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ither hand。 Struggling to twist in midair； to get his feet under him； he threw one knife at the golden…haired figure with the bludgeon。 The other he held on to as he tried to turn himself； to land ready to face。。。。
The world lurched back into normal motion； and he landed awkwardly on his side； hard enough to drive me wind out of him。 Desperately he struggled to his feet； drawing another knife from under his coat。 You could not carry too many； Thom claimed。 Neither was needed。
For a moment he thought cards and figures had vanished。 Or maybe he had imagined it all。 Maybe he was the one going mad。 Then he saw the cards； back to ordinary size； pinned to one of the dark wood panels by his still quivering knives。 He took a deep； ragged breath。
The table lay on its side； coins still spinning across the floor where lordlings and servants crouched among scattered cards。 They gaped at Mat and his knives； those in his hands and those in the wall； with equally wide eyes。 Estean snatched a silver pitcher that had somehow escaped being overturned and began pouring wine down his throat； the excess spilling over his chin and down his chest。
〃Just because you do not have the cards to win；〃 Edorion said hoarsely； 〃there is no need to …〃 He cut off with a shudder。
〃You saw it； too。〃 Mat slipped the knives back into their sheaths。 A thin trickle of blood ran down the back of his hand from the tiny wound。 〃Don't pretend you went blind！〃
〃I saw nothing；〃 Reimon said woodenly。 〃Nothing！〃 He began crawling across the floor； gathering up gold and silver； concentrating on the coins as if they were the most important thing in the world。 The others were doing the same； except Estean； who scrambled about checking the fallen pitchers for any that still held wine。 One of the servants had his face hidden in his hands； the other； eyes closed； was apparently praying in a low； breathless whine。
With a muttered oath； Mat strode to where his knives pinned the three cards to the panel。 They were only playing cards again； just stiff paper with the clear lacquer cracked。 But the figure of the Amyrlin still held a dagger instead of a flame。 He tasted blood and realized he was sucking the cut in the back of his hand。
Hastily he wrenched his knives free； tearing each card in half before tucking the blade away。 After a moment； he hunted through the cards littering the floor until he found the rulers of Coins and Winds； and tore them across； too。 He felt a little foolish … it was over and done with； the cards were just cards again … but he could not help it。
None of the young lords crawling about on hands and knees tried to stop him。 They scrambled out of his way； not even glancing at him。 There would be no more gambling tonight； and maybe not for some nights to e。 At least； not with him。 Whatever had happened； it had been aimed at him； clearly。 Even more clearly； it had to have been done with the One Power。 They wanted no part of that。
〃Burn you； Rand！〃 he muttered under his breath。 〃If you have to go mad； leave me out of it！〃 His pipe lay in two pieces； the stem bitten through cleanly。 Angrily he grabbed his purse from the floor and stalked out of the room。
In his darkened bedchamber Rand tossed uneasily on a bed wide enough for five people。 He was dreaming。
Through a shadowy forest Moiraine was prodding him with a sharp stick toward where the Amyrlin Seat waited； sitting on a stump with a rope halter for his neck in her hands。 Dim shapes moved half…seen through the trees； stalking； hunting him； here a dagger blade flashed in the failing light； over there he caught a glimpse of ropes ready for binding。 Slender and not as tall as his shoulder； Moiraine wore an expression he had never seen on her face。 Fear。 Sweating； she prodded harder； trying to hurry him to the Amyrlin's halter。 Darkfriends and the Forsaken in the shadows； the White Tower's leash ahead and Moiraine behind。 Dodging Moiraine's stick； he fled。
〃It is too late for that；〃 she called after him； but he had to get back。 Back。
Muttering； he thrashed on the bed； then was still； breathing more easily for a moment。
He was in the Waterwood back home； sunlight slanting through the trees to sparkle on the pond in front of him。 There was green moss on the rocks at this end of the pond； and thirty paces away at the other end a small arc of wildflowers。 This was where； as a child； he had learned to swim。
〃You should have a swim now。〃
He spun around with a start。 Min stood there； grinning at him in her boy's coat and breeches； and next to her； Elayne； with her red…golden curls； in a green silk gown fit for her mother's palace。
It was Min who had spoken； but Elayne added； 〃The water looks inviting； Rand。 No one will bother us here。〃
〃I don't know；〃 he began slowly。 Min cut him off by twining her fingers behind his neck and pulling herself up on tiptoe to kiss him。
She repeated Elayne's words in a soft murmur。 〃No one will bother us here。〃 She stepped back and doffed her coat； then attacked the laces of her shirt。
Rand stared； the more so when he realized Elayne's gown was lying on the mossy ground。 The Daughter…Heir was bending； arms crossed； gathering up the hem of her shift。
〃What are you doing？〃 he demanded in a strangled voice。
〃Getting ready to go swimming with you；〃 Min replied。
Elayne flashed him a smile； and hoisted the shift over her head。
He turned his back hastily； though half wanting not to。 And found himself staring at Egwene； her big； dark eyes looking back at him sadly。 Without a word she turned and vanished into the trees。
〃Wait！〃 he shouted after her。 〃I can explain。〃
He began to run； he had to find her。 But as he reached the edge of trees； Min's voice stopped him。
〃Don't go； Rand。〃
She and Elayne were in the water already； only their heads showing as they swam lazily in the middle of the pond。
〃e back；〃 Elayne called； lifting a slim arm to beckon。 〃Do you not deserve what you want for a change？〃
He shifted his feet； wanting to move but unable to decide which way。 What he wanted。 The words sounded strange。 What did he want？ He raised a hand to his face； to wipe away what felt like sweat。 Festering flesh almost obliterated the heron branded on his palm； white bone showed through red…edged gaps。
With a jerk； he came awake； lying there shivering in the dark heat。 Sweat soaked his smallclothes； and the linen sheets beneath his back。 His side burned； where an old wound had never healed properly。 He traced the rough scar； a circle nearly an inch across； still tender after all this time。 Even Moiraine's Aes Sedai Healing could not mend it pletely。 But I'm not rotting yet。 And I'm not mad； either。 Not yet。 Not yet。 That said it all。 He wanted to laugh； and wondered if that meant he was a little mad already。
Dreaming about Min and Elayne； dreaming of them like that。。。。 Well； it was not madness； but it was surely foolishness。 Neither one of them had ever looked at him in that way when he was awake。 Egwene he had been all but promised to since they were both children。 The betrothal words had never been spoken in front of the Women's Circle； but everyone in and around Emond's Field knew they would marry one day。
That one day would never e； of course； not now； not with the fate that lay ahead of a man who channeled。 Egwene must have realized that； too。 She must have。 She was all wrapped up in being Aes Sedai。 Still； women were odd； she might think she could be an Aes Sedai and marry him anyway； channeling or no channeling。 How could he tell her that he did not want to marry her anymore； that he loved her like a sister？ But there would not be any need to tell her； he was sure。 He could hide behind what he was。 She had to understand that。 What man could ask a woman to marry him when he knew he had only a few years； if he was lucky； before he went insane； before he began to rot alive？ He shivered despite the heat。
I need sleep。 The High Lords would be back in the morning； maneuvering for his favor。 For the Dragon Reborn's favor。 Maybe I won't dream； this time。 He started to roll over； searching for a dry place on the sheets … and froze； listening to small rustlings in the darkness。 He was not alone。
The Sword That Is Not a Sword lay across the room； beyond his reach； on a throne…like stand the High Lords had given him； no doubt in the hopes he would keep Callandor out of their sight。 Someone wanting to steal Callandor。 A second thought came。 Or to kill the Dragon Reborn。 He did not need Thom's whispered warnings to know that the High Lord's professions of undying loyalty were only words of necessity。
He emptied himself of thought and emotions； assuming the Void； that much came without effort。 Floating in the cold emptiness within himself； thought and emotion outside； he reached for the True Source。 This time he touched it easily； which was not always the case。
Saidin filled him like a torrent of white heat and light； exalting him with life； sickening him with the foulness of the Dark One's taint； like a skim of sewage floating on pure； sweet water。 The torrent threatened to wash him away； burn him up； engulf him。
Fighting the flood； he mastered it by bare effort of will and rolled from the bed； channeling the Power as he landed on his feet in the stance to begin the sword…form called Apple Blossoms in the Wind。 His enemies could not be many or they would have made more noise； the gently named form was meant for use against more than one opponent。
As his feet hit the carpet； a sword was in his hands； with a long hilt and a slightly curved blade sharp on only one edge。 It looked to have been wrought from flame yet it did not feel even warm。 The figure of a heron stood black against the yellow…red of the blade。 In the same instant every candle and gilded lamp burst alight； small mirrors behind them swelling the illumination。 Larger mirrors on the walls and two stand…mirrors reflected it further； until he could have read fortably anywhere in the large room。
Callandor sat undisturbed； a sword seemingly of glass； hilt and blade； on a stand as tall as a man and just as wide； the wood ornately carved and gilded and set with precious stones。 The furnishings； too； were all gilded and begemmed； bed and chairs and benches； wardrobes and chests and washstand。 The pitcher and bowl were golden Sea Folk porcelain； as thin as leaves。 The broad Tarabon carpet； in scrolls of scarlet and gold and blue； could have fed an entire village for months。 Almost every flat surface held more delicate Sea Folk porcelain； or else goblets and bowls and ornaments of gold worked with silver； and silver chased with gold。 On the broad marble mantel over the fireplace； two silver wolves with ruby eyes tried to pull down a golden stag a good three feet tall。 Draperies of scarlet silk embroidered with eagles in thread…of…gold hung at the narrow windows； stirring slightly in a failing wind。 Books lay wherever there was room； leather…bound； wood…bound； some tattered and still dusty from the deepest shelves of the Stone's library。
Now； where he had thought to see assassins； or thieves； one beautiful young woman stood hesitant and surprised in the middle of the carpet； black hair falling in shining waves to her shoulders。 Her thin； white silk robe emphasized more than it hid。 Berelain； ruler of the city…state of Mayene； was the last person he had expected。
After one wide…eyed start； she made a deep； graceful curtsy that drew her garments tight。 〃I am unarmed； my Lord Dragon。 I submit myself to your search； if you doubt me。〃 Her smile suddenly made him unfortably aware that he wore nothing but his smallclothes。
I'll be burned if she makes me scramble around trying to cover myself。 The thought floated beyond the Void。 I didn't ask her to walk in on me。 To sneak in！ Anger and embarrassment drifted along the borders of emptiness too； but his face reddened all the same； dimly he was aware of it； aware of the knowledge deepening the flush in his cheeks。 So coldly calm within the Void； outside。。。 He could feel each individual droplet of sweat sl