Rand darted through the common room of The Defender of the Dragonwall and hurried upstairs, grinning at the startled look the innkeeper had given him. Rand wanted to grin at everything. Thom's alive!

He flung open the door to his room and went straight to the wardrobe.

Loial and Hurin put their heads in from the other room, both in their shirtsleeves and with pipes in their teeth trailing thin streams of smoke.

"Has something happened, Lord Rand?" Hurin asked anxiously.

Rand slung the bundle made from Thom's cloak on his shoulder. "The best thing that could, next to Ingtar coming. Thom Merrilin's alive. And he's here, in Cairhien. "

"The gleeman you told me about?" Loial said. "That is wonderful, Rand. I would like to meet him."

"Then come with me, if Hurin's willing to keep watch awhile."

"It would be a pleasure, Lord Rand. " Hurin took the pipe out of his mouth. "That lot in the common room kept trying to pump me-without letting on what they were doing, of course-about who you are, my Lord, and why we're in Cairhien. I told them we were waiting here to meet friends, but being Cairhienin, they figured I was hiding something deeper. "

"Let them think what they want. Come on, Loial."

"I think not." The Ogier sighed. "I really would rather stay here." He raised a book with a thick finger marking his place. "I can meet Thom Merrilin some other time."

"Loial, you can't stay cooped up in here forever. We do not even know how long we'll be in Cairhien. Anyway, we didn't see any Ogier. And if we do, they would not be hunting for you, would they?"

"Not hunting, precisely, but . . . Rand, I may have been too hasty in leaving Stedding Shangtai the way I did. When I do go home, I may be in a great deal of trouble." His ears wilted. "Even if I wait until I'm as old as Elder Haman. Perhaps I could find an abandoned stedding to stay in until then."

"If Elder Haman won't let you come back, you can live in Emond's Field. It's a pretty place." A beautiful place.

"I am sure it is, Rand, but that would never work. You see - "

"We will talk about it when it comes to that, Loial. Now you are coming to see Thom."

The Ogier stood half again as tall as Rand, but Rand pushed him into his long tunic and cloak and down the stairs. When they came pounding through the common room, Rand winked at the innkeeper, then laughed at his startled look. Let him think I'm off to play his bloody Great Game. Let him think what he wants. Thom's alive.

Once through the Jangai Gate, in the east wall of the city, everyone seemed to know The Bunch of Grapes. Rand and Loial quickly found themselves there, on a street that was quiet for the Foregate, with the sun halfway down the afternoon sky.

It was an old three-story structure, wooden and rickety, but the common room was clean and full of people. Some men were playing at dice in one corner, and some women at darts in another. Half had the look of Cairhienin, slight and pale, but Rand heard Andoran accents as well as others he did not know. All wore the clothes of the Foregate, though, a blend of the styles of half a dozen countries. A few looked around when he and Loial came in, but they all turned back to what they had been doing.

The innkeeper was a woman with hair as white as Thom's, and sharp eyes that studied Loial as well as Rand. She was not Cairhienin, by her dark skin and her speech. "Thom Merrilin? Aye, he has a room. Top of the stairs, first door on the right. Likely Dena will let you wait for him there" - she eyed Rand's red coat, with its herons on the high collar and golden brambles embroidered up the sleeves, and his sword - "my Lord."

The stairs creaked under Rand's boots, let alone Loial's. Rand was not sure if the building would stand up much longer. He found the door and knocked, wondering who Dena was.

"Come in," a woman's voice called. "I cannot open it for you."

Rand opened the door hesitantly and put his head in. A big, rumpled bed was shoved against one wall, and the rest of the room was all but taken up by a pair of wardrobes, several brass-bound trunks and chests, a table and two wooden chairs. The slender woman sitting cross-legged on the bed with her skirts tucked under her was keeping six colored balls spinning in a wheel between her hands.

"Whatever it is," she said, looking at her juggling, "leave it on the table. Thom will pay you when he comes back."

"Are you Dena?" Rand asked.

She snatched the balls out of the air and turned to regard him. She was only a handful of years older than he, pretty, with fair Cairhienin skin and dark hair hanging loose to her shoulders. "I do not know you. This is my room, mine and Thom Merrilin's."

"The innkeeper said you might let us wait here for Thom," Rand said. "If you're Dena?"

"Us?" Rand moved into the room so Loial could duck inside, and the young woman's eyebrows lifted. "So the Ogier have come back. I am Dena. What do you want?" She looked at Rand's coat so deliberately that the failure to add "my Lord" had to be purposeful, though her brows went up again at the herons on his scabbard and sword hilt.

Rand hefted the bundle he carried. "I've brought Thom back his harp and his flute. And I want to visit with him," he added quickly; she seemed on the point of telling him to leave them. "I haven't seen him in a long time. "

She eyed the bundle. "Thom always moans about losing the best flute and the best harp he ever had. You would think he was a court-bard, the way he carries on. Very well. You can wait, but I must practice. Thom says he will let me perform in the halls next week." She rose gracefully and took one of the two chairs, motioning Loial to sit on the bed. "Zera would make Thom pay for six chairs if you broke one of these, friend Ogier."

Rand gave their names as he sat in the other chair - it creaked alarmingly under even his weight - and asked doubtfully, "Are you Thom's apprentice?"

Dena gave a small smile. "You might say that." She had resumed her juggling, and her eyes were on the whirling balls.

"I have never heard of a woman gleeman," Loial said.

"I will be the first." The one big circle became two smaller, overlapping circles. "I will see the whole world before I am done. Thom says once we have enough money, we will go down to Tear." She switched to juggling three balls in each hand. "And then maybe out to the Sea Folk's islands. The Atha'an Miere pay gleemen well."

Rand eyed the room, with all the chests and trunks. It did not look like the room of someone intending to move on soon. There was even a flower growing in a pot on the windowsill. His gaze fell on the single big bed, where Loial was sitting. This is my room, mine and Thom Merrilin's. Dena gave him a challenging look through the large wheel she had resumed. Rand's face reddened.

He cleared his throat. "Maybe we ought to wait downstairs," he began when the door opened and Thom came in with his cloak flapping around his ankles, patches fluttering. Cased flute and harp hung on his back; the cases were reddish wood, polished by handling.

Dena made the balls disappear inside her dress and ran to throw her arms around Thom's neck, standing atiptoe to do it. "I missed you," she said, and kissed him.

The kiss went on for some time, so long that Rand was beginning to wonder if he and Loial should leave, but Dena let her heels drop to the floor with a sigh.

"Do you know what that lack-wit Seaghan's done now, girl?" Thom said, looking down at her. "He's taken on a pack of louts who call themselves 'players.' They walk around pretending to be Rogosh Eagle-eye, and Blaes, and Gaidal Cain, and . . . Aaagh! They hang a scrap of painted canvas behind them, supposed to make the audience believe these fools are in Matuchin Hall, or the high passes of the Mountains of Dhoom. I make the listener see every banner, smell every battle, feel every emotion. I make them believe they are Gaidal Cain. Seaghan will have his hall torn down around his ears if he puts this lot on to follow me."

"Thom, we have visitors. Loial, son of Arent son of Halan. Oh, and a boy who calls himself Rand al'Thor."

Thom looked over her head at Rand, frowning. "Leave us for a while, Dena. Here." He pressed some silver coins into her hand. "Your knives are ready. Why don't you go pay Ivon for them?" He brushed her smooth cheek with a gnarled knuckle. "Go on. I'll make it up to you."

She gave him a dark look, but she tossed her cloak around her shoulders, muttering, "Ivon better have the balance right."

"She'll be a bard one day," Thom said with a note of pride after she was gone. "She listens to a tale once - once only, mind! - and she has it right, not just the words, but every nuance, every rhythm. She has a fine hand on the harp, and she played the flute better the first time she picked it up than you ever did." He set the wooden instrument cases atop one of the larger trunks, then dropped into the chair she had abandoned. "When I passed through Caemlyn on the way here, Basel Gill told me you'd left in company with an Ogier. Among others." He bowed toward Loial, even managing a flourish of his cloak despite the fact that he was sitting on it. "I am pleased to meet you, Loial, son of Arent son of Halan."

"And I to meet you, Thom Merrilin." Loial stood to make his bow in return; when he straightened, his head almost brushed the ceiling, and he quickly sat down again. "The young woman said she wants to be a gleeman. "

Thom's head shake was disparaging. "That's no life for a woman. Not much of a life for a man, for that. Wandering from town to town, village to village, wondering how they'll try to cheat you this time, half the time wondering where your next meal is coming from. No, I'll talk her around. She'll be Court-bard to a king or a queen before she's done. Aaaah! You didn't come here to talk about Dena. My instruments, boy. You've brought them?"

Rand pushed the bundle across the table. Thom undid it hurriedly-he blinked when he saw it was his old cloak, all covered with colorful patches like the one he wore-and opened the hard leather flute case, nodding at the sight of the gold-and-silver flute nestled inside.

"I earned my bed and meals with that after we parted," Rand said.

"I know," the gleeman replied dryly. "I stopped at some of the same inns, but I had to make do with juggling and a few simple stories since you had my - You didn't touch the harp?" He pulled open the other dark leather case and took out a gold-and-silver harp as ornate as the flute, cradling it in his hands like a baby. "Your clumsy sheepherder's fingers were never meant for the harp."

"I didn't touch it," Rand assured him.

Thom plucked two strings, wincing. "At least you could have kept it in tune," he muttered.

Rand leaned across the table toward him. "Thom, you wanted to go to Illian, to see the Great Hunt set out, and be one of the first to make new stories about it, but you couldn't. What would you say if I told you you could still be a part of it? A big part?"

Loial stirred uneasily. "Rand, are you sure. . . ?" Rand waved him to silence, his eyes on Thom.

Thom glanced at the Ogier and frowned. "That would depend on what part, and how. If you've reason to believe one of the Hunters is coming this way . . . . I suppose they could have left Illian already, but he'd be weeks reaching here if he rode straight on, and why would he? Is this one of the fellows who never went to Illian? He'll never make it into the stories without the blessing, whatever he does."

"It doesn't matter if the Hunt has left Illian or not." Rand heard Loial's breath catch. "Thom, we have the Horn of Valere."

For a moment there was dead silence. Thom broke it with a great guffaw of laughter. "You two have the Horn? A shepherd and a beardless Ogier have the Horn of . . ." He doubled over, pounding his knee. "The Horn of Valere!"

"But we do have it," Loial said seriously.

Thom drew a deep breath. Small aftershocks of laughter still seemed to catch him unaware. "I don't know what you found, but I can take you to ten taverns where a fellow will tell you that he knows a man who knows the man who's already found the Horn, and he will tell you how it was found, too - as long as you buy his ale. I can take you to three men who will sell you the Horn, and swear their souls under the Light it's the real one and true. There is even a lord in the city has what he claims is the Horn locked up inside his manor. He says it's a treasure handed down in his House since the Breaking. I don't know if the Hunters will ever find the Horn, but they will hunt down ten thousand lies along the way."

"Moiraine says it's the Horn," Rand said.

Thom's mirth was cut short. "She does, does she? I thought you said she was not with you."

"She isn't, Thom. I have not seen her since I left Fal Dara, in Shienar, and for a month before that she said no more than two words together to me." He could not keep the bitterness out of hi............