She hesitated, then shook her head. "It’s not impossible that Galgan would be on the watch for you. The Prince of the Ravens would be competition, under normal circumstances. He is general of our armies, but that is a task often assigned to the Prince of the Ravens".
Prince of the Ravens. "Don’t bloody remind me", Mat said. "I thought that was my title when I was married to the Daughter of the Nine Moons. It hasn’t changed at her elevation?"
"No", Selucia said. "Not yet".
Mat nodded, then sighed as he looked at the climb ahead of him. He lifted one leg up onto the railing.
"There is another way", Selucia said. "Come before you break your fool neck. I do not know yet what she wants with you, but I doubt it involves you falling to your death".
Mat gratefully hopped off the balcony railing, following Selucia into the room. She opened a wardrobe, and then opened the back into a dark passageway enclosed in the wood and stone of the palace.
"Blood and bloody ashes", Mat said, sticking his head in. "This was here all along?"
"Yes".
"This might be how it got in", Mat murmured. "You need to board this thing up, Selucia".
"I’ve done better. When the Empress sleeps—may she live forever—she sleeps in the attic. She never slumbers in this room. We have not forgotten how easily Tylin was taken".
"That’s good", Mat said. He shuddered. "I found the thing that did that. He won’t be ripping out any more throats. Tylin and Nalesean can have a little dance together about that. Farewell, Selucia. Thank you".
"For the passageway?" she asked. "Or for failing to kill you with the crossbow?"
"For not bloody calling me Highness like Musenge and the others", Mat muttered, entering the passage. He found a lantern hung on the wall, and lit it with his flint and tinder.
Behind him, Selucia laughed. "If that bothers you, Cauthon, you have a very irritating life ahead of you. There is only one way to stop being the Prince of the Ravens, and that is to find your neck in a cord". She closed the door to the wardrobe.
What a pleasant woman she is, Mat thought. He almost preferred the days when she would not talk to him. Shaking his head, he started down the passage, realizing she had never told him exactly where it led.
Rand strode through Elayne’s camp at the eastern edge of Braem Wood, accompanied by a pair of Maidens. The camp was dark, evening upon them, but few slept. They were making preparations to break camp and move the army east toward Cairhien the next morning.
Only two guards for Rand tonight. He felt almost exposed with two guards, though once he had thought any number of guards at all to be excessive. The inevitable turning of the Wheel had changed his perception as surely as it changed the seasons.
He walked a lantern-lit pathway that had obviously once been a game trail. This camp hadn’t been here long enough to have pathways otherwise. Soft noises broke the nights calm: supplies being loaded on to carts, sword blades being ground on whetstones, meals being distributed to hungry soldiers.
The men did not call to one another. Not only was it night, but the Shadow’s forces were near in the forest, and Trollocs had good ears. Best to be in the habit of speaking softly, not shouting from one side of the camp to another. The lanterns had shields to give only a soft light, and cook fires were kept to a minimum.
Rand left the trail, carrying his long bundle, passing through rustling high grass in the clearing on his way to Tam’s tent. This would be a quick trip. He nodded to those soldiers who saluted as he passed on the path. They were shocked to see him, but not surprised that he walked the camp. Elayne had made her armies aware of his earlier visit.
I lead these armies, she had said as they parted last time, but you are their heart. You gathered them, Rand. They fight for you. Please let them see you when you come.
And so he did. He wished he could protect them better, but he would simply have to carry that burden. The secret, it turned out, had not been to harden himself to the point of breaking. It had not been to become numb. It had been to walk in pain, like the pain of the wounds at his side, and accept that pain as part of him.
Two men from Emond’s Field guarded Tams tent. Rand nodded to them as they straightened up, saluting. Ban al’Seen and Dav al’Thone—once, he would never have thought to see them salute. They did it well, too.
"You have a solemn task, men", Rand said to them. "As important as any on this battlefield".
"Defending Andor, my Lord?" Dav asked, confused.
"No", Rand said. "Watching over my father. Take care you do it well". He pushed into the tent, leaving the Maidens outside.
Tam stood over a travel table, inspecting maps. Rand smiled. It was the same look Tam had worn when inspecting a sheep that had gotten caught in the thicket.
"You seem to think I’ll need watching", Tam said.
Responding to that comment, Rand decided, would be like walking up to an archer’s nest and daring anyone inside to hit him. Instead, he set his bundle down on the table. Tam regarded the long, cloth-wrapped bundle, then tugged at its covering. The cloth came off, revealing a majestic sword with a black-lacquered sheath painted with entwined dragons of red and gold. Tam looked up with a question in his eyes.
"You gave me your sword", Rand said. "And I wasn’t able to return it. This is a replacement".
Tam slid the sword from its sheath, and his eyes widened. "This is too fine a gift, son".
"Nothing is too fine for you", Rand whispered. "Nothing".
Tam shook his head, slipping the blade back into the sheath. "It will just end up in a trunk, forgotten like the last one. I should never have brought that thing home. You put too much care into that blade". He moved to hand the sword back.
Rand put his hand over Tam’s. "Please. A blademaster deserves a fitting weapon. Take it—that will ease my conscience. Light knows, any burden I can lighten now will help in the days to come".
Tam grimaced. "That’s a dirty trick, Rand".
"I know. I’ve been spending my time with all kinds of unsavory types lately. Kings, clerks, lords and ladies".
Tam reluctantly took the sword back.
"Think of it as a thank-you", Rand said, "from all the world to you. If you had not taught me of the flame and the void all those years ago . . . Light, Tam. I wouldn’t be here right now. I’d be dead, I’m sure of that". Rand looked down at the sword. "To think. If you hadn’t wanted me to be a good archer, I’d have never learned the thing that kept me sane through the rough times".
Tam sniffed. "The flame and the void aren’t about archery".
"Yes, I know. They are a swordsman’s technique".
"They’re not about swords either", Tam said, strapping the sword onto his belt.
"But—"
"The flame and the void are about center", Tam said. "And about peace. I would teach it to each and every person in this land, soldier or not, if I could". His expression softened. "But, Light, what am I doing? Lecturing you? Tell me, where did you get this weapon?"
"I found it".
"It’s as fine a blade as I’ve ever seen". Tam pulled it out again, looking at the folds of the metal. "It’s ancient. And used. Well-used. Cared for, certainly, but this didn’t just sit in some warlord’s trophy case. Men have swung this blade. Killed with it".
"It belonged . . . to a kindred soul".
Tam looked at him, searching his eyes. "Well, I suppose I should try it out, then. Come on".
"In the night?"
"It’s early evening still", Tam said. "This is a good time. The practice grounds won’t be clogged".
Rand raised an eyebrow, but stepped aside as Tam rounded the table and left the tent. Rand followed, the Maidens falling in behind them, and trailed his father to the nearby practice grounds, where a few Warders sparred, lit by glowing lanterns on poles.
Near the rack of wooden practice weapons, Tam took the new sword out and moved into a few forms. Though his hair was gray, his face creased around the eyes, Tam al’Thor moved like a ribbon of silk in the wind. Rand had never seen his father fight, not even spar. In truth, a piece of him had had trouble imagining gentle Tam al’Thor killing anything other than a grouse for the firepit.
Now he saw. Lit by flickering lantern light, Tam al’Thor slipped into the sword forms like a comfortable pair of boots. Oddly, Rand found himself jealous. Not of his father specifically, but of any who could know the peace of sword practice. Rand held up his hand, then the stump of the other. Many of the forms required two hands. To fight as Tam did was not the same as fighting with shortsword and shield, as many men in the infantry did. This was something else. Rand might still be able to fight, but he could never do this. No more than a man missing one foot could dance.
Tam completed Hare Finds Its Hole, sliding the weapon into its sheath in one smooth motion. Orange lantern light reflected off of the blade as it slipped into its cover. "Beautiful", Tam said. "Light, the weight, the construction . . . Is it Power-forged?"
"I don’t know", Rand said.
He’d never had a chance to fight with it.
Tam took a cup of water from a serving boy. A few newer recruits ran through pike formations in the distance, working late into the night. Every moment of training was precious, particularly for those who were not often on the front lines.
New recruits, Rand thought, watching them. These, too, are my burden. Every man who fights.
He would find a way to defeat the Dark One. If he did not, these men fought in vain.
"You’re worried, son", Tam said, handing the cup back to the serving boy.
Rand calmed himself, finding peace, turning to Tam. He remembered, from his old memories, something from a book. The key to leadership is in the rippling waves. You could not find stillness on a body of water if there was turmoil underneath. Likewise, you could not find peace and focus in a group unless the leader himself had peace within.
Tam eyed him, but did not challenge Rand on the sudden mask of control that he had adopted. Instead, Tam reached to the side and took one of the balanced wooden practice swords from the rack. He tossed it to Rand, who caught it, standing with his other arm folded behind his back.
"Father", Rand said warningly as his father picked up another sparring sword. "This is not a good idea".
"I’ve heard you became quite the swordsman", Tam said, taking a few swipes with the practice sword to test its balance. "I’d like to see what you can do. Call it a father’s pride".
Rand sighed, holding up his other arm, displaying the stump. People’s eyes tended to slide off it, as if they were seeing a Gray Man. They didn’t like the idea that their Dragon Reborn was flawed.
He never let them know how tired he felt, inside. His body was worn, like a millstone that had worked for generations. He was still tough enough to do his job, and he would, but Light, he felt tired sometimes. Carrying the hopes of millions was heavier than lifting any mountain.