She would find honor in her new life. Somehow.

"They are no threat," whispered Heirn, crouching with the True Bloods on the other side of the Maidens.

Rhuarc watched the refugees, alert. "The dead walk," the Taardad clan chief said, "and men fall at random to Sightblinder's evil, their blood corrupted like the water of a bad well. Those might be poor folk fleeing the ravages of war. Or they might be something else. We keep our distance."

Aviendha glanced at the increasingly distant line of refugees. She did not think Rhuarc was right; these were not ghosts or monsters. There was always something . . . wrong about those. They left her with an itch, as if she were about to be attacked.

Still, Rhuarc was wise. One learned to be careful in the Three-fold Land, where a tiny twig could kill. The group of Aiel slipped off the hilltop and down onto the brown-grassed plain beyond. Even after months spent in the wetlands, Aviendha found the landscape strange. Trees here were tall and long-limbed, with too many buds. When the Aiel crossed patches of yellow spring grass among the fallen winter leaves, they all seemed so full of water that she half-expected the blades and leaves to burst beneath her feet. She knew the wetlanders said that this spring was unnaturally slow starting, but already it was more fertile than her homeland.

In the Three-fold Land, this meadow—with the hills to provide watchpoints and shelter—would have immediately been seized by a sept and used for farming. Here, it was just one of a thousand different untouched patches of land. The fault lay again in those cities. The nearest ones were too distant from this location to make it a good spot for a wet-lander farmstead.

The eight Aiel quickly crossed the grasses, weaving between hillsides, moving with speed and stealth. Horses could not match a man's feet, what with their thunderous galloping. Terrible beasts—why did the wetlanders insist on riding them? Baffling. Aviendha could begin to understand how a chief or queen must think, but she knew that she'd never completely understand wetlanders. They were just too strange. Even Rand al'Thor.

Especially Rand al'Thor. She smiled, thinking of his earnest eyes. She remembered the scent of him—wetlander soaps, which smelled of oil, mixed with that particular earthy musk that was all his own. She would marry him. She was as determined as Elayne in that regard; now that they were first-sisters, they could marry him together as was proper. Only, how could Aviendha marry anyone, now? Her honor had been in her spears, but Rand al'Thor now wore those at his waist, beaten and forged into a belt buckle, given to him by her own hand.

He had offered her marriage once. A man! Offering marriage! Another of those strange wetlander customs. Even disregarding the strangeness of it—disregarding the insult his proposal had shown Elayne—Aviendha could never have accepted Rand al'Thor as her husband. Couldn't he understand that a woman must bring honor to a marriage? What could a mere apprentice offer? Would he have her come to him as an inferior? It would shame her completely to do that!

He must not have understood. She did not think him cruel, only dense. She would come to him when she was ready, then lay the bridal wreath at his feet. And she couldn't do that until she knew who she was.

The ways of ji'e'toh were complex. Aviendha knew how to measure honor as a Maiden, but Wise Ones were different creatures entirely. She had thought she was gaining some small amount of honor in their eyes. They had allowed her, for instance, to spend a great deal of time with her first-sister in Caemlyn. But then, suddenly, Dorindha and Nadere had arrived and informed Aviendha that she had been ignoring her training. They had seized her like a child caught listening furtively outside the sweat tent, towing her away to join the rest of her clan as they left for Arad Doman.

And now . . . and now the Wise Ones treated her with less respect than they had before! They offered her no teaching. Somehow, she had misstepped in their eyes. That made her stomach twist. To shame herself before the other Wise Ones was almost as bad as showing fear before one as brave as Elayne!

So far, the Wise Ones had allowed Aviendha some honor by letting her serve punishments, but she didn't know how she had shamed herself in the first place. Asking would—of course—only bring more shame. Until she unwove the problem, she could not meet her toh. Worse, there was a real danger of her making the mistake again. Until she sorted out this problem, she would remain an apprentice, and she would never be able to bring an honorable bridal wreath to Rand al'Thor.

Aviendha gritted her teeth. Another woman might have wept, but what good would that have done? Whatever her mistake, she had brought it upon herself, and it was her duty to right it. She would find honor again and she would marry Rand al'Thor before he died at the Last Battle.

That meant that whatever it was she had to learn, she needed to do so quickly. Very quickly.

They met up with another group of Aiel waiting in a small clearing amid a stand of pine trees. The ground was thick with discarded brown needles, the sky broken by the towering trunks. The group was small by the standards of clans and septs, barely two hundred people. In the middle of the clearing stood four Wise Ones, each wearing the characteristic brown woolen skirt and white blouse. Aviendha wore similar attire, which now felt as natural to her as the cadin'sor once had. The scouting party split up, men and Maidens moving to join members of their clans or societies. Rhuarc joined the Wise Ones, and Aviendha followed him.

Each of the Wise Ones—Amys, Bair, Melaine, and Nadere—gave her a glance. Bair, the only Aiel with the group who wasn't Taardad or Goshien, had arrived only recently, perhaps to coordinate with the others. Whatever the reason, none of them seemed pleased. Aviendha hesitated. If she left now, would it seem as if she were trying to avoid their attention? Did she instead dare stay, and risk incurring their further displeasure?

"Well?" Amys said to Rhuarc. Though Amys had white hair, she looked quite young. In her case, this wasn't due to working the Power— her hair had started turning silver when she'd been a child.

"It was as the scouts described, shade of my heart," Rhuarc said. "Another pitiful band of wetlander refugees. I saw no hidden danger in them."

The Wise Ones nodded, as if this was what they had expected. "That is the tenth band of refugees in less than a week," said aged Bair, her watery blue eyes thoughtful.

Rhuarc nodded. "There are rumors of Seanchan attacks on harbors to the west. Perhaps the people move inland to avoid the raids." He glanced at Amys. "This country boils like water spilled on a hearthstone. The clans are uncertain what Rand al'Thor wishes of them."

"He was very clear," Bair noted. "He will be pleased that you and Dobraine Taborwin secured Bandar Eban, as he asked."

Rhuarc nodded. "But still, his intentions are not clear. He asked for us to restore order. Are we then to be like wetlander city guardsmen? That is no place for the Aiel. We are not to conquer, so we do not get the fifth.

And yet it feels very much like conquest, what we do. The Car'a'carns orders can be clear yet confusing at the same time. He has a gift in that area, I think."

Bair smiled, nodding. "Perhaps he intends for us to do something with these refugees."

"And what would we do?" Amys asked, shaking her head. "Are we Shaido, expected to make gai'sbain from wetlanders?" Her tone left little doubt as to what she thought of both Shaido and the idea of making wet-landers gai'sbain.

Aviendha nodded in agreement. As Rhuarc said, the Car'a'carn had sent them to Arad Doman to "restore order." But that was a wetlander concept; Aiel brought their own order with them. There was chaos to war and battle, true, but each and every Aiel understood his place, and would act within that place. The little children understood honor and toh, and a hold would continue to function after all of the leaders and Wise Ones were killed.