“My Keeper has some words for each of you,” Egwene said. “Please listen to what she has to say. Your cooperation will be remembered.”
Silviana rode forward and drew Gregorin aside to speak to him. There wasn’t much of importance to say, but Egwene had feared these two would end up chipping at one another. Silviana’s instruction was to keep them apart.
Darlin regarded her with a discerning gaze. He seemed to understand what she was doing, but didn’t complain as he mounted his horse.
“You seem troubled, King Darlin,” she said.
“Some old rivalries run deeper than the ocean’s depths, Mother. I can almost wonder if this meeting was the work of the Dark One, hoping that we would end up destroying one another and doing his work for him.”
“I understand,” Egwene said. “Perhaps it would be best if you advised your men—again, if you’ve already done so—that there are to be no ‘accidents’ this day.”
“A wise suggestion.” He bowed, pulling back.
They were both with her, as was Elayne. Ghealdan would stand for Rand, if what Elayne said about Queen Alliandre was true. Ghealdan wasn’t so powerful that Alliandre worried her—the Borderlanders were another matter. Rand seemed to have won them over.
Each of their flags flew over their respective armies, and each ruler was in attendance save Queen Ethenielle, who was in Kandor trying to organize the refugees fleeing her homeland. She had left a sizable contingent for this meeting—including Antol, her eldest son—as if to state that what happened here was as important to Kandor’s survival as fighting on the border.
Kandor. The first casualty of the Last Battle. The entire country was said to be aflame. Would Andor be next? The Two Rivers? Steady, Egwene thought.
It felt awful to have to consider who was “for” whom, but it was her duty to do so. Rand could not direct the Last Battle personally, as he would undoubtedly wish to do. His mission would be to fight the Dark One; he would have neither the presence of mind nor the time to act as a commanding general as well. She intended to come from this meeting with the White Tower acknowledged as leading the collected forces against the Shadow, and she would not give up responsibility for the seals.
How much could she trust this man Rand had become? He wasn’t the Rand she’d grown up with. He was more akin to the Rand she’d come to know out in the Aiel Waste, only more confident. And, perhaps, more cunning. He had grown quite proficient at the Game of Houses.
None of these changes in him were terrible things, assuming he could still be reasoned with.
Is that the flag of Arad Doman? she thought, surprised. It wasn’t just the flag, it was the King’s flag, indicating he was riding with those forces that had just arrived on the field. Had Rodel Ituralde finally ascended to the throne, or had Rand picked someone else? The Domani king’s flag flew next to that of Davram Bashere, uncle to the Queen of Saldaea.
“Light.” Gawyn nudged his horse up beside hers. “That flag…”
“I see it,” Egwene said. “I’ll have to pin down Siuan: have her sources mentioned who took the throne? I was afraid the Domani would ride into battle without a leader.”
“The Domani? I was talking about that.”
She followed his eyes. A new force was approaching, moving with apparent haste, under the banner of the red bull. “Murandy,” Egwene said. “Curious. Roedran has finally decided to join the rest of the world.”
The newly arrived Murandians made more show than they probably deserved. Their apparel, at least, was pretty: yellow and red tunics over mail; brass helmets with wide brims. The wide red belts bore the symbol of the charging bull. They kept their distance from the Andorans, wrapping around behind the Aiel forces and coming in from the northwest.
Egwene looked toward Rand’s camp. Still no sign of the Dragon himself.
“Come,” she said, nudging Sifter into motion toward the Murandian force. Gawyn fell in beside her, and Chubain brought a force of twenty soldiers as a guard.
Roedran was a corpulent man swathed in red and gold; she could practically hear the man’s horse groaning with each step. His thinning hair was more white than black, and he watched her with an unexpectedly keen expression. The King of Murandy was little more than ruler of one city, Lugard, but her reports indicated that this man wasn’t doing a bad job of expanding his rule. Given a few years, he might actually have a full kingdom to call his own.
Roedran held up a meaty hand, stopping his procession. She reined in her horse and waited for him to approach her, as would be customary. He didn’t.
Gawyn muttered a curse. Egwene let a smile tug at the edges of her lips. Warders could be useful, if only to express what she should not. Finally, she nudged her horse forward.
“So.” Roedran looked her over. “You’re the new Amyrlin. An Andoran.”
“The Amyrlin has no nationality,” Egwene said coolly. “I am curious to find you here, Roedran. When did the Dragon extend an invitation to you?”
“He didn’t.” Roedran waved for a cupbearer to bring him some wine. “I thought it was high time Murandy stopped being left out of events.”
“And through whose gateways did you arrive? Surely you didn’t cross Andor to reach here.”
Roedran hesitated.
“You came from the south,” Egwene said, studying him. “Andor. Elayne sent for you?”
“She did not send for me,” Roedran snapped. “The bloody Queen promised me if I supported her cause, she’d release a proclamation of intention, promising not to invade Murandy.” He hesitated. “Besides, I’ve been curious to see this false Dragon. Everybody in the world seems to have taken leave of their senses regarding him.”
“You do know what this meeting is about, don’t you?” Egwene said.
He waved a hand. “Talking this man out of his conquering ways, or something like that.”
“Good enough.” Egwene leaned forward. “I hear your rule is consolidating nicely, and that Lugard may actually have some real authority in Murandy for once.”
“Yes,” Roedran said, sitting up a bit straighter. “That is true.”
Egwene leaned forward further. “You’re welcome,” she said softly, then smiled. She turned Sifter and led her retinue away.
“Egwene,” Gawyn said softly, trotting his horse beside hers, “did you really just do that?”
“Does he look troubled?”
Gawyn glanced over his shoulder. “Very.”
“Excellent.”
Gawyn continued riding for a moment, then broke into a deep grin. “That was positively evil.”
“He’s as boorishly rude as reports have made him out to be,” Egwene said. “He can suffer a few nights spent wondering how the White Tower has been pulling strings in his realm. If I’m feeling particularly vengeful, I’ll set up some good secrets for him to unearth. Now, where is that sheepherder? He has the audacity to demand that we…”
She trailed off as she saw him coming. Rand strode across the browning grass of the field, wearing red and gold. A tremendous bundle hovered in the air beside him, held up by weaves she could not see.
The grass greened at his feet.
It wasn’t a large change. Where he trod, the turf recovered, spreading from him like a soft wave of light through opening shutters. Men stepped back; horses stamped their hooves. Within minutes, the entire ring of troops stood on grass that lived again.
How long had it been since she’d seen a simple field of green? Egwene breathed out. Some of the gloom to the day had been lightened. “I’d give good coin to know how he does that,” she murmured under her breath.
“A weave?” Gawyn asked. “I’ve seen Aes Sedai make flowers bloom in winter.”
“I know of no weave that would be so extensive,” Egwene said. “It feels so natural. Go see if you can find out how he’s doing it. Maybe one of the Aes Sedai with Asha’man Warders will let the truth out.”
Gawyn nodded, slipping away.
Rand continued his walk, trailed by
that large floating bundle, Asha’man in black and an honor guard of Aiel. The Aiel spurned regular ranks, sweeping the land like a swarm, fanning out. Even soldiers who followed Rand shied back from the Aiel. For many of the older soldiers, a wave of browns and tans like that meant death.
Rand walked calmly, purposefully. The cloth bundle he carried with Air began to unravel in front of him. Large swaths of canvas rippled in the wind before Rand, braiding with one another, leaving long trails behind themselves. Wooden poles and metal stakes fell from inside them, and Rand caught those in unseen threads of Air, spinning them.
He never broke stride. He didn’t look at the maelstrom of cloth, wood and iron, as canvas rippled in front of him like fish from the depths. Small clods of soil erupted from the ground. Some soldiers jumped.
He’s grown into quite the showman, Egwene thought as the poles spun and came down in the holes. Sweeping bands of cloth wrapped around them, tying themselves. In seconds, a massive pavilion settled into place, the Dragon banner flapping from one end, the banner with the ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai on the other.
Rand didn’t break stride as he reached the pavilion, cloth sides parting for him. “You may each bring five,” he announced as he stepped inside.
“Silviana,” Egwene said, “Saerin, Romanda, Lelaine. Gawyn will be our fifth when he returns.”
Sitters behind suffered the decision in silence. They couldn’t complain about her taking her Warder for protection or her Keeper for support. The other three she’d chosen were widely considered among the most influential in the Tower, and together the four she brought included two Aes Sedai each from Salidar and the White Tower loyalists.
The other rulers allowed Egwene to enter before them. All understood that this confrontation was, at its core, between Rand and Egwene. Or, rather, the Dragon and the Amyrlin Seat.
There were no chairs inside the pavilion, though Rand hung saidin globes of light at the corners, and one of the Asha’man deposited a small table at the center. She did a quick count. Thirteen glowing globes.
Rand stood facing her, arms behind his back, hand clasping his other forearm as had become his habit. Min stood at his side, one hand on his arm.
“Mother,” he said, nodding his head.
So he would pretend respect, would he? Egwene nodded back. “Lord Dragon.”
The other rulers and their small retinues filed in, many doing so with timidity until Elayne swept in, the sorrow on her face lightening as Rand smiled warmly at her. The wool-headed woman was still impressed with Rand, pleased with how he’d managed to bully everyone into coming here. Elayne considered it a matter of pride when he did well.
And you don’t feel a small measure of pride? Egwene asked herself. Rand al’Thor, once simple village boy and your near-betrothed, now the most powerful man in the world? You don’t feel proud of what he’s done?
Perhaps a little.
The Borderlanders entered, led by King Easar of Shienar, and there was nothing timid about them. The Domani were led by an older man that Egwene did not know.
“Alsalam,” Silviana whispered, sounding surprised. “He has returned.”
Egwene frowned. Why hadn’t any of her informants told her he had shown up? Light. Did Rand know that the White Tower had tried to take him into custody? Egwene herself had discovered that fact only a few days before, buried in a pile of Elaida’s papers.
Cadsuane entered, and Rand nodded to her, as if giving permission. She didn’t bring five, but neither did he seem to require her to be counted among Egwene’s five. That struck her as a bothersome precedent. Perrin stepped in with his wife, and they stayed to the side. Perrin folded his tree-trunk arms, wearing his new hammer at his belt. He was far easier to read than Rand was. He was worried, but he trusted Rand. Nynaeve did, too, burn her. She took her position near Perrin and Faile.
The Aiel clan chiefs and Wise Ones entered in a large mass—Rand’s “Bring only five” probably meant that each clan chief could bring five. Some Wise Ones, including Sorilea and Amys, made their way to Egwene’s side of the tent.
Light bless them, Egwene thought, releasing a held breath. Rand’s eyes flickered toward the women, and Egwene caught a tightening of his lips. He was surprised that all the Aiel didn’t back him, each and every one.
King Roedran of Murandy was one of the last to enter the tent, and Egwene noticed something curious as he did. Several of Rand’s Asha’man—one of them Arafellin—moved in behind Roedran. Others, near Rand, looked as alert as cats who had seen a wolf wander by.
Rand stepped over to the shorter, wider man and looked down into his eyes. Roedran stuttered for a moment, then started wiping his brow with a handkerchief. Rand continued to stare at him.
“What is it?” Roedran demanded. “You’re the Dragon Reborn, so they say. I do not know that I’d have let you—”
“Stop,” Rand said, raising a finger.
Roedran quieted immediately.
“Light burn me,” Rand said. “You’re not him, are you?”
“Who?” Roedran asked.
Rand turned away from him, waving his hand to make the watchful Asha’man stand down. They did so reluctantly. “I thought for certain…” Rand said, shaking his head. “Where are you?”
“Who?” Roedran asked loudly, almost squeaking.
Rand ignored him. The flaps to the pavilion had finally stilled, everyone inside. “So,” Rand said. “We are all here. Thank you for coming.”
“It’s not like we did have much of a bloody choice,” Gregorin grumbled. He’d brought a handful of Illianer nobility with him as his five, all members of the Council of Nine. “We did be caught between you and the White Tower itself. Light burn us.”
“You know by now,” Rand continued, “that Kandor has fallen and Caemlyn has been taken by the Shadow. The last remnants of Malkier are under assault at Tarwin’s Gap. The end is upon us.”
“Then why are we standing here, Rand al’Thor?” demanded King Paitar of Arafel. The aging man had only a thin ribbon of gray hair remaining on his head, but he was still broad-shouldered and intimidating. “Let us put an end to this posturing and be to it, man! There is fighting to be done.”
“I promise you fighting, Paitar,” Rand said softly. “All that you can stomach, and then some. Three thousand years ago, I met the Dark One’s forces in battle. We had the wonders of the Age of Legends, Aes Sedai who could do things that would make your mind reel, ter’angreal that could enable people to fly and make them immune to blows. We still barely won. Have you considered that? We face the Shadow in much the same state as it was then, with Forsaken who have not aged. But we are not the same people, not by far.”
The tent fell silent. Flaps blew in the breeze.
“What are you saying, Rand al’Thor?” Egwene said, folding her arms. “That we are doomed?”
“I’m saying we need to plan,” Rand said, “and present a unified attack. That we did poorly last time, and it nearly cost us the war. We each thought we knew the best way to go.” He met Egwene’s eyes. “In those days, every man and woman considered themselves to be the leader on the field. An army of generals. That is why we nearly lost. That is what left us with the taint, the Breaking, the madness. I was as guilty of it as anyone. Perhaps the most guilty.
“I will not have that happen again. I will not save this world only to have it broken a second time! I will not die for the nations of humanity, only to have them turn upon one another the moment the last Trolloc falls. You’re planning it. Light burn me, I know that you are!”
It would have been easy to miss the glances that Gregorin and Darlin shot at one another, or the covetous way Roedran watched Elayne. Which nations would be broken by this conflict, and which would step in—out of altruism—to help its neighbors? How quickly would altruism become greed, the chance to hold another throne?
Many of the rulers here were decent people. It took more than a decent person to hold that much power and not look afield. Even Elayne had gob
bled up another country when the opportunity presented itself. She would do so again. It was the nature of rulers, the nature of nations. In Elayne’s case, it even seemed appropriate, as Cairhien would be better off beneath her rule than it had been.
How many would assume the same? That they, of course, could rule better—or restore order—in another land?
“Nobody wants war,” Egwene said, drawing the crowd’s attention. “However, I think what you are trying to do here is beyond your calling, Rand al’Thor. You cannot change human nature and you cannot bend the world to your whims. Let people live their lives and choose their own paths.”
“I will not, Egwene,” Rand said. There was a fire in his eyes, like the one she’d seen when he first sought to bring the Aiel to his cause. Yes, that emotion seemed very like Rand—frustration that people didn’t see the world as clearly as he thought he did.
“I don’t see what else you can do,” Egwene said. “Would you appoint an emperor, someone to rule over us all? Would you become a true tyrant, Rand al’Thor?”
He didn’t snap back a retort. He held out his hand to the side, and one of his Asha’man slipped a rolled paper into it. Rand took it and placed it on the table. He used the Power to unroll it and to keep it flat.
The oversized document was filled with tight, cramped letters. “I call it the Dragon’s Peace,” Rand said softly. “And it is one of the three things which I will require of you. Your payment, to me, in exchange for my life.”
“Let me see that.” Elayne reached for it, and Rand obviously let it go, because she was able to snatch it off the table before any of the other surprised rulers.
“It locks the borders of your nations to their current positions,” Rand said, arms behind his back again. “It forbids country from attacking country, and it requires the opening of a great school in each capital—fully funded and with doors open to those who wish to learn.”
“It does more than that,” Elayne said, one finger to the document as she read. “Attack another land, or enter into a minor armed border dispute, and the other nations of the world have an obligation to defend the country attacked. Light! Tariff restrictions to prevent the strangling of economies, barriers on marriage between rulers of nations unless the two lines of rule are clearly divided, provisions for stripping the land from a lord who starts a conflict … Rand, you really expect us to sign this?”
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