The Wheel of Time

The inn was packed, and only three rooms were available: one for Moiraine and Egwene, and two for the men. Rand ended up sharing a room with Lan and Thom, located at the back of the fourth floor, near the eaves. The room was small and stuffy, with a single narrow window overlooking the stableyard. The light from the inn cast a pool of brightness on the dirt floor below, where shadows danced in the night breeze. The night had fully fallen, and the cold air seeping through the window contrasted with the stifling heat inside, creating a discomfort that seemed to cling to the skin.

The room was cramped, and the extra bed Rand pulled from his bag for Thom made it even more claustrophobic. The beds were narrow and hard, as Rand discovered when he lay down. The mattress felt like it was made of compacted straw, and the blankets were rough to the touch. Thom, however, quickly complained.

— These beds are a nightmare for a man with my back — said the gleeman, grimacing as he sat on the bed. — Rand, you don't have another one of those magical beds in your bag, do you?

Rand laughed but eventually gave in and pulled out two more beds from his bag, which magically expanded in the room. Thom lay down with a sigh of relief but didn't stay there long. He soon took out his flute and harp from their cases, practicing a few grand poses before heading out to perform in the main hall. Lan accompanied him, leaving Rand alone in the room.

It was strange, Rand thought as he tossed and turned in bed. A week ago, he would have raced down the stairs like a stone rolling down a hill just for the chance to see a gleeman perform. But he had heard Thom tell his stories every night for a week, and the gleeman would be there the next night, and the night after that. Besides, the hot bath had loosened the knots in his muscles that he thought would never go away, and the hot meal had left him lethargic. Sleepily, he wondered if Lan really knew the false Dragon, Logain. A muffled cheer came from below, the hall greeting Thom's arrival, but Rand was already asleep.

A Few Hours Later

Rand woke with a start in the darkness, his hands clutching the blanket as if it were the only anchor in a sea of nightmares. A faint moonlight streamed through the single window, illuminating the shadowy shapes of the other two beds. A snore came from one of them, like the sound of canvas tearing: Thom Merrilin. A few coals still glowed among the ashes in the fireplace, casting dancing shadows on the walls that seemed to twist and move menacingly.

So, it had been a dream. Like the nightmare at the Winespring Inn on Bel Tine, everything he had heard and done mixed with old stories and nonsense that seemed to come from nowhere. He pulled the blanket up to his neck, but it wasn't the cold that made him shiver. His head ached, throbbing with a dull pain that seemed to echo in his bones. The feeling that something was wrong lingered, like a whisper at the edge of his mind that he couldn't ignore.

Perhaps the Dreamless Potion could do something to stop these dreams. He curled up under the covers, took the potion, and tried to find the calm of the void, as Tam had taught him. Soon, the potion took effect, and he drifted back to sleep, but not without a final pang of unease, as if something or someone was watching him from the shadows.

The Next Morning

The sunlight streaming through his narrow bed finally woke Rand from a deep, though restless, sleep. He put the pillow over his head, but it didn't fully block the light. There had been no more dreams after the first one. With a sigh, he tossed the pillow aside and sat up, wincing as he stretched. The other beds were empty. The light poured through the window at a sharp angle; the sun was already well above the horizon.

He washed his face and dressed quickly, hesitating for a moment when he saw Tam's sword hanging on the wall. The blade seemed to call to him, as if wanting to remind him of something he'd rather forget. But soon his attention was drawn to his bag, which seemed to be moving slightly. Something inside was trying to get out.

Rand rushed to open the bag, and out came a book and a quill, floating in the air. The quill began to write on its own in the book, tracing precise, elegant letters. Rand was surprised; the founders had said the book could only be written in after the child showed signs of magic.

Name: Helena

Address: Wooden crate, in the alley behind the Stag and Lion.

It was simple, which left Rand a little frustrated. But considering where he was and the fact that the child seemed to be a street urchin, he knew he couldn't waste time. Taking the stairs two at a time, he hurried out of the inn.

The alley was dark, with the tall buildings around it blocking the sunlight. Rand moved cautiously, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls. At the end of the alley, he saw several crates stacked up. As he approached, he noticed someone lying among them. Rand could only see a small foot, which seemed to belong to a child of seven or eight.

— Hello, my name is Rand. Can you come out so we can talk? — he called, trying to keep his voice calm and friendly.

The small foot retreated into the crates, and Rand caught the smell of blood in the air. His heart raced. He moved forward and pulled the crate aside, revealing the child. She was in terrible shape: one foot apparently broken, a large cut on her cheek, and much of her body burned. The child was unconscious, her breathing weak and irregular.

Rand acted quickly. He cast a spell to ease the child's pain and picked her up carefully, as if carrying something extremely fragile. Running back to the inn, he climbed the stairs to his room and laid her on the bed.

— What happened to you? — Rand whispered as he examined the child's injuries. He knew he had to act fast. The magic he had learned could help, but it wasn't enough to heal such severe wounds. He needed help.