Nynaeve scanned for signs of Rand or any Aiel she knew. She doubted that Aviendha would be with the group; she would be back in Caemlyn with Elayne, helping secure the throne of Andor. Nynaeve still felt guilty for leaving them, but somebody had needed to help Rand cleanse saidin. That wasn't the sort of thing you left him to do alone. Now, where was he?
Nynaeve stopped at the boundary between the Saldaeans and the new Aiel camp. Soldiers carrying lances nodded to her in respect. Aiel in brown and green glided across the grass, their motions smooth as water.
Women in blues and greens carried wash from the stream beside the manor house. Broad-needled pines shivered in the wind. The camp bustled like the village green at Bel Tine. Which way had Cadsuane gone?
She sensed channeling in the northeast. Nynaeve smiled, setting off with a determined step, yellow skirt swishing. The channeling would either be an Aes Sedai or a Wise One. Sure enough, she soon saw a larger Aiel tent erected at the corner of the green. She strode straight for it, her stares—or perhaps her reputation—encouraging Saldaean soldiers to get out of her way. The Maidens guarding the entrance did not try to stop her.
Rand stood inside, wearing black and red, leafing through maps on a sturdy wooden table, his left arm held behind his back. Bashere stood at his side, nodding to himself and studying a small map he held before him.
Rand looked up as Nynaeve entered. When had he started looking so much like a Warder, with that instant glance of assessment? Those eyes which picked out every threat, body tense as if expecting an attack at any time? / should never have let that woman take him from the Two Rivers, she thought. Look what it's done to him.
She immediately frowned at her own foolishness. If Rand had stayed in the Two Rivers, he would have gone mad and perhaps destroyed them all—assuming, of course, the Trollocs, the Fades or the Forsaken themselves hadn't accomplished the task first. If Moiraine hadn't come for Rand, he'd now be dead. With him would have gone the light and hope of the world. It was just hard to abandon her old prejudices.
"Ah, Nynaeve," Rand said, relaxing and turning back to his maps. He motioned for Bashere to inspect one of them, then turned back to her. "I was about to send for you. Rhuarc and Bael are here."
Nynaeve raised an eyebrow, folding her arms. "Oh?" she asked flatly. "And here I'd assumed that all the Aiel in the camp meant we had been attacked by Shaido."
His face hardened at her tone, and those eyes of his grew . . . dangerous. But then he lightened, shaking his head, almost as if to clear it. Some of the old Rand—the Rand who had been an innocent sheepherder— seemed to return. "Yes, of course you would have noticed," he said. "I'm glad you are here. We will begin as soon as the clan chiefs return. I insisted they see their people settled before we began."
He waved for her to sit; there were cushions on the floor, but no chairs. Aiel spurned those, and Rand would want them to be comfortable. Nynaeve eyed him, surprised at how tight her own nerves had become. He was just a wool-headed villager, no matter how much influence he'd found. He was.
But she could not shake away that look in his eyes, that flash of anger. Holding a crown was said to change many men for the worse. She intended to see that didn't happen to Rand al'Thor, but what recourse would she have if he suddenly decided to have her imprisoned? He wouldn't do that, would he? Not Rand.
Semirhage said he was mad, Nynaeve thought. Said that. . . he heard voices from his past life. Is that what is happening when he cocks his head, as if listening to things that nobody else can hear?
She shivered. Min was there in the tent, of course, sitting and reading a book in the corner: The Wake of the Breaking. Min looked too intently at the pages; she'd listened to the exchange between Rand and Nynaeve. What did she think of the changes in him? She was closer to him than anyone—close enough that, if they'd all been back in Emond's Field, Nynaeve would have given the two of them a tongue-lashing strong enough to make their heads spin. Even though they weren't in Emond's Field and she was no longer Wisdom, she'd made certain that Rand knew of her displeasure. His response had been simple: "If I marry her, my death will bring her even more pain."
More idiocy, of course. If you were planning to go into danger, then it was all the more reason to get married. Obviously. Nynaeve seated herself on the floor, arranging her skirts, and pointedly did not think of Lan. He had such a long distance to cover, and. . . .
And she had to make sure that she was given his bond before he reached the Blight. Just in case.
Suddenly, she sat upright. Cadsuane. The woman wasn't there; besides guards, the tent contained only Rand, Nynaeve, Min and Bashere. Was she off planning something that Nynaeve—
Cadsuane entered. The gray-haired Aes Sedai wore a simple tan dress. She relied on presence, not clothing, to draw attention, and of course her hair sparkled with its golden ornaments. Corele followed her in.
Cadsuane wove a ward against eavesdropping, and Rand did not object. He should stick up for himself more—that woman practically had him tamed, and it was unsettling how much he let her get away with. Like questioning Semirhage. The Forsaken were far too powerful and dangerous to treat lightly. Semirhage should have been stilled the moment they captured her . . . though Nynaeve s opinion in that regard was directly related to her own experience in keeping Moghedien captive.
Corele gave Nynaeve a smile; she tended to have one of those for everyone. Cadsuane, as usual, ignored Nynaeve. That was fine. Nynaeve had no need for her approval. Cadsuane thought she could order everyone around just because she'd outlived every other Aes Sedai. Well, Nynaeve knew for a fact that age had little to do with wisdom. Cenn Buie had been as old as rain, but had about as much sense as a pile of rocks.
Many of the camp's other Aes Sedai and camp leaders trickled into the tent over the next few minutes; perhaps Rand really bad sent messengers, and would have called for Nynaeve. The newcomers included Merise and her Warders, one of whom was the Asha'man Jahar Narishma, bells tinkling on the ends of his braids. Damer Flinn, Elza Penfell, a few of Bashere's officers also arrived. Rand glanced up when each one entered, alert and wary, but he quickly turned back to his maps. Was he growing paranoid? Some madmen grew suspicious of everyone.
Eventually, Rhuarc and Bael made their appearance, along with several other Aiel. They stalked through the tent's large entrance like cats on the prowl. In an odd turn, a batch of Wise Ones—whom Nynaeve had been able to sense when they got close—were among the group. Often, with Aiel, an event was either considered clan chief business or Wise One business—much as things happened back in the Two Rivers with the Village Council and the Women's Circle. Had Rand asked for them all to attend, or had they decided to come together for reasons of their own?
Nynaeve had been wrong about Aviendha's location; she was shocked to see the tall, red-haired woman hovering at the back of the group of Wise Ones. When had she left Caemlyn? And why was she carrying that worn cloth with a frayed edge?
Nynaeve didn't get a chance to ask Aviendha any questions, as Rand nodded to Rhuarc and the others, motioning for them to sit, which they did. Rand himself remained standing beside his map table. He placed his arms behind his back, hand clasping stump, a thoughtful look on his face. He offered no preamble. "Tell me of your work in Arad Doman," he said to Rhuarc. "My scouts inform me that this land is hardly at peace."
Rhuarc accepted a cup of tea from Aviendha—so she was still considered an apprentice—and turned to Rand. The clan chief did not drink. "We have had very little time, Rand al'Thor."
"I don't look for excuses, Rhuarc," Rand said. "Only results."
This brought flashes of anger to the faces of several of the other Aiel, and the Maidens at the doorway exchanged a furious burst of hand signals.
Rhuarc himself displayed no anger, though Nynaeve did think his hand tightened on his cup. "I have shared water with you, Rand al'Thor," he said. "I would not think that you would bring me here to offer insults."
"No insults, Rhuarc," Rand said. "Just truths. We don't have time to waste."
"No time, Rand al'Thor?" Bael said. The clan chief of the Goshien Aiel was a very tall man, and he seemed to tower, even when sitting down. "You left many of us in Andor for months with nothing to do but polish spears and scare wetlanders! Now you send us to this land with impossible orders, then follow a few weeks later and demand results?"
"You were in Andor to help Elayne," Rand said.
"She did not want or need help," Bael said with a snort. "And she was right to refuse aid. I'd rather run across the entire Waste with a single skin of water than have leadership of my clan handed to me by another."
Rand's expression grew dark again, his eyes stormy, and Nynaeve was again reminded of the tempest brewing to the north.
"This land is broken, Rand al'Thor," Rhuarc said, his voice calmer than Bael's. "It is not making excuses to explain that fact, and it is not cowardice to be cautious about a difficult task."
"We must have peace here," Rand growled. "If you can't manage—"
"Boy," Cadsuane said, "perhaps you want to stop and think. How often have you known the Aiel to fail you? How often have you failed, hurt, or offended them?"
Rand snapped his mouth closed, and Nynaeve gritted her teeth at not having spoken up herself. She glanced at Cadsuane, who had been given a chair to sit upon—Nynaeve couldn't recall ever seeing her sit on the floor. The chair had obviously been taken from the manor; it was constructed from pale elgilrim horns—which stretched out like open palms—and had a red cushion. Aviendha handed Cadsuane a cup of tea, which she sipped carefully.
With obvious effort, Rand pulled his temper back under control. "I apologize, Rhuarc, Bael. It has been a ... wearing few months."
"You have no toh" Rhuarc said. "But please, sit. Let us share shade and speak with civility."
Rand sighed audibly, then nodded, seating himself before the other two. The several Wise Ones in attendance—Amys, Melaine, Bair—didn't seem inclined to participate in the discussion. They were observers, much—Nynaeve realized—as she herself was.
"We must have peace in Arad Doman, my friends," Rand said, unrolling a map between them on the tent rug.
Bael shook his head. "Dobraine Taborwin has done well with Bandar Eban," he said, "but Rhuarc spoke rightly when he called this land broken. It is like a piece of Sea Folk porcelain dropped from the tip of a high mountain. You told us to discover who was in charge and see if we could restore order. Well, as far as we can tell, no one is in charge. Each city has been left to fend for itself."
"What of the Council of Merchants?" Bashere said, sitting down with them, knuckling his mustache as he studied the map. "My scouts say that they still hold some measure of power."
"In the cities where they rule, this is true," Rhuarc said. "But their influence is weak. There is only one member still in the capital, and she has little control there. We have stopped the fighting in the streets, but only with great effort." He shook his head. "This is what comes from trying to control more lands than holds and clan. Without their king, these Domani do not know who is in charge."