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ell enough for it to be lived in again。 The horrible stench had probably already soaked right into the timbers。 But there was no time to think of that。 No time for neatness。 No time for anything； maybe。
He was sure he was forgetting any number of things they would need； but Tam was waiting； and the Trollocs were ing back。 He gathered what he could think of on the run。 Blankets from the bedrooms upstairs； and clean cloths to bandage Tam's wound。 Their cloaks and coats。 A waterbag that he carried when he took the sheep to pasture。 A clean shirt。 He did not know when he would have time to change； but he wanted to get out of his blood…smeared shirt at the first opportunity。 The small bags of willowbark and their other medicines were part of a dark； muddy…looking pile he could not bring himself to touch。
One bucket of the water Tam had brought in still stood by the fireplace； miraculously unspilled and untouched。 He filled the waterbag from it； gave his hands a hasty wash in the rest； and made one more quick search for anything he might have forgotten。 He found his bow among the wreckage； broken cleanly in two at the thickest point。 He shuddered as he let the pieces fall。 What he had gathered already would have to do； he decided。 Quickly he piled everything outside the door。
The last thing before leaving the house； he dug a shuttered lantern from the mess on the floor。 It still held oil。 Lighting it from one of the candles； he closed the shutters…partly against the wind； but mostly to keep from drawing attention … and hurried outside with the lantern in one hand and the sword in the other。 He was not sure what he would find in the barn。 The sheep pen kept him from hoping too much。 But he needed the cart to get Tam to Emond's Field； and for the cart he needed Bela。 Necessity made him hope a little。
The barn doors stood open； one creaking on its hinges as it shifted in the wind。 The interior looked as it always had； at first。 Then his eyes fell on empty stalls； the stall doors ripped from their hinges。 Bela and the cow were gone。 Quickly he went to the back of the barn。 The cart lay on its side； half the spokes broken out of its wheels。 One shaft was only a foot…long stump。
The despair he had been holding at bay filled him。 He was not sure he could carry Tam as far as the village even if his father could bear to be carried。 The pain of it might kill Tam more quickly than the fever。 Still； it was the only chance left。 He had done all he could do here。 As he turned to go； his eyes fell on the hacked…off cart shaft lying on the straw…strewn floor。 Suddenly he smiled。
Hurriedly he set the lantern and the sword on the straw…covered floor； and in the next instant he was wrestling with the cart； tipping it back over to fall upright with a snap of more breaking spokes； then throwing his shoulder into it to heave it over on the other side。 The undamaged shaft stood straight out。 Snatching up the sword he hacked at the well…seasoned ash。 To his pleased surprise great chips flew with his strokes； and he cut through as quickly as he could have with a good axe。
When the shaft fell free； he looked at the sword blade in wonder。 Even the best…sharpened axe would have dulled chopping through that hard； aged wood； but the sword looked as brightly sharp as ever。 He touched the edge with his thumb； then hastily stuck it in his mouth。 The blade was still razor…sharp。
But he had no time for wonder。 Blowing out the lantern…there was no need to have the barn burn down on top of everything else … he gathered up the shafts and ran back to get what he had left at the house。
Altogether it made an awkward burden。 Not a heavy one； but hard to balance and manage； the cart shafts shifting and twisting in his arms as he stumbled across the plowed field。 Once back in the forest they were even worse； catching on trees and knocking him half off his feet。 They would have been easier to drag； but that would leave a clear trail behind him； He intended to wait as long as possible before doing that。
Tam was right where he had left him； seemingly asleep。 He hoped it was sleep。 Suddenly fearful； he dropped his burdens and put a hand to his father's face。 Tam still breathed； but the fever was worse。
The touch roused Tam； but only into a hazy wakefulness。 〃Is that you； boy？〃 he breathed。 〃Worried about you。 Dreams of days gone。 Nightmares。〃 Murmuring softly； he drifted off again。
〃Don't worry；〃 Rand said。 He lay Tam's coat and cloak over him to keep off the wind。 〃I'll get you to Nynaeve just as quick as I can。〃 As he went on； as much to reassure himself as for Tam's benefit； he peeled off his bloodstained shirt； hardly even noticing the cold in his haste to be rid of it； and hurriedly pulled on the clean one。 Throwing his old shirt away made him feel as if he had just had a bath。 〃We'll be safe in the village in no time； and the Wisdom will set everything right。 You'll see。 Everything's going to be all right。〃
That thought was like a beacon as he pulled on his coat and bent to tend Tam's wound。 They would be safe once they reached the village； and Nynaeve would cure Tam。 He just had to get him there。
Chapter 6
The Westwood
In the moonlight Rand could not really see what he was doing； but Tam's wound seemed to be only a shallow gash along the ribs； no longer than the palm of his hand。 He shook his head in disbelief。 He had seen his father take more of an injury than that and not even stop work except to wash it off。 Hastily he searched Tam from head to foot for something bad enough to account for the fever； but the one cut was all he could find。
Small as it was； that lone cut was still grave enough； the flesh around it burned to the touch。 It was even hotter than the rest of Tam's body； and the rest of him was hot enough to make Rand's jaws clench。 A scalding fever like that could kill； or leave a man a husk of what he had once been。 He soaked a cloth with water from the skin and laid it across Tam's forehead。
He tried to be gentle about washing and bandaging the gash on his father's ribs； but soft groans still interrupted Tam's low muttering。 Stark branches loomed around them； threatening as they shifted as in the wind。 Surely the Trollocs would go on their way when they failed to find Tam and him； when they came back to the farmhouse and found it still empty。 He tried to make himself believe it； but the wanton destruction at the house； the senselessness of it； left little room for belief of that sort。 Believing they would give up short of killing everyone and everything they could find was dangerous； a foolish chance he could not afford to take。
Trollocs。 Light above； Trollocs！ Creatures out of a gleeman's tale ing out of the night to bash in the door。 And a Fade。 Light shine on me； a Fade！
Abruptly he realized he was holding the untied ends of the bandage in motionless hands。 Frozen like a rabbit that's seen a hawk's shadow； he thought scornfully。 With an angry shake of his head he finished tying the bandage around Tam's chest。
Knowing what he had to do； even getting on with it； did not stop him being afraid。 When the Trollocs came back they would surely begin searching the forest around the farm for some trace of the people who had escaped them。 The body of the one he had killed would tell them those people were not far off。 Who knew what a Fade would do； or could do？ On top of that； his father's ment about Trollocs' hearing was as loud in his mind as if Tam had just said it。 He found himself resisting the urge to put a hand over Tam's mouth； to still his groans and murmurs。 Some track by scent。 What can I do about that？ Nothing。 He could not waste time worrying over problems he could do nothing about。
〃You have to keep quiet；〃 he whispered in his father's ear。 〃The Trollocs will be back。〃
Tam spoke in hushed； hoarse tones。 〃You're still lovely； Kari。 Still lovely as a girl。〃
Rand grimaced。 His mother had been dead fifteen years。 If Tam believed she was still alive； then the fever was even worse than Rand had thought。 How could he be kept from speaking； now that silence might mean life？
〃Mother