In this case he thought their caution ridiculous. The broad corridor outside, the only way to reach the room, was already crowded with thirty or so Far Aldazar Din, Brothers of the Eagle, and nearly two dozen of Berelain’s Mayeners in red-painted breastplates and rimmed potlike helmets that came down to the nape of the neck in back. If there was one place anywhere that Rand knew he needed no Maidens, it was Cairhien, more so even than Tear.

A Brother of the Eagle was already loping down the hallway by the time Rand appeared, and a Mayener awkwardly clutching spear and shortsword as he followed the taller Aielman. In fact, a small army trailed after the Far Aldazar Din, servants in various liveries, a Tairen Defender of the Stone in burnished breastplate and black-and-gold coat, a Cairhienin soldier with the front of his head shaved, his breastplate much more battered than the Tairen’s, two young Aielwomen in dark heavy skirts and loose white blouses whom Rand thought he recognized as apprentices to Wise Ones. News of his arrival would spread quickly. It always did.

At least Alanna was far away. Verin, too, but most of all Alanna. He still felt her, even at this distance, just a vague impression that she was somewhere to the west. Like the feel of a hand just a hair from touching the back of his neck. Was there any way to get free of her? He seized saidin again for a moment, but that still made no difference.

You never escape the traps you spin yourself. Lews Therin’s murmur sounded confused. Only a greater power can break a power, and then you’re trapped again. Trapped forever so you cannot die.

Rand shivered. Sometimes it really did seem that voice was speaking to him. If only it would make sense once in a while, having it in his head would be easier.

“I see you, Car’a’carn,” one of the Brothers of the Eagle said. His gray eyes were on a level with Rand’s, the scar slashing across his nose stark white against his sun-dark face. “I am Corman of the Mosaada Goshien. May you find shade this day.”

Rand had no chance to answer properly before the pink-cheeked Mayener officer was shouldering in. Well, not exactly shouldering—he was too slender to shoulder aside a man a head taller and half again as wide, especially an Aiel, though maybe young enough to think he could—yet he did squeeze himself in front of Rand next to Corman, tucking under his arm a crimson helmet with a single slender red plume. “My Lord Dragon, I am Havien Nurelle, Lord Lieutenant in the Winged Guards”—there were wings worked on the sides of his helmet—“in service to Berelain sur Paendrag Paeron, First of Mayene, and at your service also.” Corman gave him an amused sideways look.