Sometimes I held the Horn, but I never sounded it. Surprisingly for a town held by invaders, the streets held more local people than Seanchan soldiers, and now and again a curtained palanquin was borne past by bare-chested men. Frowning behind his mask, he studied his companions. A trickle of smoke was leaking from the top of one of the tubes.
Half of it was now called the Flame of Tar Valon; the other half was scrawled on doors, the Dragon's Fang, to accuse those within of evil. And I believe we will find the Horn there. As long as you keep your head down the way a Leashed One is supposed to, no one will even notice you. He peered into the darkness within the walls, feeling at his belt as if for the short sword and sword-breaker he had had to leave at the inn; servants did not go armed in Cairhien.
Join the newsletter to receive news, updates, new products and freebies in your inbox.