Chapter 19
(Horn)
Beneath the Dagger
Night on the edge of Kinslayer's Dagger was cold, as nights in the mountains are always cold. The wind whipped down from the high peaks carrying the iciness of the snowcaps. Rand shifted on the hard ground, tugging at his cloak and blanket, and only half asleep. His hand went to his sword, lying beside him. One more day, he thought drowsily. Just one more, and then we go. If no one comes tomorrow, Ingtar or Darkfriends one, I'll take Selene to Cairhien.
He had told himself that before. Every day they had been there on the mountainside, watching the place where Hurin said the trail had been, in that other world — where Selene said the Darkfriends would surely appear in this world — he told himself it was time to leave. And Selene talked of the Horn of Valere, and touched his arm, and looked into his eyes, and before he knew it he had agreed to yet another day before they went on.
He shrugged against the chill of the wind, thinking of Selene touching his arm and looking into his eyes. If Egwene saw that, she'd shear me for a sheep, and Selene, too. Egwene could already be in Tar Valon by now, learning to be an Aes Sedai. The next time she sees me, she'll probably try to gentle me.
As he shifted over, his hand slid past the sword and touched the bundle holding Thom Merrilin's harp and flute. Unconsciously, his fingers tightened on the gleeman's cloak. I was happy then, I think, even running for my life. Playing the flute for my supper. I was too ignorant to know what was going on. There's no turning back.
Shivering, he opened his eyes. The only light came from the waning moon, not far past full and low in the sky. A fire would give them away to those for whom they watched. Loial muttered in his sleep, a low rumble. One of the horses stamped a hoof. Hurin had the first watch, from a stone outcrop a little way up the mountain; he would be coming to wake Rand for his turn, soon.
Rand rolled over ... and stopped. In the moonlight he could see the shape of Selene, bending over his saddlebags, her hands on the buckles. Her white dress gathered the faint light. “Do you need something?”
She gave a jump, and stared toward him. “You — you startled me.”
He rolled to his feet, shedding the blanket and wrapping the cloak around himself, and went to her. He was sure he had left the saddlebags right by his side when he lay down; he always kept them close. He took them from her. All the buckles were fastened, even those on the side that held the damning banner. How can my life depend on keeping it? If anybody sees it and knows what it is, I'll die for having it. He peered at her suspiciously.
Selene stayed where she was, looking up at him. The moon glistened in her dark eyes. “It came to me,” she said, “that I've been wearing this dress too long. I could brush it, at least, if I had something else to wear while I did. One of your shirts, perhaps.”
Rand nodded, feeling a sudden relief. Her dress looked as clean to him as when he first saw her, but he knew that if a spot appeared on Egwene's dress, nothing would do but that she cleaned it immediately. “Of course.” He opened the capacious pocket into which he had stuffed everything except the banner and pulled out one of the white silk shirts.
“Thank you.” Her hands went behind her back. To the buttons, he realized.
Eyes wide, he spun away from her.
“If you could help me with these, it would be much easier.”
Rand cleared his throat. “It would not be proper. It isn't as if we were promised, or ...” Stop thinking about that! You can never marry anyone. “It just wouldn't be proper.”
Her soft laugh sent a shiver down his back, as if she had run a finger along his spine. He tried not to listen to the rustlings behind him. He said, “Ah ... tomorrow ... tomorrow, we'll leave for Cairhien.”
“And what of the Horn of Valere?”
“Maybe we were wrong. Maybe they are not coming here at all. Hurin says there are a number of passes through Kinslayer's Dagger. If they went only a little further west, they do not have to come into the mountains at all.”
“But the trail we followed came here. They will come here. The Horn will come here. You may turn around, now.”
“You say that, but we don't know ...” He turned, and the words died in his mouth. Her dress lay across her arm, and she wore his shirt, hanging in baggy folds on her. It was a longtailed shirt, made for his height, but she was tall for a woman. The bottom of it came little more than halfway down her thighs. It was not as if he had never seen a girl's legs before; girls in the Two Rivers always tied up their skirts to go wading in Waterwood ponds. But they stopped doing it well before they were old enough to braid their hair, and this was in the dark, besides. The moonlight seemed to make her skin glow.
“What is it you don't know, Rand?”
The sound of her voice unfroze his joints. With a loud cough, he whirled to face the other way. “Ah ... I think ... ah ... I ... ah ...”
“Think of the glory, Rand.” Her hand touched his back, and he almost shamed himself with a squeak. “Think of the glory that will come to the one who finds the Horn of Valere. How proud I'll be to stand beside him who holds the Horn. You have no idea the heights we will scale together, you and I. With the Horn of Valere in your hand, you can be a king. You can be another Artur Hawkwing. You...”
“Lord Rand!” Hurin panted into the campsite. “My Lord, they ...” He skidded to a halt, suddenly making a gurgling sound. His eyes dropped to the ground, and he stood wringing his hands. “Forgive me, my Lady. I didn't mean to ... I ... Forgive me.”
Loial sat up, his blanket and cloak falling away. “What's happening? Is it my turn to watch already?” He looked toward Rand and Selene, and even in the moonlight the widening of his eyes was plain.
Rand heard Selene sigh behind him. He stepped away from her, still not looking at her. Her legs are so white, so smooth. “What is it, Hurin?” He made his voice more moderate; was he angry with Hurin, himself, or Selene? No reason to be angry with her. “Did you see something, Hurin?”
The sniffer spoke without raising his eyes. “A fire, my Lord, down in the hills. I didn't see it at first. They made it small, and hid it, but they hid it from somebody following them, not somebody ahead, and up above. Two miles, Lord Rand. Less than three, for sure.”
“Fain,” Rand said. “Ingtar would not be afraid of anyone following him. It must be Fain.” Suddenly he did not know what to do, now. They had been waiting for Fain, but now that the man was only a mile or so away, he was uncertain. “In the morning ... In the morning, we will follow. When Ingtar and the others catch up, we'll be able to p