The prisoner’s mouth quirked in what might have been the beginning of a smile, and he rubbed his chin. “I shaved, Bashere.” His voice held more than a hint of mockery. “It is hot this far south, or had you not noticed? Hotter than it should be, even here. Do you want proof of me? Shall I channel for you?” His dark eyes flickered to Rand, then back to Bashere, whose face was growing darker by the minute. “Perhaps not that, not now. I remember you. I had you beat at Irinjavar, until those visions appeared in the sky. But everyone knows that. What does everyone not know, that you and Mazrim Taim will?” Focused on Bashere, he seemed unaware of his guards, or their swords still hovering near his ribs. “I hear you hid what happened to Musar and Hachari and their wives.” The mockery was gone; he was just relating what had happened, now. “They shouldn’t have tried to kill me under a parley flag. I trust you found them good places as servants? All they’ll really want to do now is serve and obey; they won’t be happy otherwise. I could have killed them. They all four drew daggers.”

“Taim,” Bashere growled, hand darting for his hilt, “you . . . !”

Rand stepped in front of him, seizing his wrist with the blade half-drawn. The guards’ blades, Tumad’s as well, were touching Taim now, very likely touching flesh the way they were shoved against his coat, but he did not flinch. “Did you come to see me,” Rand demanded, “or to taunt Lord Bashere? If you do it again, I’ll let him kill you. My amnesty pardons what you’ve done, but it doesn’t let you flaunt your crimes.”

Taim studied Rand a moment before speaking. Despite the heat, the fellow barely sweated. “To see you. You were the one in the vision in the sky. They say it was the Dark One himself you fought.”

“Not the Dark One,” Rand said. Bashere was not fighting him exactly, but he could feel the tension in the man’s arm. If he let go, that blade would be out and through Taim in a heartbeat. Unless he used the Power. Or Taim did. That had to be avoided, if it could be. He kept his grip on Bashere’s wrist. “He called himself Ba’alzamon, but I think he was Ishamael. I killed him later, in the Stone of Tear.”

“I hear you’ve killed a number of the Forsaken. Should I call you my Lord Dragon? I have heard this lot use the title. Do you mean to kill all the Forsaken?”