CHAPTER 5

Two nights later, they had reached the top of a low hill, and ahead of them, about a mile between the bare trees and the long shadows of the night, lay Baerlon below. Rand gasped, trying to smile and gape at the same time.

A wall of logs nearly twenty feet high surrounded the city, with wooden watchtowers scattered along its length. Inside, slate and tile roofs gleamed in the lowering sun, and plumes of smoke rose from the chimneys. Hundreds of chimneys. There wasn't a single thatched roof in sight. A wide road ran east from the city, and another to the west, each with at least a dozen wagons and twice as many ox-carts heading toward the palisade. Farms lay scattered around the city, more clustered to the north, while only a few broke the forest to the south. It's bigger than Emond's Field, Watch Hill, and Deven Ride combined! And maybe even Taren Ferry.

"So this is a city." Mat sighed, leaning forward over his horse's neck to get a better look.

Perrin could only shake his head.

"How can so many people live in one place?"

Egwene just stared.

Thom Merrilin glanced at Mat, then rolled his eyes and blew out his mustaches.

"City!" He snorted.

"And you, Rand?" asked Moiraine. "What do you think of your first sight of Baerlon?"

"Interesting," he said slowly.

"You still have a long way to go," said Moiraine. "A long way. But there is no other choice, except to flee, hide, and flee again for the rest of your lives. And they would be short lives. You need to remember that when the journey becomes difficult. You have no choice."

Moiraine continued as if their thoughts weren't obvious.

"The danger starts again here. Be careful what you say within these walls. Above all, don't mention Trollocs, or Halfmen, or things like that. You mustn't even think about the Dark One. Some in Baerlon have even less regard for the Aes Sedai than the people of Emond's Field, and there may even be Darkfriends." Egwene gasped, and Perrin murmured under his breath. Mat's face paled, but Moiraine continued calmly: "We need to attract as little attention as possible." Lan was exchanging his cloak of gray and green shades for a more common dark brown, although finely cut. His chameleon cloak formed a large bulge in one of his saddlebags. "Here we don't use our real names," continued Moiraine. "Here I am known as Alys, and Lan is Andra. Remember that. Very well. Let's enter the walls before night catches us. The gates of Baerlon are closed from sunset to sunrise."

Lan approached the wall and gave a tug on a frayed rope hanging beside the gates. A bell sounded on the other side of the wall. Suddenly, from atop the wall, a wrinkled face under a worn fabric helmet peeked suspiciously down, looking between the cut tips of two logs, a good three spans above their heads.

"What is this, eh? It's too late to open this gate. Too late, I say. Go around to the Whitebridge Gate if you want..." Moiraine's mare moved up where the man atop the wall could see her clearly. Suddenly his wrinkles deepened into a smile missing several teeth, and he seemed torn between speaking and doing his duty. "I didn't know it was you. Wait. I'm coming down. Just a moment. I'm coming. I'm coming."

The head disappeared from view, but Rand could still hear muffled shouts for them to stay where they were, that he was coming. With great creaks from disuse, the right side of the gate slowly swung outward, stopping when the opening was just wide enough for a horse to pass through at a time. The guard poked his head out through the gap, gave them another toothless smile, and scurried back, out of the way. Moiraine entered following Lan, with Egwene right behind her.

Rand trotted Thunder after Bela and found himself on a narrow street with high wooden fences and tall, windowless warehouses, their big doors tightly shut. Moiraine and Lan were already on foot, talking to the wrinkled-faced guard, and Rand also dismounted.

The little man, wearing a heavily patched cloak and coat, held his crumpled cloth hat in one hand and kept bowing his head whenever he spoke. He peeked at those dismounting behind Lan and Moiraine, shaking his head.

Lan, placing a coin in the man's free hand. "I hope you remember to forget that you let us pass, Master Avin," Lan said.

"Don't worry, sir," Avin said, bowing his head deeply. "I didn't see anyone." He ran to the gate and began closing it with quick pulls. "I didn't see anyone and I didn't see anything." The gate closed with a sharp bang, and Avin lowered the bar with a rope. "In fact, ma'am, this gate hasn't been opened in days."

"May the Light illuminate you, Avin," said Moiraine.

The path led through dirt streets where barely two wagons could pass side by side, and which were deserted; the streets were all lined with warehouses and occasional high wooden fences.

Lan had stopped before a section of wooden fence as tall as his head that looked no different from any other they had passed. He was inserting the blade of his knife between two of the boards. Suddenly he grunted with satisfaction, pulled, and a part of the fence swung open like a gate. In fact, it was a gate, Rand saw, although it was originally intended to open only from the inside. The metal latch that Lan had lifted with his dagger demonstrated this.

Moiraine immediately entered, leading Aldieb. Lan signaled for the others to follow and stayed in the rear, closing the gate behind him.

On the other side of the fence, Rand found himself in the courtyard of an inn's stable. A great noise came from the kitchen of the building, but what impressed him was its size: it covered more than twice the Wine Spring Inn and was four stories high. Well over half the windows gleamed in the deepening twilight. Rand marveled at this city, where there must be many strangers.

They had barely entered the courtyard when three men wearing dirty canvas aprons appeared in the wide arched doors of the immense stable. One of them, a lean and muscular fellow, and the only one without a manure fork in his hands, advanced, waving his arms.

"Hey! Hey! You can't enter through here! You have to go around to the front!"

Lan's hand went to his pouch once again, but at that moment another man, as broad-waisted as Master al'Vere, came running out of the inn. Tufts of hair sprouted above his ears, and his spotless white apron was a clear sign, proclaiming him the innkeeper.

"It's all right, Mutch," the newcomer said. "It's all right. These people are expected guests. Take care of their horses. Take very good care."

Mutch massaged his forehead with his knuckles, sullenly, then gestured for his two companions to come help. Rand and the others quickly removed their saddlebags and rolled-up blankets while the innkeeper turned to Moiraine. He made a grand bow to her and spoke with a genuine smile:

"Welcome, Lady Alys. Welcome. It's good to see you again, you and Master Andra as well. Very good. We've missed your excellent conversation. Yes, we have. I must say I was worried about your journey south and all that. Well, I mean, in times like these, with the weather all mad and wolves howling at the walls at night." Suddenly he clapped both hands on his round belly and shook his head. "Here I go again, talking endlessly, instead of taking you inside. Come. Come. Hot meals and warm beds, that's what you want now. And the best in Baerlon are right here. The best."

"And hot baths too, I hope, Master Fitch?" Moiraine asked, and Egwene fervently echoed:

"Oh, yes."

"Baths?" asked the innkeeper. "Oh, simply the best and hottest in Baerlon. Come. Welcome to the Stag and Lion. Welcome to Baerlon."