Lord of Chaos

by Robert Jordan

  For a moment he took hold of saidin again, that rage of fire and ice and sour slime. He held a sword in his hands, a sword made of fire, of Fire, a heron dark on the slightly curved red blade, though he did not recall thinking of it. Fire, but the long hilt felt cool and firm against his palms. The Void made no difference, the Power made no difference. Alanna was still there, curled up in a corner of his brain, watching him.

  With a bitter laugh he released the Power again and knelt there. He had been so sure. Only two Aes Sedai. Of course he could handle them; he had handled Egwene and Elayne together. What could they possibly do to him? He realized he was still laughing. He did not seem able to stop. Well, it was funny. His fool pride. Overconfidence. It had gotten him in trouble before, and more than him. He had been so sure that he and the Hundred Companions could seal the Bore safely . . .

  Leaves crackled as he forced himself to his feet. “That was not me!” he said hoarsely. “That was not me! Get out of my head! All of you get out of my head!” Lews Therin’s voice murmured indistinctly, distantly. Alanna waited silently, patiently, in the back of his head. The voice seemed afraid of her.

  Deliberately Rand brushed off the knees of his breeches. He would not surrender to this. Trust no Aes Sedai; he would remember that from now on. A man without trust might as well be dead, Lews Therin giggled. He would not surrender.

  Nothing had changed about the farm. Nothing and everything. The farmhouse and the barn were the same, the chickens and goats and cows. Sora Grady watched his arrival from a window, blank-faced and cold. She was the only woman now; all the other wives and sweethearts had gone with the men who failed Taim’s testing. Taim had the students in a clear area of hard red clay and fitful weeds beyond the barn. All seven of them. Aside from Sora’s husband, Jur, only Damer Flinn, Eben Hopwil and Fedwin Morr remained from that first testing. The others were new, all looking almost as young as Fedwin and Eben.

  Except for white-haired Damer, the students sat in a line facing away from Rand. Damer stood in front of them, frowning as he stared at a head-sized stone thirty paces away.

  “Now,” Taim said, and Rand felt Damer seize saidin, saw him inexpertly weave Fire and Earth.

  The stone exploded, and Damer and the other students threw themselves flat to escape flying shards. Not Taim; stone splinters bounced off the shield of Air that he had thrown up at the last instant. Lifting his head warily, Damer wiped blood from a shallow gouge below his left eye. Rand’s mouth tightened; it was only luck that none of those flying pieces had struck him. He glanced back at the farmhouse; Sora was still there, unhurt apparently. And still staring at him. The chickens had hardly paused in their scratching; they seemed to be used to this.

  “Perhaps you will remember what I say next time,” Taim said calmly, letting his weave vanish. “Shield as you strike, or you may kill yourself.” He glanced at Rand as if he had been aware he was there all the time. “Continue,” he told the students, and walked toward Rand. His hawk-nosed face seemed to have a cruel cast today.

  As Damer sat down in the line, blotchy-faced Eben stood up, nervously tugging a big ear as he used Air to lift another stone from a pile off to one side. His flows wobbled, and he dropped it once before setting it in place.

  “Is it safe to leave them alone like that?” Rand asked as Taim reached him.

  The second stone exploded like the first, but this time all of the students had woven shields. So had Taim, surrounding himself and Rand. Without a word Rand took hold of saidin again and made his own shield, forcing Taim’s away from him. Taim’s mouth quirked in that near smile.

  “You said to push them, my Lord Dragon, so I push. I make them do everything with the Power, the chores, everything. The newest got his first hot meal last night. If they can’t heat it themselves, they eat cold. For most things it still takes twice as long as doing it by hand, but they’re learning the Power as fast as they can, believe me. Of course, there still aren’t very many.”

  Ignoring the implied question, Rand looked around. “Where’s Haslin? Not drunk again? I told you, he’s only to have wine at night.” Henre Haslin had been Master of the Sword for the Queen’s Guards, in charge of training recruits, until Rahvin began remaking the Guards, discarding everyone faithful to Morgase or sending them off to fight in Cairhien. Too old for campaigning, Haslin had been handed his pension and shown the gate, and when news of Morgase’s death spread through Caemlyn, he crawled into a winejar. But he thought Rahvin — Gaebril, to him — had killed Morgase, not Rand, and he could teach. When he was sober.

  “I sent him away,” Taim said. “What good are swords?” Another rock exploded. “I can barely avoid stabbing myself, and I’ve never felt the lack. They have the Power, now.”

  Kill him! Kill him now! Lews Therin’s voice echoed hollowly through the Void. Rand stamped the echo out, but he could not stamp out the anger that suddenly seemed a shell around the emptiness containing him. The Void kept his voice drained of emotion, though. “Find him, Taim, and bring him back. Tell him you have changed your mind. Tell the students that. Tell them whatever you choose, but I want him here, giving lessons every day. They need to be part of the world, not apart from it. What are they supposed to do if they can’t channel? When you were shielded by the Aes Sedai, you might still have escaped if you knew how to use a sword, how to fight with your hands.”

  “I did escape. Here I am.”

  “Some of your followers broke you free, so I heard, else you’d have ended up in Tar Valon like Logain, gentled. These men won’t have followers. Find Haslin.”

  The other man bowed smoothly. “As my Lord Dragon commands. Was that what brought my Lord Dragon here? Haslin and swords?” The merest hint of contempt tinged his voice, but Rand ignored it.

  “There are Aes Sedai in Caemlyn. Trips to the city have to stop, yours and the students’ too. The Light only knows what will happen if one of them runs into an Aes Sedai and she recognizes what he is.” Or for that matter, when he recognized her, as he assuredly would. He would probably run or strike out in a panic, and either would mark him. Either would doom him. From what Rand saw, Verin or Alanna could wrap up any of the students like a child.

  Taim shrugged. “Doing an Aes Sedai’s head like one of those rocks isn’t beyond them even now. The weave is only a little different.” Glancing over his shoulder, he raised his voice. “Concentrate, Adley. Concentrate.” The lanky fellow standing in front of the other students, all arms and legs, gave a start and lost saidin, then fumbled it back again. Another rock exploded as Taim turned back to Rand. “For that matter, I can . . . remove . . . them myself, if you are not up to it.”

  “If I wanted them dead, I’d have killed them.” He thought he could do it, if they tried to kill him, or gentle him. He hoped he could. But would they try either after bonding him? That was one thing he did not intend to let Taim know; even without Lews Therin’s mutters he did not trust the man enough to expose any weakness he could hide. Light, what sort of hold did I let Alanna get on me? “If the time comes to kill Aes Sedai, I’ll let you know. Until then, no one is to so much as shout at one unless she’s trying to take his head off. In fact, you’re all to stay as far from Aes Sedai as you can. I want no incidents, nothing to put them against me.”

  “You think they are not already?” Taim murmured. Again Rand ignored him. This time because he was not sure of the answer.

  “And I don’t want anybody dead or gentled because his head is too big for his cap. Make sure they know it. I hold you responsible for them.”

  “As you wish,” Taim said with another shrug. “Some will die sooner or later, unless you mean to keep them cooped here forever. Even if you do, some will probably die. It’s almost unavoidable, unless I slow the lessons. You would not have to husband them so, if you let me go out looking.”

  There it was again. Rand looked at the students. A sweating, pale-haired youth with blue eyes was having a hard time moving a stone into place. He kept losing saidin, and the rock moved
by small leaps across the ground. In a few hours the wagon would be coming out from the Palace with the applicants who had arrived since midday yesterday. More, this time. Some days it was only three, or two, though the numbers had been increasing generally. Eighteen since he brought Taim out here seven days ago, and only three of them could learn to channel. Taim insisted that was a remarkable number considering that they simply walked into Caemlyn looking for the opportunity. He had also pointed out more than once that at this rate, they could match the Tower in six years or so. Rand needed no reminders that he did not have six years. And he did not have time to let them train more slowly.

  “How would you do it?”

  “Using gateways,” Taim had picked that up right away; he was very quick with everything Rand showed him. “I can visit two or even three villages a day. Villages will be easier in the beginning than even small towns. I’ll leave Flinn to watch the lessons — he’s the furthest along, despite what you saw — and take Grady or Hopwil or Morr. You’ll have to supply some decent horses. The nag that pulls our cart won’t do.”

  “What do you intend, though? Just ride in and announce that you’re looking for men who want to channel? You’ll be lucky if the villagers don’t try to hang you.”

  “I can be a little more circumspect than that,” Taim said dryly. “I will say I’m recruiting men to follow the Dragon Reborn.” A little more circumspect? Not much. “That should frighten the people just enough to keep them from my throat long enough to gather in whoever is willing. And it culls out anybody who isn’t ready to support you. I don’t suppose you mean to train up men who’ll turn on you the first chance they find.” He raised a questioning eyebrow, but did not wait for the unnecessary answer. “Once I have them safely away from the village, I can bring them here through a gateway. Some might panic, but they should not be too hard to handle. Once they’ve agreed to follow a man who can channel, they can hardly balk at letting me test them. Those who fail, I’ll send on to Caemlyn. It’s time you started raising an army of your own instead of depending on others. Bashere could change his mind; he will, if Queen Tenobia tells him to. And who can know what these so-called Aiel will do.”

  This time he paused, but Rand held his tongue. He had thought along the same lines himself, if certainly not about the Aiel, but Taim had no need to know that. After a moment the man went on as if he had never brought up the subject. “I’ll make you a wager. You name the price. The first day I recruit, I will find as many men who can learn as walk into Caemlyn in a month on their own. Once Flinn and some of the others are ready to go out without me . . . ” He spread his hands. “I will match the White Tower for you in less than a year. And every man a weapon.”

  Rand hesitated. Letting Taim go off was a risk. The man was too aggressive. What would he do if he came across an Aes Sedai on one of his recruiting trips? Maybe he would keep his word and spare her life, but what if she discovered what he was? What if she shielded and captured him? That was a loss Rand could not afford. He could not train students and do everything else he had to do as well. Six years to match the Tower. If Aes Sedai did not find this place first and destroy it and the students before they knew enough to defend themselves. Or less than a year. Finally he nodded. Lews Therin’s voice was a mad buzz in the distance. “You will have your horses.”

  Chapter 12

  Questions and Answers

  * * *

  Well?” Nynaeve said as patiently as she could. Keeping her hands in her lap was an effort, as was sitting still on her bed. She stifled a yawn. The hour was early, and she had not slept well for three nights now. The wicker cage was empty, the song sparrow set free. She wished she was free. “Well?”

  Elayne was kneeling on her own bed, head and shoulders out the window into the tiny alley behind the house. From there she had just the slimmest line of sight to the rear of the Little Tower, where most of the Sitters were already receiving the Tower envoy this morning. A slight view, but enough to see a bit of the ward against eavesdropping that enclosed the inn. It was the sort that stopped anyone who was trying to listen with the Power. The price of sharing knowledge.

  After a moment Elayne sat back on her heels, frustration painting her face. “Nothing. You said those flows could slip through undetected. I don’t think I was noticed, but I certainly heard nothing.”

  That last was directed at Moghedien, on their rickety stool in a corner. The woman’s lack of sweat irritated Nynaeve no end. She claimed it took time working with the Power before you could achieve the detachment necessary to ignore heat or cold, not much better than the Aes Sedais’ vague promises that it would come “eventually.” Nynaeve and Elayne dripped sweat, Moghedien looked cool as an early spring day, and Light, it grated!

  “I said they should.” Moghedien’s dark eyes darted defensively, though mostly she kept her gaze on Elayne; she always concentrated on whoever wore the a’dam bracelet. “Should. There are thousands of ways to spin wards. It can take days to spin a hole through one.”

  Nynaeve held her tongue, but barely. They had been trying for days. This was the third since Tarna Feir’s arrival, and the Hall still held the Red sister’s message from Elaida closely. Well, Sheriam and Myrelle and that lot knew — Nynaeve would not have been surprised if they had known before the Hall did — but even Siuan and Leane had been shut outside of those daily meetings. At least, they had professed to be.

  Nynaeve realized she was plucking at her skirts, and stilled her hands. Somehow, they had to find out what Elaida wanted — and more importantly, the Hall’s answer. They had to. Somehow.

  “I have to go,” Elayne sighed. “I must show some more sisters how I make ter’angreal.” Very few Aes Sedai in Salidar showed the knack, but they all wanted to learn, and most seemed to think they could, once they made Elayne demonstrate often enough. “You might as well take this,” she added, unfastening the bracelet. “I want to try something new in the making after the sisters are done with me, and then I have a novice class.” She did not sound happy about that either, not the way she had before the first time. After every class, she came back so full of irritation she bristled like a cat. The youngest girls were overeager, leaping ahead to things they had no idea how to handle, often without asking first, and the oldest, although a little more cautious, were much more likely to argue, or plain balk at an order from a woman six or seven years their junior. Elayne had taken to muttering “fool novices” and “headstrong idiots” like an Accepted of ten years. “You can have time for questions. Maybe you’ll have more luck with how to detect a man than I have.”

  Nynaeve shook her head. “I’m supposed to help Janya and Delana with their notes this morning.” She could not help grimacing. Delana was a Sitter for the Gray Ajah as Janya was for the Brown, but Nynaeve would get no glimmer of anything from them. “And then I have another lesson from Theodrin.” Another waste of time. Everybody in Salidar was wasting time. “Wear it,” she said as Elayne started to hang the bracelet on a wall peg with their clothes.

  The golden-haired woman gave an affected sigh, but refastened the bracelet. In Nynaeve’s opinion, Elayne was entirely too trusting of the a’dam. True, so long as the necklace remained on Moghedien’s neck, any woman able to channel could find her with the bracelet, and control her. If no one wore the bracelet, she could not move more than a dozen paces from it without falling to her knees retching, and the same if she shifted the bracelet more than a few inches from where it had been left, or tried to unfasten the necklace herself. Maybe it would hold her even on the peg, but maybe one of the Forsaken could reason a way around that, given enough chances. Once, in Tanchico, Nynaeve had left Moghedien shielded and bound with the Power, for just a few moments, and she managed to escape. The how of that had been one of the first things Nynaeve questioned her about once she was captured again, though prying out an answer almost required wringing her neck. A tied-off shield was vulnerable, it seemed, if the woman shielded had a little time and patience. Elayne insisted that would
not work against the a’dam — there was no knot to attack, and with the necklace around her neck Moghedien could not even try to touch saidar without permission — but Nynaeve preferred taking no chances.

  “Do your copying slowly,” Elayne said. “I’ve copied for Delana before. She hates blots or mistakes. She’ll make you do it over fifty times to get a clean page if need be.”

  Nynaeve scowled. Her own hand might not be as clean and delicate as Elayne’s, but she was not some lout who had just learned which end of the pen to dip in the ink. The younger woman took no notice, simply slipped out of the room with a final smile. Maybe she had only meant to be helpful. If the Aes Sedai ever learned how much Nynaeve hated copying, they would start assigning it to her for punishment.

  “Perhaps you ought to go to al’Thor,” Moghedien said abruptly. She was sitting differently, straighter. Her dark eyes held steady on Nynaeve’s. Why?

  “What do you mean?” Nynaeve demanded.

  “You and Elayne should go to Caemlyn, to Rand. She can be queen, and you . . . ” Moghedien’s smile was not at all pleasant. “Sooner or later, they will sit you down and dig for how you can make all these marvelous discoveries yet quake like a girl caught with stolen sweets when you try to channel for them.”

  “I do not —!” She was not going to explain herself, not to this woman. Why was Moghedien so forward all of a sudden? “Just you remember, whatever happens to me if they find out the truth, your head will be on the chopping block before the week is done.”

  “Whereas you will have much longer to suffer. Semirhage once made a man scream his every waking hour for five years. She even kept him sane, but in the end even she could not keep his heart beating. I doubt any of these children have a tenth of Semirhage’s skill, but you may find out firsthand how much they do have.”