It was not surprising she had noticed—Elayne had been the one to teach him to watch for minor tells in the expressions of those with whom he spoke.
“All of these people fight under my name,” Rand said. “So many people I do not even know will die for me.”
“That has ever been the burden of a ruler at war.”
“I should be able to protect them,” Rand said.
“If you think you can protect everyone, Rand al’Thor, you are far less wise than you pretend.”
He looked at her, meeting her eyes. “I don’t believe I can, but their deaths weigh on me. I feel as if I should be able to do more, now that I remember. He tried to break me, and he failed.”
“Is that what happened that day atop Dragonmount?”
He hadn’t spoken of it to anyone. He pulled his seat closer to hers. “Up there, I realized that I had been thinking too much on strength. I wanted to be hard, so hard. In driving myself so, I risked losing the ability to care. That was wrong. For me to win, I must care. That, unfortunately, means I must allow myself pain at their deaths.”
“And you remember Lews Therin now?” she whispered. “Everything he knew? That is not just an air you put on?”
“I am him. I always was. I remember it now.”
Elayne breathed out, eyes widening. “What an advantage.” Of all the people he had told that to, only she had responded in such a way. What a wonderful woman.
“I have all of this knowledge, yet it doesn’t tell me what to do.” He stood up, pacing. “I should be able to fix it, Elayne. No more should need to die for me. This is my fight. Why must everyone else go through such suffering?”
“You deny us the right to fight?” she said, sitting up straight.
“No, of course not,” Rand said. “I could deny you nothing. I just wish that somehow . . . somehow I could make this all stop. Shouldn’t my sacrifice be enough?”
She stood, taking his arm. He turned to her.
Then she kissed him.
“I love you,” she said. “You are a king. But if you would try to deny the good people of Andor the right to defend themselves, the right to stand in the Last Battle . . .” Her eyes flared, her cheeks flushed. Light! His comments had truly made her angry.
He never quite knew what she was going to say or do, and that excited him. Like the excitement of watching nightflowers, knowing that what was to come would be beautiful, but never knowing the exact form that beauty would take.
“I said I wouldn’t deny you the right to fight,” Rand said.
“It’s about more than just me, Rand. It’s about everyone. Can you understand that?”
“I suppose that I can.”
“Good.” Elayne settled back down and took a sip of her tea, then grimaced.
“It’s gone bad?” Rand asked.
“Yes, but I’m used to it. Still, it’s almost worse than drinking nothing at all, with how spoiled everything is.”
Rand walked to her and took the cup from her fingers. He held it for a moment, but did not channel. “I brought you something. I forgot to mention it.”
“Tea?”
“No, this is just an aside.” He handed the cup back to her and she took a sip.
Her eyes widened. “It’s wonderful. How do you do it?”
“I don’t,” Rand said, sitting. “The Pattern does.”
“But—”
“I am taveren,” Rand said. “Things happen around me, unpredictable things. For the longest time, there was a balance. In one town, someone would discover a great treasure unexpectedly under the stairs. In the next I visited, people would discover that their coins were fakes, passed to them by a clever counterfeiter.
“People died in terrible ways; others were saved by a miracle of chance. Deaths and births. Marriages and divisions. I once saw a feather drift down from the sky and fall point-first into the mud so it stuck there. The next ten that fell did the same thing. It was all random. Two sides to a flipping coin.”
“This tea is not random.”
“Yes, it is,” Rand said. “But, you see, I get only one side of the coin these days. Someone else is doing the bad. The Dark One injects horrors into the world, causing death, evil, madness. But the Pattern . . . the Pattern is balance. So it works, through me, to provide the other side. The harder the Dark One works, the more powerful the effect around me becomes.”
“The growing grass,” Elayne said. “The splitting clouds. The food unspoiled . . .”
“Yes.” Well, some other tricks helped on occasion, but he didn’t mention them. He fished in his pocket for a small pouch.
“If what you say is true,” Elayne replied, “then there can never be good in the world.”
“Of course there can.”
“Will the Pattern not balance it out?”
He hesitated. That line of reasoning cut too close to the way he had begun thinking before Dragonmount—that he had no options, that his life was planned for him. “So long as we care,” Rand said, “there can be good. The Pattern is not about emotions—it is not even about good or evil. The Dark One is a force from outside of it, influencing it by force.”
And Rand would end that. If he could.
“Here,” Rand said. “The gift I mentioned.” He pushed the pouch toward her.
She looked at him, curious. She untied the strings, and took from it a small statue of a woman. She stood upright, with a shawl about her shoulders, though she did not look like an Aes Sedai. She had a mature face, aged and wise, with a wise look about her and a smile on her face.
“An angreal?” Elayne asked.
“No, a Seed.”
“A . . . seed?”
“You have the Talent of creating ter’angreal,” Rand said. “Creating angreal requires a different process. It begins with one of these, an object created to draw your Power and instill it into something else. It takes time, and will weaken you for several months, so you should not attempt it while we are at war. But when I found it, forgotten, I thought of you. I had wondered what I could give you.”
“Oh, Rand, I have something for you as well.” She hurried over to an ivory jewelry chest that rested on a camp table and took a small object from it. It was a dagger with a short, dull blade and a handle made of deerhorn wrapped in gold wire.
Rand glanced at the dagger quizzically. “No offense, but that looks like a poor weapon, Elayne.”
“It’s a ter’angreal, something that may be of use when you go to Shayol Ghul. With it, the Shadow cannot see you.” She reached up to touch his face. He placed his hand on hers.
They stayed together long into the night.
CHAPTER 10
The Use of Dragons
Perrin rode Stayer, light cavalry from Elayne’s forces following behind him: Whitecloaks, Mayeners, Ghealdanin, joined by some of the Band of the Red Hand. Only a fraction of their armies. That was the point.
They swept along diagonally toward the Trollocs camped outside of Caemlyn. The city still smoldered; Elayne’s plan with the oil had driven the creatures out, for the most part, but some still held the walls above.
“Archers,” Arganda yelled, “loose!” His voice would be lost to most in the roar of the charge, the snorting of horses, the gallop of hooves. Enough would hear to start shooting, and the rest knew what to do anyway.
Perrin leaned low, hoping his hammer would not be needed on this sortie. They charged past the Trollocs, sweeping in front of them, launching arrows; then they turned away from the city.
Perrin glanced over his shoulder as he rode, and he was rewarded with the sight of Trollocs falling. The Band followed after Perrin's cavalry, getting close enough to launch arrows.
Trolloc arrows followed—thick and black, almost like spears, loosed from enormous bows. Some of Perrin's riders fell, but his attack had been swift.