Domon nodded and then went after Leilwin. Gawyn felt only a small prick of shame at the deception. He hadn’t said anything untrue. He just didn’t want Egwene asking any awkward questions.
That ring, and its brothers, represented something. They weren’t the way of the Warder. Standing beside Egwene, watching for danger to her . . . that was the way of the Warder. He would make a difference on the battlefield by serving her, not by riding out like some hero.
He told himself that time and time again as he ate his stew. By the time he was done, he was nearly certain he believed it.
He still didn’t tell Egwene about the rings.
Rand remembered the first time he’d seen a Trolloc. Not when they had attacked his farm in the Two Rivers. The true first time he’d seen them. During the last Age.
There will come a time when they no longer exist, he thought, weaving Fire and Air, creating an explosive wall of flames that roared to life in the middle of a pack of Trollocs. Nearby, men of Perrin’s Wolf Guard raised weapons in thanks. Rand nodded back. He wore the face of Jur Grady in this fight, for now.
Once Trollocs had not scourged the land. They could return to that state. If Rand killed the Dark One, would it happen immediately?
The flames of his fire wall brought sweat on his forehead. He drew carefully on the fat-man angreal—he couldn’t afford to seem too powerful—and struck down another group of Trollocs here on the battlefield just west of the River Alguenya. Elayne’s forces had crossed the Erinin and the countryside to the east, and were waiting for their bridges across the Alguenya to be constructed. These were almost completed, but meanwhile a vanguard of Trollocs had caught up with them, and Elayne’s army had formed up in defensive positions to hold them off until they could cross the river.
Rand was happy to help. The real Jur Grady rested back in his camp in Kandor, worn out from Healing. A convenient face that Rand could wear and not draw the attention of the Forsaken.
The Trolloc screams were satisfying as they burned. He had loved that sound, near the end of the War of Power. It had always made him feel as if he were doing something.
He hadn’t known what Trollocs were the first time he’d seen them. Oh, he’d known of Aginor’s experiments. Lews Therin had named him a madman on more than one occasion. He hadn’t understood; so many of them hadn’t. Aginor had loved his projects far too much. Lews Therin had made the mistake of assuming that Aginor, like Semirhage, enjoyed the torture for its own sake.
And then the Shadowspawn had come.
The monsters continued burning, limbs twitching.
Still, Rand worried that these things might be humans reborn. Aginor had used people to create the Trollocs and Myrddraal. Was this the fate of some? To be reborn as twisted creations such as this? The idea sickened him.
He checked the sky. The clouds had begun to withdraw, as they did near him. He could force them to not do so, but . . . no. Men needed the Light, and he could not fight here too long, lest it become obvious that one of the Asha’man was too strong for the face he wore.
Rand let the light come.
All across the battlefield near the river, people glanced toward the sky as sunlight fell on them, the dark clouds pulling back.
No more hiding, Rand thought, removing his Mask of Mirrors and raising his hand in a fist above his head. He wove Air, Fire and Water, creating a column of light extending from himself high into the sky. Soldiers across the battlefield cheered.
He would not bring down the traps the Dark One had waiting for him. He moved through a gateway back to Merrilor. He never stayed long at a battlefront, but he always revealed himself before he left. He let the clouds break above, proving he had been there, then withdrew.
Min waited for him at the Merrilor Traveling ground. He looked behind himself as his gateway closed, leaving the people to fight without him. Min placed a hand on his arm. His Maiden guards waited here; they reluctantly allowed him to fight alone as they knew that their presence would give him away.
"You look sad", Min said softly.
A hot breeze blew from somewhere north. Nearby soldiers saluted him. Most of what he had here were Domani, Tairens and Aiel. The assault force, led by Rodel Ituralde and King Darlin, that would try to hold the valley of Thakan’dar while Rand wrestled with the Dark One.
The time had almost arrived for that. The Shadow had seen him fighting on all fronts. He had joined Lan’s fighting, Egwene’s fighting and Elayne’s in turn. By now the Shadow had committed most of its armies to the fighting in the south. The time for Rand to strike Shayol Ghul was at hand.
He looked to Min. "Moiraine calls me a fool for these attacks. She says that even a small risk to me is not worth what I accomplish".
"Moiraine is probably right", Min said. "She often is. But I prefer you as the person who would do this. That is the person who can defeat the Dark One: the man who cannot sit and plan while others die".
Rand put his arm around her waist. Light, what would he have done without her? I'd have fallen, he thought. During the dark months . . . I'd have fallen for certain.
Over Min’s shoulder, Rand saw a gray-haired woman approaching. And behind her, a smaller figure in blue stopped and pointedly turned the other way. Cadsuane and Moiraine gave one another wide berth in the camp. He thought he caught a hint of a glare in Moiraine’s eyes when she saw that Cadsuane had spotted Rand first.
Cadsuane came up to him, then walked around him, looking him up and down. She nodded to herself several times.
"Trying to decide if I’m up to the task?" Rand said to Cadsuane, keeping emotions—in this case, annoyance—from his voice.
"I never wondered", Cadsuane said. "Even before I found you were reborn, I never wondered if I would be able to make you into the man you needed to be. Wondering, in that manner at least, is for fools. Are you a fool, Rand al’Thor?"
"An impossible question", Min replied. "If he says that he is, then a fool he becomes. If he says that he is not, then he implies he does not seek further wisdom".
"Phaw. You’ve been reading too much, child". Cadsuane seemed fond as she said it. She turned to Rand. "I hope you give her something nice".
"What do you mean?" Rand asked.
"You’ve been giving things to people", Cadsuane said, "in preparation for death. It’s common for the elderly or for men riding into a battle they don’t think they can win. A sword for your father, a ter’angreal for the Queen of Andor, a crown for Lan Mandragoran, jewelry for the Aiel girl, and for this one&
