“Safe?” She tasted the word as if wondering what it meant. “You think Tar Valon is safe?”

“If there’s no safety in Tar Valon, there’s no safety anywhere.”

She sniffed loudly, and in silence they went to join those preparing to leave.

CHAPTER

7

The Way Out of the Mountains

The way down out of the mountains was hard, but the lower they went, the less Perrin needed his fur-lined cloak. Hour by hour, they rode out of the tailings of winter and into the first days of spring. The last remnants of snow vanished, and grasses and wildflowers—white maiden’s hope and pink jump up—began to cover the high meadows they crossed. Trees appea

red more often, with more leaves, and grasslarks and robins sang in the branches. And there were wolves. Never in sight—not even Lan mentioned seeing one—but Perrin knew. He kept his mind firmly closed to them, yet now and again a feather-light tickle at the back of his mind reminded him they were there.

Lan spent most of his time scouting their path on his black warhorse, Mandarb, following Rand’s tracks as the rest of them followed the signs the Warder left for them. An arrow of stones laid out on the ground, or one lightly scratched in the rock wall of a forking pass. Turn this way. Cross that saddlepass. Take this switchback, this deer trail, this way through the trees and down along a narrow stream, even though there is nothing to indicate anyone has ever gone that way before. Nothing but Lan’s signs. A tuft of grass or weeds tied one way to say bear left, another for bear right. A bent branch. A pile of pebbles for a rough climb ahead, two leaves caught on a thorn for a steep descent. The Warder had a hundred signs, it seemed to Perrin, and Moiraine knew them all. Lan rarely came back except when they made camp, to confer with Moiraine quietly, away from the fire. When the sun rose, most often he was hours gone already.

Moiraine was always first into the saddle after him, while the eastern sky was just turning pink. The Aes Sedai would not have climbed down from Aldieb, her white mare, until full dark or later, except that Lan refused to track further once the light began to fail.