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"What is this I hear?" Wakeda asked, folding his arms as he strode up. "Were staying in this death trap? Rodel, we dont have the troops to resist. If they come, well be trapped here. "
"Youre right," Ituralde said simply.
Wakeda turned to the others, then back to Ituralde, a little of his irritation deflated in the face of Ituraldes frank answer. "Well . . . why dont we run, then?" He blustered a lot less now than he had just months ago, when Ituralde had first begun this campaign.
"I wont give you sugar and lies," Ituralde said, looking at them each in turn. "Were in a bad shape. But well be in a worse shape if we run. Weve got no more holes to hide in. These trees will work to our advantage, and we can fortify. The stedding will negate the damam, and that alone is worth the price of staying. We fight here. "
Ankaer nodded, seeming to understand the gravity of the situation. "We have to trust him, Wakeda. Hes led us right so far. "
Wakeda nodded. "I suppose. "
Bloody fools. Four months ago, half of them would have killed him on sight for staying loyal to the king. Now they thought he could do the impossible. It was a pity; he was beginning to think he could have brought them back to Alsalam as loyalists. "All right," he said, pointing at various spots along their fortification. "Heres what were going to do to shore up the weak points. I want . . . "
He trailed off as he saw a group approaching through the clearing. The messenger boy, accompanied by a squad of soldiers, escorting a man in red and gold.
Something about the newcomer drew Ituraldes eyes. Perhaps it was the height; the young man was as tall as an Aiel, and fair of hair like them as well. But no Aiel dressed in a fine red coat with sharp golden embroidery. There was a sword at his side, and the way the newcomer walked made Ituralde think he knew how to use it. He strode with firm, determined steps, as if he thought the soldiers around him an honor guard. A lord, then, and one accustomed to command. Why had he come in person, rather than sending a messenger?
The young lord stopped a short length in front of Ituralde and his generals, looking at each of them in turn, then focused on Ituralde. "Rodel Ituralde?" he asked. What accent was that? Andoran?
"Yes," Ituralde said cautiously.
The young man nodded. "Basheres description was accurate. You appear to be boxing yourself in, here. Do you honestly expect to hold against the Seanchan army? They are many times your size, and your Tarabon allies do not appear . . . eager to join you in your defense. "
He had good intelligence, whoever he was. "I am not in the habit of discussing my defenses with strangers. " Ituralde studied the young lord. He was fit—lean and hard, though it was difficult to tell with the coat on. He favored his right hand, and on closer inspection, Ituralde noticed that the left hand was missing. Both of his forearms had some kind of strange red and gold tattoo on them.
Those eyes. Those were eyes which had seen death a number of times. Not just a young lord. A young general. Ituralde narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
The stranger met his eyes. "I am Rand alThor, the Dragon Reborn. And I need you. You and your army. "
Several of those with Ituralde cursed, and Ituralde glanced at them. Wakeda was incredulous, Rajabi surprised, young Lidrin openly dismissive.
Ituralde looked back at the newcomer. The Dragon Reborn? This youth? He supposed it could be possible. Most rumors agreed that the Dragon Reborn was a young man with red hair. But, then, rumors also claimed he was ten feet tall, and still others said his eyes glowed in dim light. And then there were the stories of him appearing in the sky at Falme. Blood and ashes, Ituralde didnt know if he believed that the Dragon had been reborn in the first place!
"I havent time to argue," the stranger said, face impassive. He seemed . . . older than he looked. He didnt appear to care that he was surrounded by armed soldiers. In fact, his coming alone . . . it should have seemed like such a foolish act. Instead it made Ituralde thoughtful. Only one such as the Dragon Reborn himself could stride into a war camp like this, completely alone, and expect to be obeyed.
Burn him, if that fact by itself didnt make Ituralde want to believe him. Either this man was who he claimed to be or he was an utter lunatic.
"If we go outside the stedding, I will prove I can channel," the stranger said. "That should count for something. Give me leave, and Ill have ten thousand Aiel here and several Aes Sedai, all of whom will swear to you that I am who I say. "
The rumors also said Aiel followed the Dragon Reborn. The men around Ituralde coughed and glanced about uncomfortably. Many had been Dragonsworn before coming to Ituralde. With the right words, this Rand alThor—or whoever he was—might be able turn Ituraldes camp against itself.
"Even if we assume that I believe you," Ituralde said carefully, "I dont see that it matters. I have a war to fight. You have other business to concern you, I assume. "
"You are my concern," alThor said, eyes so hard that they seemed ready to burrow into Ituraldes skull and search about inside for anything of use. "You must make peace with the Seanchan. This war gains us nothing. I want you up on the Borderlands; I cant spare men to guard the Blight, and the Borderlanders themselves have abandoned their duties. "
"I have orders," Ituralde said, shaking his head. Wait. He wouldnt do as this youth asked if he didnt have orders. Except . . . those eyes. Alsalam had had eyes like that, when they were both younger. Eyes that demanded obedience.
"Your orders," alThor said. "They are from the king? That is why you throw yourselves against the Seanchan as you do?"
Ituralde nodded.
"Ive heard of you, Rodel Ituralde," alThor said. "Men I trust, men I respect, trust and respect you. Rather than fleeing and hiding, you hunker down here to fight a battle you know will kill you. All because of your loyalty to your king. I commend that. But it is time to turn away and fight a battle that means something. One that means everything. Come with me, and Ill give you the throne of Arad Doman. "
Ituralde stood up sharply, alert. "After commending my loyalty, you expect me to unseat my own king!"
"Your king is dead," alThor said. "Either that, or his mind has been melted like wax. More and more, I think Graendal has him. I see her touch on the chaos in this land. Whatever orders you have likely came from her. Why she wants you fighting the Seanchan, I havent yet been able to determine. "
Ituralde snorted. "You speak of one of the Forsaken as if youve had her as a dinner guest. "
AlThor met his eyes again. "I remember each of them—their faces, their mannerisms, the way they speak and act—as if Ive known them for a thousand years. I remember them better than I remember my own childhood, sometimes. I am the Dragon Reborn. "
Ituralde blinked. Burn me, he thought. / believe him. Bloody ashes! "Lets . . . lets see this proof of yours. "
There were objections, of course, mostly from Lidrin, who thought it too dangerous. The others were shaken. Here was the man theyd sworn themselves to without ever meeting him. There seemed to be a . . . a force about alThor, drawing Ituralde in, demanding that he do as asked. Well, hed see the proof, first.
They sent runners for horses to ride out of the stedding, but alThor spoke as if Ituralde was his man already. "Perhaps Alsalam lives," alThor said as they waited. "If so, I can see that you would not want his throne.
Would you like Amadicia? I will need someone to rule there and keep an eye on the Seanchan. The Whitecloaks fight there now; Im not sure if Ill be able to stop that conflict before the Last Battle. "
The Last Battle. Light! "I wont take it if you kill the king there," Ituralde said. "If the Whitecloaks have already killed him, or if the Seanchan have, then perhaps. "
King! What was he saying? Burn you! he thought to himself. At least wait until the proof is given before agreeing to accept thrones! There was a way about this man, the way he discussed events like the Last Battle—events that mankind had been fearing for thousands of year
s—as if they were items on the daily camp report.
Soldiers arrived with their horses, and Ituralde mounted, as did alThor, Wakeda, Rajabi, Ankaer, Melarned, Lidrin and a half-dozen lesser officers.
"Ive brought a large number of Aiel into your lands," Rand alThor said as they began to ride. "I had hoped to use them to restore order, but they are taking longer than Id wished. Im planning to secure the members of the merchant council; perhaps once I have them in hand, Ill be able to improve the stability of the area. What do you think?"
Ituralde didnt know what to think. Securing the merchant council? That sounded like kidnapping them. What had Ituralde gotten himself into? "It could work," he found himself saying. "Light, its probably the best plan, all things considered. "
AlThor nodded, looking forward as they passed out of the palisade and moved out along a trail toward the edge of the stedding. "Ill have to secure the Borderlands, anyway. I will care for your homeland. Burn those Borderlanders! What are they up to? No. No, not yet. They can wait. No, hell do. He can hold it. Ill send him with Ashaman. " Suddenly, alThor turned to Ituralde. "What could you do if I gave you a hundred men who could channel?"
"Madmen?"
"No, most of them are stable," alThor said, taking no apparent offense. "Whatever madness they incurred before I cleansed the taint is still there—removing the taint didnt heal them—but few of them were far gone. And they wont get worse, now that saidin is clean. "
Saidin? Clean? If Ituralde had his own men who could channel. . . . His own damane, in a way. Ituralde scratched his chin. It was coming at him quickly—but, then, a general had to be able to react quickly. "I could use them well," he said. "Very well. "
"Good," alThor said. They had left the stedding; the air felt different. "Youve got a lot of land to watch, but many of the channelers Ill give you can spin gateways. "
"Gateways?" Ituralde asked.
AlThor glanced at him, then seemed to grit his teeth, closing his eyes, shaking as if nauseated. Ituralde sat upright, suddenly alert, hand on his sword. Poison? Was the man wounded?
But no, alThor opened his eyes, and there seemed to be a look of ecstasy in those depths. He turned, waving a hand, and a line of light split the air in front of him. Men around Ituralde cursed, backing up. It was one thing for a man to claim he could channel; it was another to see him do so in front of you!
"Thats a gateway," alThor said as the line of light turned around, opening a large black hole in the air. "Depending on the Ashamans strength, a gateway can be made wide enough to drive wagons through. You can travel nearly anywhere with speed, sometimes instantly, depending on circumstances. With a few trained Ashaman, your army could dine in Caemlyn in the morning, then have lunch in Tanchico a few hours later. "
Ituralde rubbed his chin. "Well now, thats a thing to see. A thing to see indeed. " If this man spoke truthfully, and these gateways really did work. . . . "With this I could clear the Seanchan out of Tarabon, and maybe off the land entirely!"
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