Trollocs depended on numbers and overwhelming ferocity; facing him, and that sword of the Power, they might as well have stood stock-still, unarmed. By the last he had seen, she could use a few hundred. Rand carefully set his full goblet on the floor beside his chair. The dim yellow light flickered, making faint shadows dance on patched canvas walls that were a far cry from the grandeur of the Amyrlin's study in the White Tower, but that did not upset her.
It was Pol herself, Merilille's maid, who popped in curtsying left and right. Reanne, if you don't mind telling me, how old are you? The woman hesitated, glancing at Mat, but he was still dodging to keep a grinning Birgitte between him and Derys. The storm is coming, they said, staring southward in worry. Like Isebele of Dal Calain, who had made the Amyrlin Anghara come to her.
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