"Balance," Min broke in hastily. Rand’s face was so dark, he looked ready to burst. Maybe he had been right to come after all. Certainly there was no point letting him throw this meeting away in a tantrum. She gave no one a chance to speak. "There is always a balance of good against bad. That’s how the Pattern works. Even he doesn’t change that. As night balances day, good balances harm. Since he came, there hasn’t been a single stillbirth in the city, not one child born deformed. There are more marriages some days than used to be in a week, and for every man who chokes to death on a feather, a woman tumbles head over heels down three flights of stairs and, instead of breaking her neck, stands up without a bruise. Name the evil, and you can point to the good. The turning of the Wheel requires balance, and he only increases the chances of what might have happened anyway in nature." Suddenly she colored, realizing they were both looking at her. Staring, more like.

"Balance?" Rand murmured, eyebrows lifting.

"I’ve been reading some of Master Fel’s books," she said faintly. She did not want anyone to think she was pretending to be a philosopher. Lady Caraline smiled at her tall saddlebow and toyed with her reins. The woman was laughingat her. She would show this woman what she could laugh at!

Abruptly a tall black gelding with the look of a warhorse came crashing through the undergrowth, ridden by a man well into his middle years, with close-cropped hair and a pointed beard. Despite his yellow Tairen coat, the fat sleeves striped with green satin, eyes of a startling pretty blue looked out of his damp, dark face, like pale polished sapphires. Not a particularly pretty man, but those eyes made up for a too-long nose. He carried a crossbow in one leather-gauntleted hand, and brandished a broadhead bolt in the other.

"This came down inches from my face, Caraline, and it has your markings! Just because there’s no game is no reason — " He became aware of Rand and Min just then, and his drawn crossbow lowered toward them. "Are these strays, Caraline, or did you find spies from the city? I’ve never believed al’Thor would continue to let us sit here unhindered."

Half a dozen more riders appeared behind him, sweating men in fat-sleeved coats with satin stripes and perspiring women in riding dresses with wide, thick lace collars. All carrying crossbows. The last of those riders had not halted, horses stamping and tossing heads, before twice as many came struggling through the brush from another direction and pulled up near Caraline, slight, pale men and women in dark clothes with stripes of color sometimes to below the waist. All with crossbows. Servants afoot came after, laboring and panting with the heat, the men who would dress and carry any downed game. It hardly seemed to matter that none had more than a skinning knife at his belt. Min swallowed, and unconsciously began patting her cheeks with her handkerchief a little more vigorously. If even one person recognized Rand before he knew it...

Lady Caraline did not hesitate. "Not spies, Darlin," she said, turning her horse to face the Tairen newcomers. The High Lord Darlin Sisnera! All that was needed now was Lord Toram Riatin. Min wished Rand’s ta’verentugging at the Pattern could be just a little less complete. "A cousin and his wife," Caraline went on, "come from Andor to see me. May I present Tomas Trakand — from a minor branch of the House — and his wife Jaisi." Min almost glared at her; the only Jaisi she had ever known had been a dusty prune before she was twenty, and sour and bad-tempered to boot.

Darlin’s gaze swept over Rand again, lingered a moment on Min. He lowered his crossbow and bowed his head just a hair, a High Lord of Tear to a minor noble. "You are welcome, Lord Tomas. It takes a brave man to join us in our present circumstances. Al’Thor may loose the savages on us any day." The Lady Caraline gave him an exasperated look that he made a show of not seeing.

He noted that Rand’s return bow was no more than his, however; noted, and frowned. A darkly handsome woman in his retinue muttered angrily under her breath — she had a long hard face, well-practiced in anger — and a stout fellow, scowling and sweating in a red-striped coat of pale green, heeled his horse forward a few steps as if thinking to ride Rand down.

"The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills," Rand said coolly, as though he noticed nothing. The Dragon Reborn to... The Dragon Reborn to just about anybody, was what it was. Arrogance on a mountaintop. "Not much happens as we expect. For instance, I heard you were in Tear, in Haddon Mirk."

Min wished she dared speak up, dared say something to soothe him. She settled for stroking his arm. Casually. A wife — now there was a word that suddenly sounded fine — a wife idly patting her husband. Another fine word. Light, it was hard being fair! It was hardly fair, having to be fair.

"The High Lord Darlin is but lately come by longboat with a few of his close friends, Tomas." Caraline’s throaty tone never changed, but her gelding suddenly pranced, no doubt at a sharp heel, and under cover of regaining control she turned her back to Darlin and shot Rand a brief warning frown. "Do not trouble the High Lord, Tomas."

"I do not mind, Caraline," Darlin said, slinging his crossbow from his saddle by a loop. He rode a little closer and rested an arm on his tall saddlebow. "A man should know what he is stepping into. You may have heard the tales about al’Thor going to the Tower, Tomas. I came because Aes Sedai approached me months ago with suggestions that might happen, and your cousin informed me she had received the same. We thought we might put her on the Sun Throne before Colavaere could take it. Well, al’Thor is no fool; never believe he is. Myself, I think he played the Tower like a harp. Colavaere is hanged, he sits secure behind Cairhien’s walls — without an Aes Sedai halter, I’ll wager, no matter what rumor says — and until we find some way to extricate ourselves, we sit in his hand, waiting for him to make a fist."

"A ship brought you," Rand said simply. "A ship could take you away." Abruptly Min realized he was gently patting her hand on his arm. Trying to soothe her!

Startlingly, Darlin threw back his head and laughed. A great many women would forget his nose for those eyes and that laugh. "So it would, Tomas, but I’ve asked your cousin to marry me. She will not say yes or no, but a man cannot abandon even a possible wife to the mercies of the Aiel, and she will not leave."

Caraline Damodred drew herself up on her saddle, face cold enough to shame an Aes Sedai, but suddenly auras of red and white flashed around her and Darlin, and Min knew. The colors never seemed to matter, but she knew that they would marry — after Caraline had led him a merry chase. More, to her eyes a crown suddenly appeared on Darlin’s head, a simple golden circlet with a slightly curved sword lying on its side above his brows. The king’s crown he would wear one day, though of what country, she could not say. Tear had High Lords instead of a king.

Image and auras vanished as Darlin pulled his horse around to face Caraline. "There’s no game to be found today. Toram has already returned to camp. I suggest we do the same." Those blue eyes scanned the surrounding trees quickly. "It seems your cousin and his wife have lost their horses. They will wander, in a careless moment," he added to Rand, in a kindly tone. He knew very well they had no horses. "But I’m sure Rovair and Ines will give up their mounts. A walk in the air will do them good."

The stout man in the red-striped coat swung down from his tall bay immediately, with a toadying smile for Darlin and one markedly less warm if just as greasy for Rand. The angry-faced woman was a moment later in climbing stiffly from her silver-gray mare. She did not look pleased.