With everyone mounted, Moiraine spoke, her voice as firm as steel beneath an otherwise serene tone:
"We'll proceed with my original plan…" she said, while Lan watched her from the side, alert. She extended one hand, adding, "I was too exhausted to execute it earlier. But now, thanks to Rand, I'm recovered. We'll head to the river. With our backs protected by the water, I can raise a smaller but effective shield—enough to hold off the Trollocs and Fades while we build rafts to cross. Better yet, we might signal a merchant boat heading downstream from Saldaea."
Everyone's face, except Thom's, showed confusion and unease. Lan noticed and stepped forward:
"Trollocs and Myrddraal hate deep water," he explained, his voice low and firm. "Trollocs are terrified of it. They can't swim. And the Fades avoid crossing anything deeper than their waist—especially if it's moving. Even if it were their only escape route, the Trollocs wouldn't dare."
"So... once we cross the river, we'll be safe," said Rand, a hopeful gleam in his eyes. Lan nodded gravely.
"I have a way to get us across once we reach it," Rand added, this time with a spark of determination. "It should make the journey easier... maybe even buy us more than a few hours of rest."
Moiraine watched him for a moment. Her eyes shimmered under the pale moonlight, but she said nothing. She merely nodded.
There was something about her silence that unsettled Rand. He expected questions, maybe a sarcastic remark, some careful inspection. But she just... agreed. It was strange. The Aes Sedai rarely let anything slide without weighing every detail.
As they left the white stone building, already mounted, the horses shifted nervously. The cold wind blew in gusts, moaning over the rooftops as if the city itself whispered warnings. Their cloaks flapped like ancient banners, and thin clouds raced across the face of the moon, now just a silver sliver in the night sky.
Lan took the lead with a whispered command, urging everyone to stay close. The horses pranced beneath them, tugging at the reins as if eager to leave that cursed place behind.
Thom and the others from Emond's Field rode clustered together, shoulder to shoulder, seeking comfort in human contact. Egwene kept her shoulders hunched, trying to muffle the sound of Bela's hooves on the stone pavement. Mat held his breath, as if even a sigh might summon horrors from the shadows.
Then Rand noticed: the gap between them and the pair ahead was growing. Moiraine and Lan were now just distant silhouettes, thirty paces ahead.
"We're falling behind," Matt muttered, urging his horse forward.
And that's when they saw it: a thin tendril of silver-gray mist slithering along the ground, crossing the street ahead.
"Stop!" Moiraine's voice rang out—firm and urgent, but measured, not echoing too far.
Matt pulled the reins, hesitant. The mist now covered the entire street, thickening by the second, as if it oozed from the very walls. In moments, it was as thick as a man's arm.
Rand shivered. A chill ran down his spine—so real it felt like a touch. A pale glow accompanied the mist, like moonlight filtered through veils. Even the warhorses, Aldieb and Mandarb, neighed and stamped the ground nervously.
"What is it?" Nynaeve asked, eyes wide.
"The evil of Shadar Logoth," Moiraine answered darkly. "Mashadar. Invisible. Irrational. It creeps through the city like a hungry worm. If it touches you, you'll die. No pain. No warning."
"How will we reach you?" Egwene asked, her voice trembling.
Moiraine let out a bitter, dry laugh.
"Mashadar is vast, child. As vast as Shadar Logoth itself. Not even the One Power can hold it back."
She pointed to the eastern sky.
"See that star? The red one, low on the horizon? Follow it. It will lead you to the river. Whatever happens… don't stop. Don't hesitate. Don't make a sound. The Trollocs are still lurking. And four Fades are loose."
"But how will we find you again?" Egwene protested.
"I will find you," Moiraine said with conviction. "Trust me. Now go!"
Still hesitant, frozen between doubt and fear, no one moved—until Rand took the first step. He turned Thunder into a steady trot, and as if breaking the spell of fear, the others followed in silence.
Three times they had to backtrack from streets blocked by rubble and collapsed walls. Every corner held the risk of ambush.
On one, they came upon a wall of mist—bright as full moonlight—spilling across the pavement in a deceptive shimmer.
Two Trollocs appeared at the far end of the street, less than ten paces away.
For a moment, time froze. Men and beasts stared at each other, surprised. Then more Trollocs surged forward, forming a grotesque, brutish mass.
"This way!" Rand shouted, but other voices cried out in different directions. In a blink, his companions scattered—each pursued by grunting horrors.
Rand glanced back. The Trollocs were less than fifty steps behind.
"Come on, Thunder!" he yelled, digging his heels into the horse's flanks.
Thunder neighed and charged, galloping furiously. Helena, riding behind Rand, buried her face in his back. Her arms clutched him so tightly he could barely breathe. He felt her muffled sobs against his soaked cloak.
Mashadar's tendrils rose around them like pale blades of light, trying to encircle them. Rand clenched his teeth, forcing the horse through them—a beam of hope cutting through Shadar Logoth's cursed darkness.
Bent low over the saddle, he heard nothing but his own blood pounding in his ears.
At last, he straightened. Stars sprinkled the sky where clouds didn't cover them, and the red star in the east still guided them.
Rand turned to Helena, urgency in his gaze.
"Take these vials. Throw one whenever you see a Trolloc. It'll keep them back."
He handed her a leather pouch with small glass flasks filled with iridescent liquid. They were explosive potions—silent, but lethally potent.
Helena took a few, gripping them tightly, and wrapped her arms around Rand again.
"Daughter…" he whispered, voice choked. "If things go bad… call your phoenix. It will take you far away. And if I'm still alive… it'll bring you back to me."
Helena nodded, her eyes gleaming with tears. A faint, warm aura began to glow around her—the sign that her bond with the phoenix was stirring.
At a cross street, Mat stumbled, nearly falling from his horse and dropping his bow. Rand pulled up beside him.
"Did you see anyone else?" he asked, breathless.
Mat swallowed hard before awkwardly climbing back into the saddle.
"I… just Trollocs. Lots of Trollocs. What about you?"
Rand shook his head.
"They're trying to herd us away from the river. We need to run. Now."
And once again, under the red star, they galloped—not toward war, but toward survival.