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So by Traveling a short hop first, Rand memorized the location well enough to create gateways wherever he wanted—while skipping the time needed to learn the area! It was extremely clever, and Nynaeve felt herself blushing that she hadn't seen the possibility before. How long had Rand known of this trick? Had memory of it come from that . . . voice in his head?

Rand rode Tai'daishar out into the hollow, the horse's hooves stirring fallen leaves as he worked his way through the underbrush. Nynaeve followed, trying to urge her docile mare to keep up with Rand. That stable-master was going to hear from her for certain. His ears would burn when she was through with him!

Hurin trotted his horse out as well, and the Aiel loped along, subtly keeping him surrounded. They had their faces veiled, spears or bows in hand. Past the trees and underbrush, Rand stopped Tai'daishar, looking across the open meadow toward the ancient city of Far Madding.

It wasn't large, not by the measure of the Great Cities. Nor was it beautiful, not when compared with the Ogier-built wonders Nynaeve had seen. But it was big enough, and it was certainly home to fine architecture and ancient relics. Set upon an island in a lake, it was actually faintly reminiscent of Tar Valon. Three broad bridges crossed the calm waters, and were the only means of entering the city.

A very large army was encamped around the lake, perhaps covering more ground than Far Madding itself. Nynaeve counted dozens of different pennons marking dozens of different houses. There were lines upon lines of horses, and tents like rows of summer crops, carefully planted and organized, awaiting harvest. The Borderlander army.

"I've heard of this place," Naeff said, riding up, close-cropped, dark brown hair ruffling in the wind. He narrowed his eyes, rectangular face dissatisfied. "It's like a stedding, only not as safe."

Far Madding's massive ter'angreal—known as the Guardian—created invisible protective bubbles that blocked people from touching the One Power. That could be worked around through the use of a very specialized ter'angreal, one of which Nynaeve happened to be wearing. But it would help only slightly.

The army looked close enough to be within the bubble that prevented men from channeling, which extended about a mile out around the city.

"They will know we've come," Rand said softly, eyes narrowed. "They'll have been waiting for it. They expect me to ride into their box."

"Box?" Nynaeve asked hesitantly.

"The city is a box," Rand said. "The whole city and the area round it. They want me where they can control me, but they don't understand. Nobody controls me. Not anymore. I've had enough of boxes and prisons, of chains and ropes. Never again will I put myself into the power of another."

Still staring at the city, he reached to its place on his saddle and removed the statuette of a man holding aloft a globe. Nynaeve felt a sharp chill. Did he have to bring that with him everywhere he went?

"Perhaps they need to be taught," Rand said. "Given encouragement to do their duty and obey me."

"Rand. . . ." Nynaeve tried to think. She couldn't let this happen again!

The access key began to glow faintly. "They want to capture me," he said softly. "Hold me. Beat me. They did it once in Far Madding already. They—"

"Rand!" Nynaeve said sharply.

He stopped, looking at her, seeing her as if for the first time.

"These are not slaves with their minds already burned away by Graendal. That is an entire city full of innocent people!"

"I wouldn't harm the people of the city," Rand said, voice emotionless. "That army deserves the demonstration, not the city. A rain of fire upon them, perhaps. Or lightning to strike and bite."

"They have done nothing other than ask you to meet with them!" Nynaeve said, edging her horse closer to him. That ter'angreal sat like a viper in his hand. Once, it had cleansed the Source. If only it had melted away as the female one had!

She wasn't certain what would happen if he aimed a weave into the protective bubble of Far Madding, but she suspected it would still work. The Guardian didn't stop weaves from being made; Nynaeve had been able to craft weaves just fine, when she'd drawn upon her Well.

Either way, she knew that she had to stop Rand from turning his anger—or whatever it was he felt—upon his allies. "Rand," she said softly. "If you do this, there will be no turning back."

"There's already no turning back for me, Nynaeve," he said, his eyes intense. Those eyes shifted, sometimes seeming gray, sometimes blue. Today, they looked iron gray. He continued, voice flat. "My feet started on this path the moment Tarn found me crying on that mountain."

"You don't have to kill anyone today. Please."

He turned to look back at the city. Slowly, mercifully, the access key stopped glowing. "Hurin!" he barked.