"And was he not against us before?" Selucia asked.
"No," Fortuona said. "We were against him."
"And there is a difference?"
"Yes," Fortuona said, watching the cloud of to'raken, just barely visible in the sky. "There is. I fear we shall soon see just how big a difference that is."
CHAPTER 37
A Force of Light
Min sat quietly, watching Rand dress. His motions were tense and careful, like the steps of a performer walking the high rope at a menagerie. He did up the left cuff on his crisp white shirt with slow, deliberate fingers. The right cuff was already done up; his servants saw to that.
It was approaching evening outside. Not quite dark yet, though the shutters were closed in preparation. Rand reached for a gold and black coat, sliding on one sleeve, then the other. Then did the buttons one after another. He had no trouble with these; he was growing practiced at working with only one hand. Button after button. First, second, third, fourth. . . .
Min felt like screaming.
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.
Rand did not turn from the mirror. "About what?"
"The Seanchan."
"There will be no peace," he said, straightening his coat collar. "I have failed." His tone was emotionless, yet somehow taut.
"It's all right to be frustrated, Rand."
"Frustration is pointless," he said. "Anger is pointless. Neither emotion will change facts, and the fact is that I have no more time to waste on the Seanchan. We will have to risk an attack from behind by riding to the Last Battle without stability in Arad Doman. It is not ideal, but it is what must happen."
The air shimmered above Rand, and a mountain appeared there. Viewings were so common around Rand that Min usually forced herself to ignore them unless they were new—though she did spend time some days trying to pick them all out and sort through them. This one was new, and it caught her attention. The towering mountain was blasted out on one side, making a jagged hole down the slope. Dragonmount? It was cloaked in dark shadows, as if shaded by clouds high above. That was odd; whenever she'd seen the mountain, it had reached higher than the clouds themselves.
Dragonmount in shadows. It would be important to Rand in the future. Was that a tiny prick of light shining from the heavens down onto the point of the mountain?
The viewing vanished. Though Min knew what some of them meant, this one baffled her. She sighed, leaning back in the red-cushioned chair. Her books lay scattered on the floor; she'd been dedicating more and more time to her studies, partly because she felt Rand's sense of urgency, and partly because she didn't know what else to do. She liked to think that she was capable of taking care of herself. And she'd begun to think of herself as a last defense for Rand.
Min had discovered just how useful she was as a "line of defense." She'd been about as useful as a child! In fact, she'd been a hindrance, a tool for Semirhage to use against him. She'd been indignant when Rand had suggested sending her away, giving him a tongue-lashing for even suggesting it. Send her away! To keep her safe? That was foolishness! She could take care of herself.
So she had thought. Now she saw that he'd been right.
That made her sick. So she studied and tried to stay out of his way. He'd changed on that day, as if something bright had turned off inside of him. A lamp flickering out, its oil gone, leaving only the casing. He looked at her differently, now. When those eyes of his studied her, did they see only a liability?
She shivered, trying to shove that thought from her mind.
Rand put on his boots, then did up their buckles.
He stood, reaching for the sword which leaned against his clothing chest. The black scabbard, with its lacquered red and gold dragon, sparkled in the light. Such a strange weapon those scholars had found beneath the submerged statue. The sword felt so old. Was Rand wearing it today as a symbol of something? A sign, perhaps, that he was riding to battle?
"You're going after her, aren't you?" Min found herself asking. "Graen-dal."
"I have to fix what problems I can," Rand said, pulling the ancient sword from the sheath and checking the blade. There was no heron mark, but the fine steel blade glistened in the lamplight, showing the undulating lines of its folded metal. It had been Power-forged, he claimed. He seemed to know things about it he did not share.
Rand snapped the blade into the black scabbard, looking at her. "Fix the problems you can, don't fret over the ones you cannot. It was something Tam once told me. Arad Doman will have to survive against the Seanchan on its own. The last thing I can do for the people here is remove one of the Forsaken from their soil."
"She might be waiting for you, Rand," Min said. "Did it occur to you that the boy Nynaeve found was a plant? Intended to be discovered, to lead you into a trap?"
He hesitated, then shook his head. "He was genuine, Min. Moghe-dien might have considered a trick like that, but not Graendal. She'd be too worried about being traced. We have to move quickly, before word reaches her that she has been compromised. I must strike now."
Min stood.