The Fires of Heaven (The Wheel of Time #5) 75

“Thank the Light,” one of the men said finally. He was grayhaired — none of the three was young — his face deeply creased. His eyes lingered a moment on Asmodean, with falls of lace at collar and cuffs, but the leader of this train would not be riding a mule and carrying a banner. It was Rand's stirrup that he clutched anxiously. “The Light be praised that you came out of those terrible lands alive, my Lord.” That might have been Rand's blue silk coat, embroidered in gold on the shoulders, or the banner, or simple flattery. The man certainly had no reason to think them other than merchants, if well dressed for it. “Those murdering savages have risen again. It is another Aiel War. They were over the wall in the night before anybody knew, killing everyone who raised a hand, stealing everything not mortared in place.”

“In the night?” Mat said sharply. Hat pulled low, he was still studying the ruined town. “Were your sentries asleep? You did have sentries this close to your enemies? Even Aiel would have a hard time coming at you if you kept a good watch.” Lan gave him an appraising look.

“No, my Lord.” The grayhaired man blinked at Mat, then gave his answer to Rand. Mat's green coat was fine enough for a lord, but it hung open and looked slept in. “We... We had only a watchman at each gate. It has been long since any have even seen one of the savages. But this time... Whatever they did not steal, they burned, and drove us out to starve. Filthy animals! 'Thank the Light you have come to save us, my Lord, or we would all have died here. I am Tal Nethin. I am — I was — a saddlemaker. A good one, my Lord. This is my sister Aril, and her husband, Ander Corl. He makes fine boots.”

“They stole people too, my Lord,” the woman said, her voice raw. Somewhat younger than her brother, she might have been handsome once, but haggard worry had etched lines in her face that Rand suspected would never entirely go away. Her husband had a lost look in his eyes, as if not exactly sure where he was. “My daughter, my Lord, and my son. They took all the young ones, everyone above sixteen, and some twice that or more. Said they were guysomething, and stripped them naked right in the street and herded them off. My Lord, can you...?” She trailed off, eyes squeezing shut as the impossibility overwhelmed her, swaying. Small odds that she would ever see her children again.

Moiraine was out of her saddle in an instant and by Aril's side. The haggard woman gave a loud gasp as soon as the Aes Sedai's hands touched her, shivering to her toetips. Her wondering look turned to Moiraine questioningly, but Moiraine only held her as if supporting her.

The woman's husband suddenly gaped, staring at Rand's gilded belt buckle, the gift from Aviendha. “His arms were marked like that. Like that. All twined around, like the cliff snake.”

Tal looked up at Rand uncertainly. “The savages' leader, my Lord. He — had markings like that on his arms. He wore those strange clothes they all do, but he had his coatsleeves cut off, and he made sure everybody saw.”

“A gift I received in the Waste,” Rand said. He made sure to keep his hands still on his pommel; his coatsleeves hid his own Dragons, except for the heads; they would be visible on the backs of his hands to anyone who looked closely. He had forgotten about wondering what Moiraine had actually done, and all three looked on the point of running. “How long since they left?”

“Six days, my Lord,” Tal said uneasily. “They did what they did in a night and a day and were gone the next. We would have gone, too, but what if we met them coming back? Surely they were turned back at Selean?” That was the town at the other end of the pass. Rand doubted that Selean was in any better condition than Taien by this time.

“How many survivors are there besides you three?”

“Maybe a hundred, my Lord. Maybe more. Nobody has counted.”

Abruptly anger flared in him, though he tried to hold it down. “A hundred of you?” His voice was icy iron. “And six days? Then why are your dead left for the ravens? Why do corpses still decorate your town walls? Those are your people filling your nostrils with their stink!” Huddling together, the three backed away from his horse.

“We were afraid, my Lord,” Tal said hoarsely. “They went, but they could come back. And he told us... The one with the markings on his arms told us not to touch anything.”

“A message,” Ander said in a dull voice. “He chose them out to hang, just pulling them out until he had enough to line the wall. Men, women, he did not care.” His eyes were fixed on Rand's buckle. “He said they were a message for some man who would be following him. He said he wanted this man to know... know what they were going to do on the other side of the Spine. He said... He said he would do worse to this man.”

Aril's eyes widened suddenly, and the three stared beyond Rand for a moment, gaping. Then, screaming, they turned and ran. Blackveiled Aiel rose from the rocks they had come from, and they darted off in another direction. Veiled Aiel appeared there, too, and they collapsed to the ground, sobbing and holding each other as they were surrounded. Moiraine's face was cool and composed, but her eyes were not serene.

Rand twisted in his saddle. Rhuarc and Dhearic were coming up the slope, unveiling themselves and unwrapping the shoufa from around their heads. Dhearic was thicker than Rhuarc, with a prominent nose and paler streaks through his golden hair. He had brought the Reyn Aiel as Rhuarc had said he would.

Timolan and his Miagoma had been paralleling them to the north for three days, exchanging occasional messengers but giving no clue to his intentions. The Codarra and the Shiande and the Daryne were still somewhere to the east; following, so Amys and the others said from dreamtalking to their Wise Ones, but slowly. Those Wise Ones had no more idea of their clan chiefs' aims than Rand did of Timolan's.

“Was that necessary?” he said as the two chiefs came up to him. He had frightened the people first, but for cause, and had not made them think that they were going to die.

Rhuarc simply shrugged, and Dhearic said, “We put spears in place around this hold unseen, as you wished, and there seemed no reason to wait since no one remained here to dance spears. Besides, they are only treekillers.”

Rand drew a deep breath. He had known this might be as large a problem as Couladin, in its own way. Nearly five hundred years ago the Aiel had presented Cairhien with a sapling, a cutting from Avendesora, and with it a right granted to no other nation, to trade across the Threefold Land to Shara. They had given no reason — they did not like wetlanders very much at the best — but to the Aiel it had been required by ji'e'toh. During the long years of journey that had brought them to the Waste, only one people had not attacked them, only one had allowed them water uncontested when the world grew parched. And finally they had found the descendants of tho