This trip to the farm had been in Rand’s mind for some time already. He did not like Taim, and Lews Therin would surge around the man, but he could not go on avoiding the place. Especially not now. So far as he knew, Taim had done well at keeping the students out of the city—at least, Rand had heard of no incidents, and he would have—but news of Merana and the embassy would reach the farm eventually, by the supply carts or with new students, and in the way of rumors, nine Aes Sedai would become nine Red sisters, or ninety, hunting men to gentle. Whether the result of that would be students running off in the night or students coming into Caemlyn to strike the first blow, he had to quell it before it began.

Caemlyn held too many rumors of Aes Sedai already as it was, another reason he had planned to go out. Alanna and Verin and the Two Rivers girls had grown into half the Tower, by the word in the streets, and there were plenty of other tales of Aes Sedai sneaking into the city, sneaking through the gates in the night. That story of an Aes Sedai Healing stray cats was so prevalent he could almost believe in her himself, but all Bashere’s efforts to track the tale down provided as much substance as the tale that the women who escorted the Dragon Reborn everywhere were really Aes Sedai in disguise.

Unconsciously Rand turned, staring at a wall banded with white reliefs of lions and roses, staring beyond it. Alanna was no longer at Culain’s Hound. She was on edge; had she not been Aes Sedai, he would have said her nerves were jagged. Once last night he had wakened, sure she was weeping; the feel had been that strong. Sometimes he almost found himself forgetting she was there—until something like her waking him happened. He supposed you really could grow used to anything. This morning Alanna was . . . eager, as well; eager seemed the best word. He would wager all of Caemlyn that the plumb line from his eyes to her ran straight to The Crown of Roses. He would wager Verin was with her. Not nine Aes Sedai. Eleven.

Lews Therin murmured uneasily. It was the sound of a man wondering whether his back was against a wall. Rand wondered, too. Eleven, and thirteen could take him as easily as scoop up a child. If he gave them the chance. Lews Therin began laughing softly, a hoarse weeping sort of laugh; he had drifted again.