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them？〃 He loosed his hold on Rand； and sadness filled his voice。 〃The field at Marath carpeted with the dead； and no sound but the cries of ravens and the buzzing of files。 The topless towers of Cairhien burning in the night like torches。 All the way to the Shining Walls they burned and slew before they were turned back。 All the way to … 〃
Rand clamped a hand over his father's mouth。 The sound came again； a rhythmic thudding； directionless in the trees； fading then growing stronger again as the wind shifted。 Frowning； he turned his head slowly； trying to decide from where it came。 A flicker of motion caught the er of his eye； and in an instant he was crouched over Tam。 He was startled to feel the hilt of the sword clutched tight in his hand； but most of him concentrated on the Quarry Road as if the road were the only real thing in the entire world。
Wavering shadows to the east slowly resolved themselves into a horse and rider followed up the road by tall； bulky shapes trotting to keep up with； the animal。 The pale light of the moon glittered from spearheads and axe blades。 Rand never even considered that they might be villagers ing to help。 He knew what they were。 He could feel it； like grit scraping his bones； even before they drew close enough for moonlight to reveal the hooded cloak swathing the horseman； a cloak that hung undisturbed by the wind。 All of the shapes appeared black in the night； and the horse's hooves made the same sounds that any other's would； but Rand knew this horse from any other。
Behind the dark rider came nightmare forms with horns and muzzles and beaks； Trollocs in a double file； all in step； boots and hooves striking the ground at the same instant as if obeying a single mind。 Rand counted twenty as they ran past。 He wondered what kind of man would dare turn his back on so many Trollocs。 Or on one； for that matter。
The trotting column disappeared westward； thumping footfalls fading into the darkness； but Rand remained where he was； not moving a muscle except to breathe。 Something told him to be certain； absolutely certain； they were gone before he moved。 At long last he drew a deep breath and began to straighten。
This time the horse made no sound at all。 In eerie silence the dark rider returned； his shadowy mount stopping every few steps as it walked slowly back down the road。 The wind gusted higher； moaning through the trees； the horseman's cloak lay still as death。 Whenever the horse halted； that hooded head swung from side to side as the rider peered into the forest； searching。 Exactly opposite Rand the horse stopped again； the shadowed opening of the hood turning toward where he crouched above his father。
Rand's hand tightened convulsively on the sword hilt。 He felt the gaze； just as he had that morning； and shivered again from the hatred even if he could not see it。 That shrouded man hated everyone and everything； everything that lived。 Despite the cold wind； sweat beaded on Rand's face。
Then the horse was moving on； a few soundless steps and stop； until all Rand could see was a barely distinguishable blur in the night far down the road。 It could have been anything； but he had not taken his eyes off it for a second。 If he lost it； he was afraid the next time he saw the black…cloaked rider might be when that silent horse was on top of him。
Abruptly the shadow was rushing back； passing him in a silent gallop。 The rider looked only ahead of him as he sped westward into the night； toward the Mountains of Mist。 Toward the farm。
Rand sagged； gulping air and scrubbing cold sweat off his face with his sleeve。 He did not care any more about why the Trollocs had e。 If he never found out why； that would be fine； just as long as it was all ended。
With a shake he gathered himself； hastily checking his father。 Tam was still murmuring； but so softly Rand could not make out the words。 He tried to give him a drink； but the water spilled over his father's chin。 Tam coughed and choked on the trickle that made it into his mouth； then began muttering again as if there had not been any interruption。
Rand splashed a little more water on the cloth on Tam's forehead； pushed the waterbag back on the litter； and scrambled between the shafts again。
He started out as if he had had a good night's sleep； but the new strength did not last long。 Fear masked his tiredness in the beginning； but though the fear remained； the mask melted away quickly。 Soon he was back to stumbling forward； trying to ignore hunger and aching muscles。 He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other without tripping。
In his mind he pictured Emond's Field； shutters thrown back and the houses lit for Winternight； people shouting greetings as they passed back and forth on their visits； fiddles filling the streets with 〃Jaem's Folly〃 and 〃Heron on the Wing。〃 Haral Luhhan would have one too many brandies and start singing 〃The Wind in the Barley〃 in a voice like a bullfrog … he always did … until his wife managed to shush him； and Cenn Buie would decide to prove he could still dance as well as ever； and Mat would have something planned that would not quite happen the way he intended； and everybody would know he was responsible even if no one could prove it。 He could almost smile thinking about now it would be。
After a time Tam spoke up again。
〃Avendesora。 It's said it makes no seed； but they brought a cutting to Cairhien； a sapling。 A royal gift of wonder for the King。〃 Though he sounded angry； he was barely loud enough for Rand to understand。 Anyone who could hear him would be able to hear the litter scraping across the ground； too。 Rand kept on； only half listening。 〃They never make peace。 Never。 But they brought a sapling； as a sign of peace。 A hundred years it grew。 A hundred years of peace with those who make no peace with strangers。 Why did he cut it down？ Why？ Blood was the price for Avendoraldera。 Blood the price for Laman's pride。〃 He faded off into muttering once more。
Tiredly Rand wondered what fever…dream Tam could be having now。 Avendesora。 The Tree of Life was supposed to have all sorts of miraculous qualities； but none of the stories mentioned any sapling； or any 〃they。〃 There was only the one； and that belonged to the Green Man。
Only that morning he might have felt foolish at musing over the Green Man and the Tree of Life。 They were only stories。 Are they？ Trollocs were just stories this morning。 Maybe all the stories were as real as the news the peddlers and merchants brought； all the gleeman's tales and all the stories told at night in front of the fireplace。 Next he might actually meet the Green Man； or an Ogier giant； or a wild； black…veiled Aielman。
Tam was talking again； he realized； sometimes only murmuring； sometimes loud enough to understand。 From time to time he stopped to pant for breath； then went on as if he thought he had been speaking the whole time。
〃。。。 battles are always hot； even in the snow。 Sweat heat。 Blood heat。 Only death is cool。 Slope of the mountain 。。。 only place didn't stink of death。 Had to get away from smell of it 。。。 sight of it 。。。 heard a baby cry。 T