Robert Jordan - The Eye of the World

“Yes,” Agelmar said slowly, his troubled frown returning. “Yes, Aes Sedai, and no. The Halfmen and their Trollocs were destroyed to the last, but we barely fought. A miracle, my men call it. The earth swallowed them; the mountains buried them. Only a few Draghkar were left, too frightened to do else but fly north as fast as they could.”

“A miracle indeed,” Moiraine said. “And spring has come again.”

“A miracle,” Agelmar said, shaking his head, “but … Moiraine Sedai, men say many things about what happened in the Gap. That the Light took on flesh and fought for us. That the Creator walked in the Gap to strike at the Shadow. But I saw a man, Moiraine Sedai. I saw a man, and what he did, cannot be, must not be.”

“The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills, Lord of Fal Dara.”

“As you say, Moiraine Sedai.”

“And Padan Fain? He is secure? I must speak with him when I am rested.”

“He is held as you commanded, Aes Sedai, whining at his guards half the time and trying to command them the rest, but … Peace, Moiraine Sedai, what of you, in the Blight? You found the Green Man? I see his hand in the new things growing.”

“We found him,” she said flatly. “The Green Man is dead, Lord Agelmar, and the Eye of the World is gone. There will be no more quests by young men seeking glory.”

The Lord of Fal Dara frowned, shaking his head in confusion. “Dead? The Green Man? He cannot be … Then you were defeated? But the flowers, and the growing things?”

“We won, Lord Agelmar. We won, and the land freed from winter is the proof, but I fear the last battle has not yet been fought.” Rand stirred, but the Aes Sedai gave him a sharp look and he stood still again. “The Blight still stands, and the forges of Thakan’dar still work below Shayol Ghul. There are many Halfmen yet, and countless Trollocs. Never think the need for watchfulness in the Borderlands is gone.”

“I did not think it so, Aes Sedai,” he said stiffly.

Moiraine motioned for Loial to set the gold chest at her feet, and when he did, she opened it, revealing the horn. “The Horn of Valere,” she said, and Agelmar gasped. Rand almost thought the man would kneel.

“With that, Moiraine Sedai, it matters not how many Halfmen or Trollocs remain. With the heroes of old come back from the tomb, we will march to the Blasted Lands and level Shayol Ghul.”

“NO!” Agelmar’s mouth fell open in surprise, but Moiraine continued calmly. “I did not show it to you to taunt you, but so that you will know that in whatever battles yet come, our might will be as great as that of the Shadow. Its place is not here. The Horn must be carried to Illian. It is there, if fresh battles threaten, that it must rally the forces of the Light. I will ask an escort of your best men to see that it reaches Illian safely. There are Darkfriends still, as well as Halfmen and Trollocs, and those who come to the horn will follow whoever winds it. It must reach Illian.”

“It shall be as you say, Aes Sedai.” But when the lid of the chest closed, the Lord of Fal Dara looked like a man being denied his last glimpse of the Light.

Seven days later, bells still rang in Fal Dara. The people had returned from Fal Moran, adding their celebration to that of the soldiers, and shouts and singing blended with the pealing of the bells on the long balcony where Rand stood. The balcony overlooked Agelmar’s private gardens, green and flowering, but he did not give them a second look. Despite the sun high in the sky, spring in Shienar was cooler than he was used to, yet sweat glistened on his bare chest and shoulders as he swung the heron-mark blade, each move precise yet distant from where he floated in the void. Even there, he wondered how much joy there would be in the town if they knew of the banner Moiraine still kept hidden.

“Good, sheepherder.” Leaning against the railing with his arms folded across his chest, the Warder watched him critically. “You are doing well, but don’t push so hard. You can’t become a blademaster in a few weeks.”

The void vanished like a pricked bubble. “I don’t care about being a blademaster.”

“It’s a blademaster’s blade, sheepherder.”

“I just want my father to be proud of me.” His hand tightened on the rough leather of the hilt. I just want Tam to be my father. He slammed the sword into its scabbard. “Anyway, I don’t have a few weeks.”

“Then you’ve not changed your mind?”

“Would you?” Lan’s expression had not altered; the flat planes of his face looked as if they could not change. “You won’t try to stop me? Or Moiraine Sedai?”

“You can do as you will, sheepherder, or as the Pattern weaves for you.” The Warder straightened. “I’ll leave you now.”

Rand turned to watch Lan go, and found Egwene standing there.

“Changed your mind about what, Rand?”

He snatched up his shirt and coat, suddenly feeling the cool. “I’m going away, Egwene.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere. I don’t know.” He did not want to meet her eyes, but he could not stop looking at her. She wore red wildroses twined in her hair, flowing about her shoulders. She held her cloak close, dark blue and embroidered along the edge with a thin line of white flowers in the Shienaran fashion, and the blossoms made a line straight up to her face. They were no paler than her cheeks; her eyes seemed so large and dark. “Away.”

“I’m sure Moiraine Sedai will not like you just going off. After … after what you’ve done, you deserve some reward.”

“Moiraine does not know I am alive. I have done what she wanted, and that’s an end to it. She doesn’t even speak to me when I go to her. Not that I’ve tried to stay close to her, but she’s avoided me. She won’t care if I go, and I don’t care if she does.”

“Moiraine is still not completely well, Rand.” She hesitated. “I have to go to Tar Valon for my training. Nynaeve is coming, too. And Mat still needs to be healed of whatever binds him to that dagger, and Perrin wants to see Tar Valon before he goes … wherever. You could come with us.”

“And wait for some Aes Sedai besides Moiraine to find out what I am and gentle me?” His voice was rough, almost a sneer; he could not change it. “Is that what you want?”

“No.”

He knew he would never be able to tell her how grateful he was that she had not hesitated before answering.

“Rand, you aren’t afraid …” They were alone, but she looked around and still lowered her voice. “Moiraine Sedai says you don’t have to touch the True Source. If you don’t touch saidin , if you don’t try to wield the Power, you’ll be safe.”

“Oh, I won’t ever touch it again. Not if I have to cut my hand off, first.” What if I can’t stop? I never tried to wield it, not even at the Eye. What if I can’t stop?

“Will you go home, Rand? Your father must be dying to see you. Even Mat’s father must be dying to see him by now. I’ll be coming back to Emond’s Field next year. For a little while, at least.”

He rubbed his palm over the hilt of his sword, feeling the bronze heron. My father. Home. Light, how I want to see … “Not home.” Someplace where there aren’t any people to hurt if I can’t stop myself. Somewhere alone. Suddenly it felt as cold as snow on the balcony. “I’m going away, but not home.” Egwene, Egwene, why did you have to be one of those … ? He put his arms around her, and whispered into her hair. “Not ever home.”

In Agelmar’s private garden, under a thick bower dotted with white blossoms, Moiraine shifted on her bedchair. The fragments of the seal lay on her lap, and the small gem she sometimes wore in her hair spun and glittered on its gold chain from the ends of her fingers. The faint blue glow faded from the stone, and a smile touched her lips. It had no power in itself, the stone, but the first use she had ever learned of the One Power, as a girl, in the Royal Palace in Cairhien, was using the stone to listen to people when they thought they were too far off to be overheard.