“Our oaths are to the lands we protect,” Easar said.
“As you wish,” Rand said, rising. “I once gave you an ultimatum. I phrased it poorly, and I regret that, but I remain your only path to the Last Battle. Without me, you will remain here, hundreds of leagues from those lands you swore to protect.” He nodded to each of them, then helped Min to her feet. “Tomorrow, I meet with the monarchs of the world. After that, I am going to go to Shayol Ghul and break the remaining seals on the Dark One’s prison. Good day.”
Cadsuane didn’t rise. She sat, sipping her tea. The four seemed astounded. Well, the boy certainly had picked up an understanding of the dramatic.
“Wait!” Paitar finally sputtered, rising. “You’re going to do what?”
Rand turned. “I’m going to shatter the seals, Lord Paitar. I’m going to ‘break what he must break’ as your own prophecy says I must. You cannot stop me, not when those words prove what I will do. Earlier, I stepped in to prevent Maradon from falling. It was near to it, Tenobia. The walls are shattered, your troops bloodied. With help, I was able to save it. Barely. Your countries need you. And so, you have two choices. Swear to me, or sit here and let everyone else fight in your place.”
Cadsuane sipped her tea. That was going a little too far.
“I’ll leave you to discuss my offer,” Rand said. “I can spare one hour—though, before you start your deliberation, could you send for someone on my behalf? There is a man in your army named Hurin. I would like to apologize to him.”
They still looked stunned. Cadsuane rose to go speak with the sisters waiting outside; she knew a few of them, and needed to feel out the others. She didn’t worry about what the Borderlanders would decide. Al’Thor had them. Another army beneath his banner. I didn’t think he’d manage this one.
One more day and it all began. Light, but she hoped that they were ready.
Chapter 52
Boots
Elayne settled herself in Glimmer’s saddle. The mare was one of the prizes of the royal stable; she was of fine Saldaean stock with a brilliant white mane and coat. The saddle itself was rich, the leather trimmed with wine-red and gold. It was the sort of saddle you used when parading.
Birgitte rode Rising, a tall dun gelding, also one of the fastest in the royal stables. The Warder had chosen both horses. She expected to have to run.
Birgitte wore one of Elayne’s foxhead copies, though it had a different shape, a thin silver disc with a rose on the front. Elayne carried another wrapped in cloth inside her pocket.
She’d tried making another this morning, but it had melted, nearly setting her dresser on fire. She was having a great deal of difficulty without the original to study. Her dreams of arming all of her personal Guards with medallions was looking less and less possible, unless she somehow managed to persuade Mat to give her the original again.
Her honor guard fell into mounted ranks around her and Birgitte in the Queen’s Plaza. She was bringing only a hundred soldiers—seventy-five Guardsmen and an inner ring of twenty-five Guardswomen. It was a tiny force, but she’d have gone without those hundred if she’d been able to get away with it. She couldn’t afford to be seen as a conqueror.
“I don’t like this,” Birgitte said.
“You don’t like anything, lately,” Elayne said. “I swear, you’re becoming more irritable by the day.”
“It’s because you’re becoming more foolhardy by the day.”
“Oh, come now. This is hardly the most foolhardy thing I’ve done.”
“Only because you’ve set a very high benchmark for yourself, Elayne.”
“It will be fine,” Elayne said, glancing southward.
“Why do you keep looking in that direction?”
“Rand,” Elayne said, feeling that warmth again, pulsing from the knot of emotions in her mind. “He’s getting ready for something. He feels troubled. And peaceful at the same time.” Light, but that man could be confusing.
The meeting would happen in one day, if his original deadline still held. Egwene was right; breaking the seals would be foolish. But Rand would see reason.
Alise rode up to her, accompanied by three Kinswomen. Sarasia was a plump woman with a grandmotherly air; dark-skinned Kema kept her black hair in three long braids, and prim Nashia with a youthful face wore a baggy dress.
The four took up positions beside Elayne. Only two of them were strong enough for a gateway—many of the Kin were weaker than most Aes Sedai. But that would be enough, assuming Elayne had trouble embracing the Source.
“Can you do something to prevent archers from hitting her?” Birgitte asked Alise. “Some kind of weave?”
Alise cocked her head thoughtfully. “I know of one that might help,” she said, “but I’ve never tried it.”
Another Kinswoman wove a gateway up ahead. It opened to a span of rough, brown-grassed land outside of Cairhien. A much larger army waited there, wearing the cuirasses and bell-shaped helmets of Cairhienin troops. The officers were easy to spot with their dark clothing, in the colors of the Houses they served. They wore con rising over their backs.
Tall, narrow-faced Lorstrum sat his mount at the front of his army, which wore dark green with crimson slashes; Bertome was on the other side. Their forces looked to be about the same size. Five thousand each. The other four Houses had fielded smaller armies.
“If they wanted to take you captive,” Birgitte said grimly, “you’re handing them the chance.”
“There’s no way to do this and remain safe, not unless I want to hide in my palace and send my troops in. That would only lead to rebellion in Cairhien and potential collapse in Andor.” She glanced at the Warder. “I’m Queen now, Birgitte. You’re not going to be able to keep me from danger, no more than you could keep a lone soldier safe on the battlefield.”
Birgitte nodded. “Stay close to me and Guybon.”
Guybon approached, on a large dappled gelding. With Birgitte on one side of her and Guybon on the other—and with both of their horses taller than Elayne’s—a would-be assassin would have great difficulty picking her off without first hitting her friends.
So it would be for the rest of her life. She nudged Glimmer into motion, and her troop made its way through the gateway and onto Cairhienin soil. The noblemen and noblewomen ahead bowed or curtsied from horseback, and those oblations were deeper this time than they had been when meeting Elayne in her throne