Haman cleared his throat. “From what I remember of Aridhol,” he said, frowning, “of Shadar Logoth, that is—when the sun goes down, we will probably all die.”

“Yes.” Rand breathed the word reluctantly. Liah, maybe alive. All the others. Covril and Erith had their heads together a little way off. He caught a murmur of “Loial.”

Duty is heavier than a mountain, death lighter than a feather.

Lews Therin had to have that from him—memories passed both ways across that barrier, it seemed—but it cut to the heart.

“We have to go now,” he told them. “Whether Liah is alive or dead, we—must go.” Urien and Sulin only nodded, but Erith moved closer and patted him on the shoulder with surprising gentleness for a hand that could have gripped his head.

“If I might trouble you,” Haman said, “we have been rather longer than we expected.” He gestured to the sinking sun. “If you would do us the favor of carrying us outside the city in the same way you brought us here, I would appreciate it greatly.”

Rand remembered the forest outside Shadar Logoth. No Myrddraal or Trollocs there this time, but a thick wood, and the Light alone knew how far to the nearest village or in what direction. “I will do better than that,” he said. “I can take you straight to the Two Rivers as quickly.”

The two older Ogier nodded gravely. “The blessing of the Light and stillness be on you for your help,” Covril murmured. Erith’s ears quivered with anticipation, perhaps equally for seeing Loial and leaving Shadar Logoth.

Rand hesitated a moment. Loial would probably be in Emond’s Field, but he could not take them there. Too much chance news of his visit would slip out of the Two Rivers. Away from the village, then, far enough to avoid the farms that clustered close nearby.

The vertical slash of light appeared and widened; the taint pounded inside him again, worse than before; the ground seemed to beat at the soles of the boots.

Half a dozen Aiel leaped through, and the three Ogier followed with a haste that was not at all unseemly in the circumstances. Rand paused, looking back over the ruined city. He had promised to let the Maidens die for him.

As the last of the Aiel went through, Sulin hissed, and he glanced at her, but she was looking at his hand. At the back of his hand, where his fingernails had sliced a gash that oozed blood. Wrapped in the Void as he was, the pain might have belonged to someone else. The physical mark did not matter; it would heal. He had made deeper inside, where no one could see. One for each Maiden who died, and he never let them heal.

“We are done here,” he said, and stepped through the gateway into the Two Rivers. The throbbing vanished with the gateway.