The Wheel of Time, page 552
“Rand al’Thor.” Sulin almost strolled into the courtyard, just ahead of a cluster of map-laden servants and gai’shain. Liah and Cassin were with her, pretending to be just as casual. “You asked for more maps.” Sulin’s glance at the gateway was barely short of accusing.
“I can protect myself better there than you can,” Rand told her coldly. He did not intend it to be cold, but wrapped in the Void, he could not make his voice anything but cold and distant. “There is nothing your spears can fight, and some things they can’t.”
Sulin still wore a good deal of her earlier stiffness. “All the more reason for us to be there.”
That could not possibly make sense to anyone not Aiel, but. . . . “I will not argue it,” he said. She would try to follow, if he refused; she would summon Maidens who would try to leap through even if he was closing the gateway. “I expect you have the rest of today’s guard just inside. Whistle them up. But everyone is to stay close to me and touch nothing. Be quick about it. I want this done with.” His memories of Shadar Logoth were not pleasant.
“I sent them away as you insisted,” Sulin said disgustedly. “Give me a slow count of one hundred.”
“Ten.”
“Fifty.”
Rand nodded, and her fingers flashed. Jalani darted away inside, and Sulin’s hands flickered again. Three gai’shain women dropped their armloads of maps, looking startled—Aiel never looked that surprised—gathered long white robes and vanished back into the Palace in different directions, but quickly as they moved, Sulin was ahead of them.
As Rand reached, twenty, Aiel began bounding into the courtyard, hurtling though windows, leaping down from balconies. He almost lost the count. Every one was veiled, and only some Maidens. They stared about in confusion when they found only Rand and three Ogier, who blinked at them curiously. Some lowered their veils. The Palace servants huddled together.
The flow continued even after Sulin returned, unveiled, dead on the count of fifty, the courtyard filling with Aiel. Quickly it became clear that she had spread the word the Car’a’carn was in danger, the only way she felt she could gather enough spears in the time allotted. A little sour grumping passed among the men, but most decided it was a fine joke, some chuckling or rattling spears on bucklers. None left, though; they looked at the gateway and settled on their haunches to see what was happening.
Ears sharpened with the Power, Rand heard a Maiden named Nandera, sinewy yet still handsome despite more gray than yellow in her hair, whisper to Sulin. “You spoke to gai’shain as Far Dareis Mai.”
Sulin’s blue eyes met Nandera’s green levelly. “I did. We will deal with it when Rand al’Thor is safe today.”
“When he is safe,” Nandera agreed.
Sulin chose out twenty Maidens quickly, some who had been part of the guard that morning and some not, but when Urien began picking Red Shields, men from other societies insisted they should be included. That city through the gateway looked a place where enemies might be found, and the Car’a’carn must be protected. If the truth be told, no Aiel turned away from a possible fight, and the younger they were, the more likely to try to find one. Another argument almost started when Rand said the men could not number more than the Maidens—that would dishonor Far Dareis Mai, since he had given them his honor to carry—and the Maidens not more than Sulin had already chosen. He truly was taking them where no battle skills could protect them, and every one who came with him was one more he would have to watch out for. That he did not explain; no telling whose honor he would step on if he did.
“Remember,” he said once they were sorted out, “touch nothing. Take nothing, not even a sip of water. And stay in sight always; don’t go inside any building for any reason.” Haman and Covril nodded vigorously, which seemed to impress the Aiel more than Rand’s words. So long as they were impressed.
They stepped through the gateway into a city long dead, a city more than dead.
A golden sun more than halfway to its zenith roasted the ruins of greatness. Here and there a huge intact dome topped a pale marble palace, but more were holed than not, and most often only a curved and broken fragment remained. Long columned walks ran to towers as tall as anything Cairhien had ever dreamed of, and to towers ending jaggedly. Everywhere roofs had fallen in, bricks and stone fanned across fractured paving stones from collapsed buildings and walls. Shattered fountains and broken monuments decorated every intersection. Stunted trees, dying in the drought, dotted great hills of rubble. Dead weeds lined cracks in streets and buildings. Nothing moved, not a bird, not a rat, not a breeze. Silence shrouded Shadar Logoth. Shadar Logoth. Where the Shadow Waits.
Rand let the gateway vanish. No Aiel unveiled. The Ogier stared around, faces tight and ears laid stiffly back. Rand held on to saidin in that fight that Taim said told a man he was alive. Even if he had not been able to channel, maybe especially then, he would have wanted that reminder here.
Aridhol had been a great capital in the days of the Trolloc Wars, an ally of Manetheren and the rest of the Ten Nations. When those wars had lasted long enough to dwarf the War of the Hundred Years, when it seemed the Shadow was everywhere victorious and every victory of the Light did no more than buy time, a man named Mordeth became a councilor in Aridhol, and counseled the rule that to win, to survive, Aridhol must be harder than the Shadow, more cruel than the Shadow, less trusting. Slowly they made it so, until in the end, Aridhol became, if not blacker than the Shadow, as black. With war still raging against the Trollocs, Aridhol finally turned in on itself, turned on itself, consumed itself.
Something was left behind, something that had kept anyone from ever living here again. Not a pebble of this place but was tainted with the hatred and suspicion that had murdered Aridhol and left Shadar Logoth. Not a pebble but could infect, with time.
And more than the taint remained, though that was enough to keep any sane man away.
Rand turned slowly where he stood, staring up at windows like empty eye sockets, the eyes gouged out. With the sun climbing high he could feel unseen watchers. When he had been here before, that feeling had not come this strongly until the sun began to go down. Much more than the taint remained. A Trolloc army had died camping here, vanished except for messages smeared on walls in blood, begging the Dark One to save them. Night was no time to be in Shadar Logoth.
This place frightens me, Lews Therin murmured beyond the Void. Does it not frighten you?
Rand’s breath caught. Was the voice actually addressing him? Yes, it frightens me.
There is darkness here. Blackness blacker than black. If the Dark One chose to live among men, he would choose here.
Yes. He would.
I must kill Demandred.
Rand blinked. Does Demandred have some connection to Shadar Logoth? To here?
I remember at last killing Ishamael. There was a sense of wonder in the voice, at a new discovery. He deserved to die. Lanfear deserved to die, too, but I am glad I was not the one to kill her.
Was it just happenstance that the voice seemed to speak to him? Was Lews Therin hearing, answering? How did I—did you kill Ishamael? Tell me how.
Death. I want the rest of death. But not here. I do not want to die here.
Rand sighed. Just happenstance. He would not want to die here either. A nearby palace, broken columns along its front, had a distinct lean toward the street. It could fall any time, and bury them where they stood. “Lead on,” he told Haman. To the Aiel, he added, “Remember what I said. Touch nothing, take nothing, and stay in sight.”
“I did not think it would be so bad,” Haman muttered. “It almost washes away the Waygate.” Erith moaned, and Covril looked as though she would if she were not too dignified. Ogier were sensitive to the mood of a place. Haman pointed. The sweat on his face had nothing to do with the heat. “That way.”
Broken pavement crunched beneath Rand’s boots like bones grinding. Haman directed them around corners and down streets, past one set of ruins after another, but his direction was sure. The encircling Aiel moved on their toes. Their eyes above the black veils did not look as if they expected attack, but as if the attack had already begun.
The unseen watchers and broken buildings brought back memories Rand would as soon have avoided. Here Mat had begun a road that took him to the Horn of Valere, that almost killed him on the way, maybe the road that had led him to Rhuidean and the ter’angreal he did not want to talk about. Here Perrin had disappeared when they were all forced to flee in the night, and when Rand finally saw him again, far from here, he had golden eyes and a sad look and secrets that Moiraine had never shared with Rand.
He had not escaped unscathed himself, though Shadar Logoth had not touched him directly. Padan Fain had followed them all here, himself and Mat and Perrin, Moiraine and Lan, Nynaeve and Egwene. Padan Fain, peddler and frequent visitor to the Two Rivers. Padan Fain, Darkfriend. More than Darkfriend now, and worse, so Moiraine had said. Fain had followed them all here, but what left was more than Fain, or less. Fain, as much as he was still Fain, wanted Rand dead. He had threatened everyone Rand loved if Rand would not come to him. And Rand had not. Perrin had dealt with that, kept the Two Rivers safe, but Light how it hurt. What had Fain been doing with the Whitecloaks? Could Pedron Niall be a Darkfriend? If Aes Sedai could be, then so could the Lord Captain Commander of the Children of the Light.
“There it is,” Haman said, and Rand gave a start. Shadar Logoth was the last place on earth to lose yourself in thought.
Where the Elder stood had been a spacious square once, though a weathered mound of rubble filled one end now. In the middle of the square, where a fountain might have been, was instead an ornate filigree fence of some shiny metal, Ogier-high and untouched by rust. That enclosed what appeared to be a tall length of stone carved with vines and leaves so delicately done that you expected to feel the breeze that was riffling them, that you were surprised to realize, they were gray not green. The Waygate, though it certainly looked like no kind of gate.
“They cut down the grove as soon as the Ogier departed for the stedding,” Haman muttered angrily, long brows drawn down, “no more than twenty or thirty years, and extended the city.”
Rand touched the fence with a flow of Air, wondering how to get through, and blinked as the whole thing collapsed into twenty or more pieces, which fell with loud shivering clangs that made the Ogier jump. Rand shook his head. Of course. Metal that had survived so long without a spot of rust must be Power-wrought, maybe even remnants from the Age of Legends, but the joins that had held them together had long since corroded, awaiting one good shove.
Covril laid a hand on his shoulder. “I would ask you not to open it. No doubt Loial told you how—he always did show too much interest in that sort of thing—but the Ways are dangerous.”
“I can lock it,” Haman said, “so it cannot be opened again without the Talisman of Growing. Um. Um. A simple matter; simply done.” He did not seem eager, though. He certainly did not move any closer.
“It might have to be used without time for fetching anything,” Rand told him. All the Ways might have to be used, whatever the dangers. If he could cleanse them somehow. . . . That was almost as grandiose as his boast to Taim that he would cleanse saidin.
He began weaving saidin around the Waygate, using all Five Powers, even lifting the segments of fence back into place. From the first flow he channeled, the taint seemed to pulse inside him, a slowly building vibration. It must have been the evil in Shadar Logoth itself, a resonance of evil to evil. Even in the Void he felt dizzy from those reverberations, as though the world swung beneath his feet in time to them; they made him want to vomit up everything he had ever eaten. Still, he persevered. He could not send men to stand guard here any more than he could have had them search.
What he wove and then inverted was a vicious sort of trap to suit a vicious place. A ward of surpassing nastiness. Humans could cross it unharmed, perhaps even the Forsaken—he could ward against humans or Shadowspawn, not both—and even a male Forsaken could not detect it. Should any sort of Shadowspawn pass through. . . . That was the viciousness. They would not die right away; they might even live to make it beyond the city walls. Long enough for the dead to be far off, not here to frighten the next Myrddraal that came. Long enough for a Trolloc army to exit perhaps, picking up their own deaths as they did. Cruel enough for a Trolloc. Making the thing sickened him as much as the taint on saidin.
Tying off the weave and loosing saidin brought only some relief. The residue of filth that always seemed to remain behind still throbbed; it almost felt as though the ground were throbbing beneath his boots. His teeth and ears ached. He could not wait to get away from here.
Taking a deep breath, he prepared to channel again, to open a gateway—and stopped, frowning. Quickly he counted everyone, then did it again, more slowly. “Somebody’s missing. Who?”
The Aiel took only a moment to confer.
“Liah,” Sulin said through her veil.
“She was right behind me.” There was no mistaking Jalani’s voice.
“Maybe she saw something.” He thought that was Desora.
“I told everybody to stay together!” Rage washed across the Void, waves breaking to froth on a boulder. One of them missing, here, and they took it with that Light-blasted Aiel coolness. A Maiden missing. A woman missing, in Shadar Logoth. “When I find her . . . !” Inch by inch he fought down the fury that threatened to engulf the emptiness around him. What he wanted to do to Liah was shout at her till she fainted, send her to Sorilea for the rest of her life. That rage wanted white-hot murder. “Split up in pairs. Shout, look everywhere, but don’t go inside, not for any reason. And stay out of shadows. You can die here before you know it. You can all die before any of you know it. If you see her in a building, even if she looks just fine, find me unless she comes out to you.”
“We can search faster if we each search alone,” Urien said, and Sulin nodded agreement. There were far too many nods.
“Pairs!” Rand fought the fury down again. The Light burn Aiel stubbornness! “At least that way you have somebody to watch your back. For once do what I say when I say it. I’ve been here; I know a little about this place.”
A few minutes later, most spent in argument over how many should stay with Rand, twenty pairs of Aiel scattered. The one remaining was Jalani, Rand thought, though it was hard to tell with the veil. For once she did not appear to be happy guarding him; the green eyes held a decided touch of sullenness.
“I suppose we could make another pair,” Haman said, looking at Covril.
She nodded. “And Erith can remain here.”
“No!” Rand and Erith said at almost the same instant. The older Ogier turned with faces of grave disapproval. Erith’s ears sagged until they looked ready to fall off.
Rand grabbed hold of his temper firmly. Once it had seemed that in the Void, any anger was off in the far distance somewhere, attached to him by no more than a thread. More and more it threatened to overwhelm him, to overwhelm the Void. Which might be disastrous. Aside from that, though. . . . “I’m sorry. I had no business shouting at you, Elder Haman, or you, Speaker Covril.” Was that the right way to say it? Was it even a title of that sort? Nothing in their expressions said either way. “I would appreciate it if you would all stay with me. Then we can all search together.”
“Of course,” Haman said. “I really don’t see how I can offer you more protection than you can offer yourself, but it is yours.” Covril and Erith both nodded approvingly. Rand had no idea what Haman was talking about, but it did not seem the time to ask, with the three of them apparently bucked up to protect him. He had no doubt he could safeguard all three as long as they kept close.
“So long as you follow your own rules, Rand al’Thor.” The green-eyed Maiden was indeed Jalani, and sounding heartened that she would not have to stand and wait. Rand hoped he had given the others a better idea of what this place was like.
From the beginning the search was frustrating. They walked up and down the streets watched by invisible eyes, sometimes climbing over strewn rubble, taking turns calling, “Liah! Liah!” Covril’s shouts made leaning walls creak; Haman’s made them groan ominously. Nothing answered. The only other sounds were the shouts of the search parties and mocking echoes along the streets. Liah! Liah!
The sun had climbed nearly overhead when Jalani said, “I do not think she would have gone this far, Rand al’Thor. Not unless she was trying to get away from us, and she would not do that.”
Rand turned from peering through shadowed columns at the head of wide stone steps, trying to see into a great chamber beyond. As far as he could make out, there was nothing in there but dust. No footprints. The unseen watchers had faded; they were not gone even now, but almost. “We have to search as much as we can. Maybe she. . . .” He did not know how to finish. “I won’t leave her here, Jalani.”
The sun swung higher and began to descend, and he was standing atop what had been a palace once, or maybe a whole block of buildings. It was a hill now, weathered enough over the years that only the number of broken bricks and pieces of worked stone sticking out of the dry soil said it had been anything else. “Liah!” he shouted through cupped hands. “Liah!”
“Rand al’Thor,” a Maiden called from the street below, lowering her veil so he could see it was Sulin. She and another Maiden, still veiled, stood with Jalani and the Ogier. “Come down.”
He scrambled down in a cloud of dust and a shower of bits of brick and stone, moving so fast that he nearly fell twice. “You’ve found her?”
Sulin shook her head. “We should have by now if she is alive. She would not have gone far on her own. If anyone carried her far, they carried her dead, I think; she would not go easily. And if she was injured too badly to answer our shouts, I think that also must mean she is dead.” Haman sighed sadly. The Ogier women’s long eyebrows dropped to their cheekbones; for some reason, their sad, pitying looks were directed at Rand.
