“Daughter of Artur Hawkwing,” Rand said to Tuon. “Time spins toward the end of all things. The Last Battle has begun, and the threads are being woven. Soon, my final trial will begin.”
Tuon stepped forward, Selucia waving a few last finger-talk words toward her. “You will be taken to Seanchan, Dragon Reborn,” Tuon said. Her voice was collected, firm.
Mat smiled. Light, but she made a good Empress. There was no need to filch my medallions, though, he thought. They were going to have words about that. Assuming he survived this. She would not really execute him, would she?
Again, he tried the invisible bonds tying him.
“Is that so?” Rand asked.
“You have delivered yourself to me,” Tuon said. “It is an omen.” She seemed almost regretful. “You did not truly think that I would allow you to stroll away, did you? I must take you in chains as a ruler who resisted me— as I have done to the others I found here. You pay the price of your ancestors’ forgetfulness. You should have remembered your oaths.”
“I see,” Rand said.
You know, Mat thought, he does a fair job of sounding like a king, too. Light, what kind of people had Mat surrounded himself with? What had happened to the fair barmaids and carousing soldiers?
“Tell me something, Empress,” Rand said. “What would you all have done if you’d returned to these shores and found Artur Hawkwing’s armies still ruling? What if we hadn’t forgotten our oaths, what if we had stayed true? What then?”
“We would have welcomed you as brothers,” Tuon said. “Oh?” Rand said. “And you would have bowed to the throne here? Hawkwing’s throne? If his empire still stood, it would have been ruled over by his heir. Would you have tried to dominate them? Would you instead have accepted their rule over you?”
“That is not the case,” Tuon said, but she seemed to find his words intriguing.
“No, it is not,” Rand said.
“By your argument, you must submit to us.” She smiled.
“I did not make that argument,” Rand said, “but let us do so. How do you claim the right to these lands?”
“By being the only legitimate heir of Artur Hawkwing.”
“And why should that matter?”
“This is his empire. He is the only one to have unified it, he is the only leader to have ruled it in glory and greatness.”
“And there you are wrong,” Rand said, voice growing soft. “You accept me as the Dragon Reborn?”
“You must be,” Tuon said slowly, as if wary of a trap.
“Then you accept me for who I am,” Rand said, voice growing loud, crisp. Like a battle horn. “I am Lews Therin Telamon, the Dragon. I ruled these lands, unified, during the Age of Legends. I was leader of all the armies of the Light, I wore the Ring of Tamyrlin. I stood first among the Servants, highest of the Aes Sedai, and I could summon the Nine Rods of Dominion.”
Rand stepped forward. “I held the loyalty and fealty of all seventeen Generals of Dawn’s Gate. Fortuona Athaem Devi Paendrag, my authority supersedes your own!”
“Artur Hawkwing—”
“My authority supersedes that of Hawkwing! If you claim rule by the name of he who conquered, then you must bow before my prior claim. I conquered before Hawkwing, though I needed no sword to do so. You are here on my land, Empress, at my sufferance!”
Thunder broke in the distance. Mat found himself shaking. Light, it was just Rand. Just Rand… was it not?
Tuon backed away, eyes wide, her lips parted. Her face was full of horror, as if she had just seen her own parents executed.
Green grass spread around Rand’s feet. The guards nearby jumped back, han
ds to swords, as a swath of life extended from Rand. The brown and yellow blades colored, as if paint had been poured on them, then came upright—stretching as if after long slumber.
The greenness filled the entire garden clearing. “He’s still shielded!” the sul’dam cried. “Honored One, he is still shielded!”
Mat shivered, and then noticed something. Very soft, so easy to miss.
“Are you singing?” Mat whispered to Rand.