Robert Jordan - The Gathering Storm

• Название: The Gathering Storm
• Автор: Robert Jordan
• Издательство: Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
• Жанр: Фэнтези
• Год: 2009
• ISBN: 978-0-7653-0230-4

The final volume of the Wheel of Time, A Memory of Light, was partially written by Robert Jordan before his untimely passing in 2007. Brandon Sanderson, New York Times bestselling author of the Mistborn books, was chosen by Jordan’s editor—his wife, Harriet McDougal—to complete the final book. The scope and size of the volume was such that it could not be contained in a single book, and so Tor proudly presents The Gathering Storm as the first of three novels that will make up A Memory of Light. This short sequence will complete the struggle against the Shadow, bringing to a close a journey begun almost twenty years ago and marking the conclusion of the Wheel of Time, the preeminent fantasy epic of our era.

In this epic novel, Robert Jordan’s international bestselling series begins its dramatic conclusion. Rand al’Thor, the Dragon Reborn, struggles to unite a fractured network of kingdoms and alliances in preparation for the Last Battle. As he attempts to halt the Seanchan encroachment northward—wishing he could form at least a temporary truce with the invaders—his allies watch in terror the shadow that seems to be growing within the heart of the Dragon Reborn himself.

Egwene al’Vere, the Amyrlin Seat of the rebel Aes Sedai, is a captive of the White Tower and subject to the whims of their tyrannical leader. As days tick toward the Seanchan attack she knows is imminent, Egwene works to hold together the disparate factions of Aes Sedai while providing leadership in the face of increasing uncertainty and despair. Her fight will prove the mettle of the Aes Sedai, and her conflict will decide the future of the White Tower—and possibly the world itself.

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass. What was, what will be, and what is, may yet fall under the Shadow.

---

Nynaeve fell silent. Narishma had a point, though what cause would the Borderlanders have to harm Rand? They'd fought the encroachment of the Blight and its Shadowspawn for centuries, and the struggle against the Dark One was imprinted on their very souls. They wouldn't turn against the Dragon Reborn.

The Borderlanders had a special honor about them. It could be frustrating, true, but it was who they were. Lan's reverence for his homeland— particularly when many other Malkieri had abandoned their identity—was part of what she loved about him. Oh, Lan. I'll find someone to help you. I won't let you ride into the Shadow's jaws alone.

As they neared a small green hill, several Aiel returned from scouting. Rand pulled the group to a halt, waiting for the cadin'sor-clad scouts to pad up to him, several wearing the red headbands marked with the ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai. The scouts weren't winded, despite the fact that they'd run all the way ahead to the meeting place and then back.

Rand leaned forward in his saddle. "Did they do as I asked? Did they bring no more than two hundred men, no more than four Aes Sedai?"

"Yes, Rand al'Thor," said one of the scouts. "Yes, they kept to your requirements admirably. They have great honor."

Nynaeve recognized the strange Aiel brand of humor in the tone of the man's response.

"What?" Rand asked.

"One man, Rand al'Thor," the Aiel scout said. "That is all that their 'delegation' consists of. He's a short little thing of a man, though he looks like he knows how to dance the spears. The crossroads is behind this hill."

Nynaeve looked ahead. Indeed, now that she knew to look, she could see another road running up from the south, presumably meeting with theirs just beyond the hill.

"What manner of trap is this?" Naeff asked, riding up beside Rand, his lean, warrior's face concerned. "An ambush?"

Rand held up a hand for silence. He kicked his gelding into motion, and the scouts kept up without a word of complaint. Nynaeve was nearly left behind; Moonlight was a far more placid animal than she would have chosen for herself. She'd have words with the stable master when she returned to Tear.

They rounded the hillside, finding a dusty square of ground, scarred by old firepits where caravans had stopped for the night. A roadway smaller than the one they'd been using twisted up to the north and down to the south. A solitary Shienaran man stood in the center, where roads met, watching the oncoming procession. His shoulder-length gray hair hung loose around a lean face which complemented his wiry build. His round face was lined with marks of age; his eyes were small, and he seemed to be squinting.

Hurin? she thought with surprise. Nynaeve hadn't seen the thief-taker since he'd accompanied her and a group of others back to the White Tower following the events at Falme.

Rand reined in his horse, allowing Nynaeve and the Asha'man to catch up. Aiel fanned out like leaves blown before a gust of wind, taking up watchful positions around the crossroads. She was fairly certain that both of the Asha'man had seized the Source, and likely Rand had as well.

Hurin shuffled uncomfortably. He looked much as Nynaeve remembered him. A tad more gray in the hair, but wearing the same simple brown clothing, with a sword-breaker and a shortsword at his waist. He had tied a horse to a fallen log nearby. The Aiel watched it suspiciously, as others might watch a pack of guard dogs.

"Why, Lord Rand!" Hurin called, voice uneven. "It is you! Well, you've certainly come up in the world, I must say. Good to—"

He cut off as he was raised from the ground. He made an "urk" of surprise, being turned on unseen weaves of Air. Nynaeve suppressed a shiver. Would seeing men channel ever stop bothering her?

"Who chased after you and me, Hurin," Rand called, "the time when we were trapped in that distant shadow land? What nationality of men did I fell with the bow?"

"Men?" Hurin asked, voice almost a squawk. "Lord Rand, there were no men in that place! None that we met, beyond Lady Selene, that is. All I remember are those frog beasts, the same ones folk say those Seanchan ride!"

Rand spun Hurin around in the Air, regarding him with cold eyes. Then he urged his mount closer. Nynaeve and the Asha'man did as well.

"You don't believe that I'm me, Lord Rand?" Hurin asked as he hung in the air.

"I take very little as it is presented to me, these days," Rand said. "I assume the Borderlanders sent you because of our familiarity?"

Hurin nodded, sweating. Nynaeve felt a stab of pity for the man. He was absolutely devoted to Rand. They had spent a lot of time together, chasing down Fain and the Horn of Valere. On the return trip to Tar Valon, she'd seldom been able to stop Hurin from gossiping about this or that grand feat that Rand had accomplished. Being treated this way by the man he idolized was probably very unsettling for the lean thief-taker.

"Why only you?" Rand asked quietly.

"Well," Hurin said, sighing. "They did tell you—" He hesitated, seeming distracted by something. He sniffed audibly. "Now that. . . that's strange. Never smelled that before."

"What?" Rand asked.

"I don't know," Hurin said. "The air ... it smells like a lot of death, a lot of violence, only not. It's darker. More terrible." He shuddered visibly. Hurin's ability to smell violence was one of those oddities that the Tower couldn't explain. Not something related to the Power, yet obviously not quite natural either.

Rand didn't seem to care what Hurin smelled. "Tell me why they sent only you, Hurin."

"I was saying, Lord Rand. See, this here, we're to discuss terms."

"Terms regarding your armies moving back where they belong," Rand said.

"No, Lord Rand," Hurin said uncomfortably. "Terms for setting up a real meeting with them. That part in their letter was kind of vague, I guess. They said you might be angry to find only me here."

"They were wrong," Rand said, voice softer. Nynaeve found herself straining to hear him, leaning forward.

"I no longer feel anger, Hurin," Rand said. "It serves me no useful function. Why would we need 'terms' to meet together? I presumed that my offer to bring only a small force would be acceptable."

"Well, Lord Rand," Hurin said, "you see, they really want to meet with you. I mean, we came all this way—marched through the bloody winter itself, my pardon, Aes Sedai. But it was the bloody winter\ And a bad one, although it took a long time getting to us. Anyways, we did that coming for you, Lord Rand. So you see, they want to meet with you. Very badly."

"But?"

"But, well, last time you were in Far Madding there was—"

Rand held up a finger. Hurin quieted, and all grew still. Even the horses seemed to hold their breaths.

"The Borderlanders are in Far Madding?" Rand asked.

"Yes, Lord Rand."

"They want to meet with me there?"

"Yes, Lord Rand. You'll have to come inside the protection of the Guardian, you see, and—"

Rand waved a curt hand, cutting off Hurin. A gateway opened immediately. It didn't appear to lead to Far Madding, however; it just led back a short distance, to the road where Rand and the others had been riding a short time before.

Rand released Hurin, gesturing for the Aiel to let the man mount, then moved Tai'daishar through the gateway. What was going on? Everyone else followed. Once through, Rand created another gateway, this one opening into a small wooded hollow. Nynaeve thought she recognized it; this was where they had camped following their visit to Far Madding with Cadsuane.

Why the first gateway? Nynaeve thought, confused. And then it occurred to her. One didn't need to learn an area to Travel a short distance from it—and Traveling to a place taught someone that location well enough to create gateways from it.

So by Traveling a short hop first, Rand memorized the location well enough to create gateways wherever he wanted—while skipping the time needed to learn the area! It was extremely clever, and Nynaeve felt herself blushing that she hadn't seen the possibility before. How long had Rand known of this trick? Had memory of it come from that . . . voice in his head?

Rand rode Tai'daishar out into the hollow, the horse's hooves stirring fallen leaves as he worked his way through the underbrush. Nynaeve followed, trying to urge her docile mare to keep up with Rand. That stable-master was going to hear from her for certain. His ears would burn when she was through with him!

Hurin trotted his horse out as well, and the Aiel loped along, subtly keeping him surrounded. They had their faces veiled, spears or bows in hand. Past the trees and underbrush, Rand stopped Tai'daishar, looking across the open meadow toward the ancient city of Far Madding.

It wasn't large, not by the measure of the Great Cities. Nor was it beautiful, not when compared with the Ogier-built wonders Nynaeve had seen. But it was big enough, and it was certainly home to fine architecture and ancient relics. Set upon an island in a lake, it was actually faintly reminiscent of Tar Valon. Three broad bridges crossed the calm waters, and were the only means of entering the city.

A very large army was encamped around the lake, perhaps covering more ground than Far Madding itself. Nynaeve counted dozens of different pennons marking dozens of different houses. There were lines upon lines of horses, and tents like rows of summer crops, carefully planted and organized, awaiting harvest. The Borderlander army.

"I've heard of this place," Naeff said, riding up, close-cropped, dark brown hair ruffling in the wind. He narrowed his eyes, rectangular face dissatisfied. "It's like a stedding, only not as safe."

Far Madding's massive ter'angreal—known as the Guardian—created invisible protective bubbles that blocked people from touching the One Power. That could be worked around through the use of a very specialized ter'angreal, one of which Nynaeve happened to be wearing. But it would help only slightly.

The army looked close enough to be within the bubble that prevented men from channeling, which extended about a mile out around the city.

"They will know we've come," Rand said softly, eyes narrowed. "They'll have been waiting for it. They expect me to ride into their box."

"Box?" Nynaeve asked hesitantly.

"The city is a box," Rand said. "The whole city and the area round it. They want me where they can control me, but they don't understand. Nobody controls me. Not anymore. I've had enough of boxes and prisons, of chains and ropes. Never again will I put myself into the power of another."

Still staring at the city, he reached to its place on his saddle and removed the statuette of a man holding aloft a globe. Nynaeve felt a sharp chill. Did he have to bring that with him everywhere he went?

"Perhaps they need to be taught," Rand said. "Given encouragement to do their duty and obey me."

"Rand. . . ." Nynaeve tried to think. She couldn't let this happen again!

The access key began to glow faintly. "They want to capture me," he said softly. "Hold me. Beat me. They did it once in Far Madding already. They—"

"Rand!" Nynaeve said sharply.

He stopped, looking at her, seeing her as if for the first time.

"These are not slaves with their minds already burned away by Graendal. That is an entire city full of innocent people!"

"I wouldn't harm the people of the city," Rand said, voice emotionless. "That army deserves the demonstration, not the city. A rain of fire upon them, perhaps. Or lightning to strike and bite."

"They have done nothing other than ask you to meet with them!" Nynaeve said, edging her horse closer to him. That ter'angreal sat like a viper in his hand. Once, it had cleansed the Source. If only it had melted away as the female one had!

She wasn't certain what would happen if he aimed a weave into the protective bubble of Far Madding, but she suspected it would still work. The Guardian didn't stop weaves from being made; Nynaeve had been able to craft weaves just fine, when she'd drawn upon her Well.

Either way, she knew that she had to stop Rand from turning his anger—or whatever it was he felt—upon his allies. "Rand," she said softly. "If you do this, there will be no turning back."

"There's already no turning back for me, Nynaeve," he said, his eyes intense. Those eyes shifted, sometimes seeming gray, sometimes blue. Today, they looked iron gray. He continued, voice flat. "My feet started on this path the moment Tarn found me crying on that mountain."

"You don't have to kill anyone today. Please."

He turned to look back at the city. Slowly, mercifully, the access key stopped glowing. "Hurin!" he barked.

He must be close to fraying, Nynaeve thought. His anger is slipping out in his voice.

The thief-taker rode up to the front of the group. The Aiel kept their distance, however. "Yes, Lord Rand?"

"Return to your masters inside of their box," Rand said, voice under control again. "You are to give them a message for me."

"What message, Lord Rand?"

Rand hesitated, then slipped the access key back in its place. "Tell them that it will not be long before the Dragon Reborn rides to battle at Shayol Ghul. If they wish to return to their posts with honor, I will provide them with transport back to the Blight. Otherwise, they can remain here, hiding. Let them explain to their children and grandchildren why they were hundreds of leagues away from their posts when the Dark One was slain and the prophecies fulfilled."

Hurin looked shaken. "Yes, Lord Rand."

With that, Rand turned his horse about and rode back toward the clearing. Nynaeve followed, too slowly. Beautiful though Moonlight was, she'd have traded the beautiful mare in an instant for a biddable, dependable Two Rivers horse like Bela.

Hurin stayed behind. He still looked shaken. His reunion with "Lord Rand" had obviously been far from what he expected. Nynaeve gritted her teeth as the trees obscured her view of him. Inside the clearing, Rand had opened another gateway, a direct gateway to Tear.

They rode out into the Traveling ground prepared outside the Stone of Tear's stableyards. The air was hot and muggy in Tear, despite the overcast sky, and thick with the sounds of men training and gulls shrieking. Rand rode out to where stablehands waited, then dismounted, his face unreadable.

As Nynaeve climbed off of Moonlight and handed the reins to a ruddy-faced stable worker, Rand walked past her. "Look for a statue," he said.

"What?" she asked with surprise.

He glanced back at her, stopping. "You asked where Perrin was. He's camped with an army beneath the shade of an enormous fallen statue shaped like a sword stabbing the earth. I'm certain scholars here can tell you where it is; it's very distinctive."

"How . . . how do you know that?"

Rand just shrugged. "I just do."

"Why tell me?" she asked, walking alongside him across the yard of packed earth. She hadn't expected him to give up the information—he had gotten into the habit of holding onto whatever he knew, even if that knowledge was meaningless.

"Because," he said, striding toward the keep, voice growing almost too soft to hear, "I ... have a debt to you for caring when I cannot. If you seek Perrin out, tell him that I will soon need him."