“What?” Merise said. Several of the other Aes Sedai gasped.
“Rand,” Min said. “I doubt the Amyrlin will be pleased to have you publicizing the division.”
“A valid point,” Rand said. “Darlin, write a proclamation that Egwene al’Vere has succeeded Elaida a’Roihan as the Amyrlin. That should be enough to inform without revealing too much. Light knows I don’t need to do anything else to make Egwene angry with me….”
“Else?” Corele asked, paling.
“Yes,” Rand said offhandedly. “I’ve already been to the White Tower to see her.”
“And they let you go?” Corele asked.
“I didn’t allow them other options. Darlin, kindly marshal our forces here. I want them gathered by the evening. Flinn, we’ll need gateways. Large ones. A circle might be needed.”
“Tarwin’s Gap?” Nynaeve said, eager.
Rand glanced at her and hesitated. Min could feel his pain—sharp, spiking, real—as he spoke. “Not yet, Nynaeve. I’ve poured hot oil into the White Tower, and it will be boiling soon. Time. We don’t have time! I will get help to Lan, I vow it to you, but right now I must prepare to face Egwene.”
“Face her?” Nynaeve said, stepping forward. “Rand, what have you done?”
“What needed to be done. Where is Bashere?”
“He was out of the city with his men, my Lord Dragon,” Flinn said, “running their horses. Should be back soon.”
“Good. He’s going with me to Arad Doman. You too, Nynaeve. Min.” He looked at her, and those unfathomable eyes seemed to draw her in. “I need you, Min.”
“You have me. Stupid looby.”
“Callandor,” he said. “It plays a part in this. You have to find out how. I cannot seal the Bore the way I tried last time. I’m missing something, something vital. Find it for me.”
“I will, Rand.” A cold shiver ran through her. “I promise.”
“I trust you.” He looked up as a figure in a deep hooded cloak walked out of one of the Stone’s many guard posts.
“Cadsuane Melaidhrin,” Rand said, “I pardon you for past mistakes and I revoke your exile. Not that it was ever anything more than a minor inconvenience to you.”
She sniffed, lowering the hood. “If you believe that wearing a cloak in this heat is a ‘minor’ inconvenience, boy, then you need a lesson in contrast. I trust you see the error in your deed. It strikes me as unsuitable that I should need ‘forgiveness’ or a ‘pardon’ in the first place.”
“Well, then,” Rand said. “Please accept my pardon alongside my apology. You may say I have been under unusual stress as of late.”
“Of all people,” Cadsuane said sternly, “you cannot afford to let the pressure of life drive you.”
“On the contrary. I am who I have become because of that pressure, Cadsuane. Metal cannot be shaped without the blows of the hammer. But that is beside the point. You tried to manipulate me, and you failed horribly. But in that failure, you have shown me something.”
“Which is?”
“I thought I was being forged into a sword,” Rand said, eyes growing distant. “But I was wrong. I’m not a weapon. I never have been.”
“Then what are you?” Min asked, genuinely curious.
He merely smiled. “Cadsuane Sedai, I have a task for you, if you will accept it.”
“I expect that will depend on the task,” she said, folding her arms.
“I need you to locate someone. Someone who is missing, someone I now suspect may be in the hands of well-meaning allies. You see, I’ve been informed that the White Tower is holding Mattin Stepaneos.”
Cadsuane frowned. “And you want him?”
“Not at all. I haven’t decided what to do about him yet, so he can stay Egwene’s problem for the time. No, the person I want is probably somewhere in the Caralain Grass. I’ll explain more when we are not in the open.”
The High Lords and Ladies were gathering. Rand looked toward them, though once again he scanned the courtyard, as if looking for something. Something that made him feel anxious.
He turned back to the High Lords and Ladies. Min watched them skeptically. Aside from Darlin, she’d never been impressed with them. Rand rested his hand on her shoulder. The gathered nobles looked disheveled, apparently summoned from naps or meals, although they wore an assortment of fine silks and ruffles. They looked oddly out of place in the Stone’s courtyard, where everyone else had a purpose.
I shouldn’t be so harsh on them, Min thought, folding her arms. But then, she had watched their plotting and pandering frustrate Rand. Besides, she’d never been fond of those who thought themselves more important than everyone else.
“Form a line,” Rand said, walking up to them.
The High Lords and Ladies looked at him, confused.
“A line,” Rand said, voice loud and firm. “Now.”
They did so, arranging themselves with haste. Rand began to walk down the row, starting with Darlin, looking each man or woman in the eye. Rand’s emotions were…curious. Perhaps a touch angry. What was he doing?
The courtyard grew still. Rand continued down the line, looking at each of the nobles in turn, not speaking. Min glanced to the side. Near the end of the line, Weiramon kept glancing at Rand, then looking away. The tall man had thinning gray hair, his beard oiled to a point.
Rand eventually reached him. “Meet my eyes, Weiramon,” Rand said softly.
“My Lord Dragon, surely I am not worthy to—”
“Do it.”
Weiramon did so with an odd difficulty. He looked as if he was gritting his teeth, his eyes watering.
“So it is you,” Rand said. Min could feel his disappointment. Rand looked to the side, to where Anaiyella stood last in line. The pretty woman had pulled away from Rand, her head turned. “Both of you.”
“My Lord—” Weiramon began.
“I want you to deliver a message for me,” Rand said. “To the others of your…association. Tell them that they cannot hide among my allies any longer.”
Weiramon tried to bluster, but Rand took a step closer. Weiramon’s eyes opened wide, and Anaiyella cried out, shading her face.
“Tell them,” Rand continued, voice soft but demanding, “that I a