Rand shuddered but kept the horse at a steady trot, alert to every shadowed corner, avoiding dark alleys and narrow lanes whenever possible. Mat, who for a moment looked ready to bolt with a nervous tug on the reins, ended up matching his friend's restrained pace.
The silence that now hung over them was more unsettling than the sound of the horns had been moments before. No human voices, no whispers from the Half-men, not even the grotesque howls of the Trollocs. Only the wind moved among the trees, whistling like a dark omen.
Up ahead, an opening draped in hanging vines appeared in the ancient wall—the remains of what had once been a gate. Mat hesitated for a moment, eyes fixed on the darkness beyond, as if expecting something to emerge from the shadows.
"Is it really safer in there than out here?" he muttered.
Rand didn't answer. He simply moved forward, leaving the gate behind as if the question had already been answered by the simple fact that they were still alive.
The walls vanished behind them, swallowed by twisted branches and the darkness of the old forest. Ahead, the red star hung low in the sky, the only point of orientation Rand dared to trust. He heard every rustle, every sharp snap of breaking twigs, as if the silence itself were screaming invisible warnings.
Then Thom appeared, galloping behind them, his cloak whipping behind like smoke. He sped up to match their pace, then slowed just enough to shout:
"Run, you fools! They're coming!" And without waiting for a reply, he surged ahead, his face tight with urgency.
Inhuman screams tore through the air, followed by violent rustling in the underbrush. Trollocs. They were on their trail.
Rand didn't hesitate. He dug his heels into Thunder's flanks, and the horse bolted forward as if it felt death snapping at its heels. Mat followed close behind, bow at the ready, eyes scanning the darkness for targets, fingers tense on the string.
The forest opened ahead into a gentle slope, where trees reached the edge of a wide, dark river that flowed as silent as the night sky. The water glided like a mirror, broken only by the moonlight and the wind's ripples.
Rand couldn't see the other side. It was as if the river led to nowhere—a boundary between death and a chance at escape.
"Now it's your turn, magician!" Thom shouted breathlessly as he pulled up beside Rand. "You said when we reached the river, you'd have a way to get us across. So… do your magic!"
Rand quickly dismounted, panting. His hands trembled as he knelt before his leather pack. Mat and Thom closed in, still alert to the sounds coming from the woods.
"Wait… what's he doing?" Mat whispered, confused, bow still in hand.
Rand muttered a few words, in a language only he truly understood. Syllables danced on his tongue like sparks over dry wood. In response, the bag glowed with a faint golden light.
With a swift motion, he pulled back the flap… and reality bent around them.
As if the air itself had been torn open, a massive structure began unfolding before them. Wooden beams emerged from nowhere, stitched together by enchanted chains. Metal rang out, and water splashed as the hull of a great ship touched the river's surface. It was sleek, silent, wrapped in a silver aura.
Thom took a step back, eyes wide.
"By the Light… you carried that with you this whole time?"
"It wasn't exactly a ship. It was a magical seed," Rand replied, still catching his breath. "A relic from the old times. It adapts to what we need. And right now… we need escape."
Mat stared at the vessel, the arrow forgotten in his hand.
"This is impossible…"
"Welcome to the impossible," Rand said, with a grim smile.
The ship floated silently by the shore, lit only by the glow of the runes carved along its side. A bridge formed magically between the solid ground and the deck, inviting them aboard.
Rand helped Helena down from her horse and onto the ship first. Then came Mat, Thom, and the horses, guided into the ship's hold by magical force.
From the deck, Rand cast one last look at the forest. The screams were dangerously close now.
He raised his hand, made another gesture in the air—and the bridge vanished like mist in the wind.
"Time to go," he whispered.
The ship began drifting from the shore, cutting through the river with supernatural grace. No sound of oars, no sails catching wind. Just smooth, silent movement, like a ghost gliding across the water.
"Maybe we should wait a little longer…" Mat said, looking back, uneasy. "What if someone else made it out?"
Rand nodded slightly, still watching the dark shoreline.
"We'll wait a bit. I just moved away for safety." He touched a crystal in the center of the deck, and the ship hovered quietly a few meters from the shore.
And so they remained, wrapped in magical silence, watching the veil of the forest while the last echoes of Shadar Logoth faded into the shadows of the past.
"They're not coming…" Mat murmured, his voice hoarse, as if each word weighed in his throat.
Rand didn't answer right away. His eyes still scanned the silent bank, as if hoping—against all odds—to see a silhouette emerge from the morning mist. When he finally turned to his friend, his shoulders seemed to sag with resignation.
"No…" he said at last. "Not today."
Thom Merrilin, seated near the main mast, was calmly tuning his lute. The movement was mechanical, almost meditative. But his eyes were distant. There was a clear sorrow in his expression, a silence even music couldn't fill. He cast a brief look at Rand and Mat, as if he wanted to say something, but only nodded.
"We did what we could," said the gleeman, his voice low but steady. "Now, we have to live long enough to find them again."
Helena, exhausted, had fallen asleep in one of the lower cabins after hours of standing vigil on the deck. She had insisted on staying up with them, eyes locked on the shore as if sheer will could bring their companions back. At last, worn out, she collapsed.
Rand walked to the cabin where she rested and watched her silently for a moment. Her brown hair framed a pale face, and even in sleep, a crease of worry still marked her brow. He gently adjusted the blanket over her and left without a sound.
Back on deck, Rand sighed and raised his hand again, repeating the gesture from the night before. The red runes on the ship's hull glowed brighter, responding to his command. The vessel glided smoothly down the river, resuming its course eastward.
"We'll go to Whitebridge," Thom said, his eyes on the horizon. "From there, we continue on foot to Caemlyn."
Mat approached, his expression hard. "That's if we're lucky enough not to run into more Trollocs… or worse."
Thom raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He just returned to playing a soft, sorrowful melody. It was an old song, one of heroes lost to time's mists, of broken promises and hope that clings on in spite of everything.
The ship slowed slightly, obeying a subtle command from Rand. It was important to prolong the journey just a bit longer—not only for rest, but because Helena would soon need to begin her training.