Rand dropped the tankard and stepped back. His wand slid down his sleeve and, in an instant, was pointed at the creature. His eyes remained locked on it.
The Fade approached, gliding forward without hurry. Its movements had a sinuous, deadly grace, like a serpent, an impression heightened by the overlapping black plates of armor on its chest. Its thin, colorless lips curved into a cruel smile, made even more mocking by the smooth, pale skin where eyes should have been. Its voice was cold and cutting, making Bornhald's seem warm and welcoming in comparison.
— Where are the others? I know they're here. Speak, boy, and I'll let you live.
From upstairs came the hurried sound of boots. Down the hall, beyond the staircase, the Myrddraal stopped speaking and turned. Its cloak hung eerily in the air. For a moment, it tilted its head slightly, as if its eyeless gaze could pierce the wooden wall. In its pale, corpse-like hand, a black-bladed sword appeared, as dark as its cloak. The light in the hall seemed to dim at the presence of that cursed blade. The sound of boots grew louder, and the Fade turned back to Rand in a motion so fluid it seemed boneless. The black blade rose, and its thin lips stretched into a cruel sneer.
— You belong to the Great Lord of the Dark. — Its rasping voice was like nails scraping slate. — You are his.
The Fade rushed forward in a blur of black. Rand reacted instantly, casting two spells:
— Petrificus Totalus!
The creature's body froze completely. Without hesitation, Rand cast a second spell:
— Sectumsempra!
The Fade's head was severed from its body with a precise cut. As the corpse collapsed heavily to the floor, Lan descended the last steps in a single leap, landing with a thud, sword in hand. He looked at the dead Myrddraal and, barely acknowledging it, said:
— We're leaving, shepherd.
More boots echoed down the staircase, hurried. Mat, Perrin, and Thom came down, blankets and saddlebags slung over their shoulders. Mat was still trying to fasten his rolled-up blanket while his bow was tucked awkwardly under his arm.
Rand ran upstairs, remembering Helena, who was still asleep in the room. Bursting in, he waved his wand, packing up his tent and bedding into his suitcase while levitating the sleeping girl.
A stablehand ran past them, heading for the back door. A moment later, Moiraine appeared with Master Fitch, and behind them, Egwene, carrying her belongings wrapped in a shawl. Nynaeve was there too. Egwene looked terrified, on the verge of tears, but the Wisdom's face was a mask of cold fury.
As the group made their way to the stable yard, Rand approached Nynaeve, walking beside her. She carried her saddlebags and blankets with determination.
— Who is the girl in your arms? — she asked in a low voice.
— Her name is Helena. I found her on the brink of death, saved her life, and now I'm responsible for her — Rand answered, offering no further details. He knew this was not the time for explanations.
The horses were brought out, the stable hands grumbling about the rush and the late hour. Rand placed Helena in the saddle before mounting Thunder.
With everyone mounted, Master Fitch insisted on accompanying them to the gates, while the stablemen lit their way with lanterns. The rotund innkeeper bowed repeatedly, assuring them he would keep their secrets. Mutch watched them leave with the same scowl as when they arrived.
The streets of Baerlon were deserted at that hour. Lan led the way, as usual, with Moiraine and Egwene close behind. Nynaeve stayed near Helena, and the others closed the rear in a tight group. Lan kept the horses at a brisk pace.
A sleepy watchman emerged, rubbing his face. When Lan spoke, the man woke up immediately, eyeing them carefully.
— You want to leave? Now? At night? You must be crazy!
Lan pressed something into the watchman's hand.
— For your trouble — he murmured.
Without further hesitation, they departed. Lan sped ahead, followed closely by the group. The Warder led them east, down the Caemlyn Road. The hooves drummed rhythmically against the packed earth.
— Look there! — someone exclaimed.
Everyone pulled their reins and looked back.
Flames lit up the night over Baerlon, as if a house-sized bonfire had been set ablaze. Sparks danced in the sky with the wind.
— We need to move on. There won't be much rest for anyone tonight — Moiraine said.
— You say that so easily, Moiraine! — Nynaeve snapped. — What about the people at the inn? They must be hurt! The innkeeper lost everything because of you! Despite all your talk about walking in the Light, you're ready to just leave without a second thought. His troubles are your fault!
— Because of these three — Lan answered, irritated. — The fire, the wounded, the escape… all because of them. The Dark One wants them, and anything he desires this much must be denied to him. Or would you rather the Fades had taken them?
— Calm yourself, Lan — Moiraine interjected. — Wisdom, do you think I could help Master Fitch and the others? You're right, I could. But if I go back, I might be handing victory to the Dark One. We are at war, as surely as anyone in Ghealdan. The difference is, while thousands fight there, here there are only eight of us.
The Warder turned his horse and resumed the road. Rand kept looking back from time to time, until at last, all that remained was a reddish glow in the clouds. He hoped Min was safe.
The group rode on for a few more hours before Lan led them off the road and ordered them to dismount. Rand estimated they had less than two hours until dawn. They tied the horses and settled in without a fire.
— One hour of rest — Lan instructed. — Then we move on.
Mat muttered under his breath:
— So now you're kidnapping children? And maybe you could take down that tent of yours. A real bed would be better.
— If we do that, we'll waste time — Rand replied. — We only have an hour. I suggest you make the most of it.
He looked at Helena, sleeping curled up next to Nynaeve. A touch on his shoulder made him think of ignoring it, assuming it was Mat.
— We need to talk. I've waited long enough, and now you have a child, acting as if it's nothing. I want answers. Follow me. — Moiraine's gaze was firm.