Robert Jordan - The Fires of Heaven

Rand took note of him but said not a word, only thumbed his pipe full of tabac and seized saidin long enough to light it. He had to do something about Weiramon; the man exacerbated old problems and made new ones. Not a flicker crossed Rhuarc's features, but the other chiefs' expressions ranged from Lan's sour disgust to Erim's clear, cold-eyed readiness to dance spears there and then. Perhaps there was a way for Rand to rid himself of Weiramon and make a beginning on another of his worries at the same time.

With Rand's example, Lan and the chiefs began filling pipes.

"I see only small changes necessary," Bael said, puffing his pipe alight, and sparking a glower from Han, as usual.

"Do these small changes concern the Goshien, or perhaps some other clan?" Putting Weiramon from his mind, Rand bent himself to listening as they worked out what had to be altered from their new view of the terrain. Now and again one of the Aiel would glance at Natael, a brief tightness to eyes or mouth suggesting that the mournful music plucked at something in him. Even the Tairens grimaced sadly. The sounds washed over Rand, though, touching nothing. Tears were a luxury he could no longer afford, not even inside.

The next morning Rand was up and dressed well before first light. In truth, he had not slept, and it had not been Aviendha who kept him awake, not even after she began undressing before he could put out the lamps and channeled one alight again as soon as he did, chiding him that she was unable to see in the dark even if he could. He made no reply, and hours later, had hardly noticed when she rose, a good hour before he did, dressed and left. He did not even think to wonder where she was going.

The thoughts that had had him staring up into the blackness still ran through his head. Men would die today. A great many men, even if everything went perfectly. Nothing he did now would change it; today would run out according to the Pattern. But over and over he mulled the decisions he had made since he first entered the Waste. Could he have done something different, something that would have avoided this day, this place? Next time, perhaps. The tasseled length of spear lay atop his sword belt and scabbarded blade beside his blankets. There would be a next time, and one beyond that, and beyond again.

While darkness still held, the chiefs came in a bunch for a few final words, to report that their men were in position and ready. Not that anything else was expected. Stone-faced as they were, some emotion showed. An odd mix, though, a skim of ebullience over somberness.

Erim actually wore a slight smile. "A good day, to see the end of the Shaido," he said finally. He seemed to be walking on his toes.

"The Light willing," Bael said, his head brushing the roof of the tent, "we will wash the spears in Couladin's blood before sunfall."

"Bad luck to talk of what will be," Han muttered. The skim was very thin on him, of course. "Fate will decide."

Rand nodded. "The Light send it does not decide on too many of our number dead." He wished his concern were only that few men should die because men should not have their lives cut short, but there were many more days to come. He would need every spear to bring order to this side of the Dragonwall. That was a bone between him and Couladin every bit as much as the rest.

"Life is a dream," Rhuarc told him, and Han and the others nodded agreement. Life was only a dream, and all dreams had to end. Aiel did not run toward death, yet they did not run from it either.

As they were departing, Bael paused. "Are you certain of what you want the Maidens to do? Sulin has been speaking to the Wise Ones."

So that was what Melaine had been at Bael about. The way Rhuarc stopped to listen, he had been hearing from Amys on the subject, too.

"Everyone else is doing what they are supposed to without complaining, Bael." That was unfair, but this was no game. "If the Maidens want special consideration, Sulin can come to me, not go running to the Wise Ones."

Had they been anything but Aiel, Rhuarc and Bael would have been shaking their heads as they left. Rand supposed each would get an earful from his wife, but they would have to live with it. If Far Dareis Mai carried his honor, this time they would carry it where he wanted.

To Rand's surprise Lan appeared just as he was ready to go out himself. The Warder's cloak hung down his back, disturbing the vision as it rippled with his movements.

"Is Moiraine with you?" Rand had expected Lan to be glued to her side.

"She is fretting in her tent. She cannot possibly Heal even all of the worst hurt today." That was her choice of how to help; she could not use the Power as a weapon today, but she could Heal. "Waste always angers her."

"It angers us all," Rand snapped. His taking Egwene away probably upset her, too. As far as he could tell, Egwene was not very good at Healing on her own, but she could have aided Moiraine. Well, he needed her to keep her promise. "Tell Moiraine if she needs help, ask some of the Wise Ones who can channel." But few Wise Ones had any knowledge of Healing. "She can link with them and use their strength." He hesitated. Had Moiraine ever spoken of linking to him? "You didn't come here to tell me Moiraine is brooding," he said irritably. It was difficult sometimes, keeping straight what came from her, what from Asmodean, and what bubbled up from Lews Therin.

"I came to ask why you've taken to wearing a sword again."

"Moiraine asked already. Did she send—?"

Lan's face did not change, but he cut in roughly. "I want to know. You can make a sword from the Power, or kill without, but suddenly you are wearing steel on your hip again. Why?"

Unconsciously, Rand ran one hand up the long hilt at his side. "It's hardly fair to use the Power that way. Especially against someone who can't channel. I might as well fight a child."

The Warder stood silent for a time, studying him. "You mean to kill Couladin yourself," he said at last in flat tones. "That sword against his spears."

"I don't mean to seek him out, but who can say what will happen?" Rand shrugged uncomfortably. Not to hunt for him. But if ever his twisting of chance was to favor him, let it be to bring him face-to-face with Couladin. "Besides, I'd not put it past him to seek me. The threats I've heard from him have been personal, Lan." Raising one fist, he thrust his arm out of a crimson coatsleeve enough to make the golden-maned Dragon's fore end plainly visible. "Couladin won't rest while I live, not so long as we both wear these."

And truth to tell, he would not rest himself until only one living man bore the Dragons. By rights he should lump Asmodean in with Couladin. Asmodean had marked the Shaido. But Couladin's unrestrained ambition had made it possible; his ambition and refusal to abide by Aiel law and custom had led inevitably to this place, this day. Beyond the bleakness and war between Aiel, there was Taien to be laid at Couladin's feet, and Selean, and dozens of ruined towns and villages since, countless hundreds of burned farms. Unburied men and women and children had fed the vultures. If he was the Dragon Reborn, if he had any right to demand that any nation follow him, much less Cairhien, then he owed them justice.

"Then have him beheaded when he's taken," Lan said harshly. "Set a hundred men, or a thousand, with no purpose but to find and take him. But do not be fool enough to fight him! You are good with a blade now — very good — but Aielmen are all but born with spear and buckler in hand. A spear through your heart, and all has been for naught."

"So I should avoid the fighting? Would you, if Moiraine had no claims on you? Will Rhuarc, or Bael, or any of them?"