The window was broken. Bashere glanced out of it. “Lady Torkumen is down there.”

“She jumped,” Torkumen whispered, clawing at his eye sockets, fingers covered with blood. He sounded dazed. “That light…That terrible light.”

Ituralde glanced at Bashere.

“I cannot watch it,” Torkumen muttered. “I cannot! Great Lord, where is your protection? Where are your armies to rend, your swords to strike? That Light eats at my mind, like rats feasting on a corpse. It burns at my thoughts. It killed me. That light killed me.”

“He’s gone mad,” Bashere said grimly, kneeling down beside the man. “Better than he deserved, judging by those ramblings. Light! My own cousin a Darkfriend. And in control of the city!”

“What is he talking about?” one of Bashere’s men said. “A light? Surely he couldn’t have seen the battle. None of these windows face the right way.”

“I’m not sure he was talking about the battle, Vogeler,” Bashere said. “Come on. I suspect the Lord Dragon is going to be tired. I want to see that he’s cared for.”

This is it, Min thought, tapping the page. She sat on her windowsill in the Stone of Tear, enjoying the breeze. Trying not to think of Rand. He wasn’t hurt, but his emotions were so strong. Anger. She’d hoped he wouldn’t be so angry ever again.

She shook off the worrying; she had work to do. Was she following the wrong thread? Was she interpreting in the wrong way? She read the line again. Light is held before the maw of the infinite void, and all that he is can be seized.

Her speculation cut off as she saw a light appear from the room across the hall. She dropped her book and leaped down to the floor. Rand was suddenly close. She could feel it through the bond.

Two Maidens guarded the room across the hall, mostly to prevent people from wandering in and getting hurt by gateways. The one that had opened now led to a place that smelled of smoke. Rand stumbled through. Min ran to him. He looked exhausted, eyes red, face wan. He leaned against her with a sigh, letting her help him to a chair.

“What happened?” Min demanded of Evasni, the Maiden who came through next. She was a lanky woman with dark red hair, cut short with a tail in the back like that of most Maidens.

“The Car’a’carn is well,” the woman said. “Though he is like a youth who ran one more lap around the camp than everyone else, only to prove that he could.”

“He gained much ji today,” Ifeyina—the other Maiden—said, almost in argument. Her voice was solemn.

Rand sighed, settling back in the chair. Bashere followed out of the gateway, boots hitting stone. Min heard calls from down below—a group of wounded soldiers being brought through a larger gateway. The Stone’s courtyards were alive with activity, Aes Sedai Healers running to care for the bloodied, sooty men.

After Bashere came a lean Domani man in his middle years. Rodel Ituralde. He looked much the worse for wear, with dried blood on his filthy face, his clothing ripped, and bearing a clumsy bandage on his arm. Rand had no visible wounds. His clothing was clean, though he insisted on still wearing that aged brown cloak. But Light, he looked tired.