Reluctantly Rand pulled the coarse wool workman's shirt over his head. “I'll feel a fool,” he muttered. “A silk shirt! I never wore a silk shirt in my life. And I never wore so fancy a coat, either, even on a feastday.” Light, if Perrin sees me in that ... Burn me, after all that fool talk about being a lord, if he sees me in that, he'll never listen to reason.

“You can't go before the Amyrlin Seat dressed like a groom fresh out of the stables, sheepherder. Let me see your boots. They'll do. Well, get on with it, get on with it. You don't keep the Amyrlin waiting. Wear your sword.”

“My sword!” The silk shirt over his head muffled Rand's yelp. He yanked it the rest of the way on. “In the women's apartments? Lan, if I go for an audience with the Amyrlin Seat — the Amyrlin Seat! — wearing a sword, she'll — ”

“Do nothing,” Lan cut him off dryly. “If the Amyrlin is afraid of you — and it's smarter for you to think she isn't, because I don't know anything that could frighten that woman — it won't be for a sword. Now remember, you kneel when you go before her. One knee only, mind,” he added sharply. “You're not some merchant caught giving short weight. Maybe you had better practice it.”

“I know how, I think. I saw how the Queen's Guards knelt to Queen Morgase.”

The ghost of a smile touched the Warder's lips. “Yes, you do it just as they did. That will give them something to think about.”

Rand frowned. “Why are you telling me this, Lan? You're a Warder. You're acting as if you are on my side.”

“I am on your side, sheepherder. A little. Enough to help you a bit.” The Warder's face was stone, and sympathetic words sounded strange in that rough voice. “What training you've had, I gave you, and I'll not have you groveling and sniveling. The Wheel weaves us all into the Pattern as it wills. You have less freedom about it than most, but by the Light, you can still face it on your feet. You remember who the Amyrlin Seat is, sheepherder, and you show her proper respect, but you do what I tell you, and you look her in the eye. Well, don't stand there gaping. Tuck in your shirt.”

Rand shut his mouth and tucked in his shirt. Remember who she is? Burn me, what I wouldn't give to forget who she is!

Lan kept up a running flow of instructions while Rand shrugged into the red coat and buckled on his sword. What to say and to whom, and what not to say. What to do, and what not. How to move, even. He was not sure he could remember it all — most of it sounded odd, and easy to forget — and he was sure whatever he forgot would be just the thing to make the Aes Sedai angry with him. If they aren't already. If Moiraine told the Amyrlin Seat, who else did she tell?

“Lan, why can't I just leave the way I planned? By the time she knew I was not coming, I'd be a league outside the walls and galloping.”

“And she'd have trackers after you before you had gone two. What the Amyrlin wants, sheepherder, she gets.” He adjusted Rand's sword belt so the heavy buckle was centered. “What I do is the best I can for you. Believe it.”

“But why all this? What does it mean? Why do I put my hand over my heart if the Amyrlin Seat stands up? Why refuse anything but water — not that I want to eat a meal with her — then dribble some on the floor and say 'The land thirsts' ? And if she asks how old I am, why tell her how long it is since I was given the sword? I don't understand half of what you've told me.”

“Three drops, sheepherder, don't pour it. You sprinkle three drops only. You can understand later so long as you remember now. Think of it as upholding custom. The Amyrlin will do with you as she must. If you believe you can avoid it, then you believe you can fly to the moon like Lenn. You can't escape, but maybe you can hold your own for a while, and perhaps you can keep your pride, at least. The Light burn me, I am probably wasting my time, but I've nothing better to do. Hold still.” From his pocket the Warder produced a long length of wide, fringed golden cord and tied it around Rand's left arm in a complicated knot. On the knot he fastened a redenameled pin, an eagle with its wings spread. “I had that made to give you, and now is as good a time as any. That will make them think.” There was no doubt about it, now. The Warder was smiling.

Rand looked down at the pin worriedly. Caldazar. The Red Eagle of Manetheren. “A thorn to the Dark One's foot,” he murmured, “and a bramble to his hand.” He looked at the Warder. “Manetheren's long dead and forgotten, Lan. It's just a name in a book, now. There is only the Two Rivers. Whatever else I am, I'm a shepherd and a farmer. That's all.”

“Well, the sword that could not be broken was shattered in the end, sheepherder, but it fought the Shadow to the last. There is one rule, above all others, for being a man. Whatever comes, face it on your feet. Now, are you ready? The Amyrlin Seat waits.”

With a cold knot in the pit of his belly, Rand followed the Warder into the hall.

Chapter 8

(Dragon's Fang)

The Dragon Reborn

Rand walked stifflegged and nervous at first, beside the Warder. Face it on your feet. It was easy for Lan to say. He had not been summoned by the Amyrlin Seat. He was not wondering if he would be gentled before the day was done, or worse. Rand felt as if he had something caught in his throat; he could not swallow, and he wanted to, badly.

The corridors bustled with people, servants going about their morning chores, warriors wearing swords over lounging robes. A few young boys carrying small practice swords stayed near their elders, imitating the way they walked. No sign remained of the fighting, but an air of alertness clung even to the children. Grown men looked like cats waiting for a pack of rats.

Ingtar gave Rand and Lan a peculiar look, almost troubled, opening his mouth, then saying nothing as they passed him. Kajin, tall and lean and sallow, pumped his fists over his head and shouted, “Tai'shar Malkier! Tai'shar Manetheren!” True blood of Malkier. True blood of Manetheren.

Rand jumped. Light, why did he say that? Don't be a fool, he told himself. They all know about Manetheren here. They know every old story, if it has fighting in it. Burn me, I have to take a rein on myself.

Lan raised his fists in reply. “Tai'shar Shienar!”

If he made a run for it, could he lose himself in the crowd long enough to reach his horse? If she sends trackers after me ... With ever