He looked at me and grinned his old sly Fool’s smile. “You still don’t understand, do you? When word reached us that you were dead, that Regal had killed you…my life ended. It was worse, somehow, when the pilgrims began to trickle in, to hail me as the White Prophet. I knew I was the White Prophet. I’ve known it since I was a child, as did those who raised me. I grew up, knowing that someday I would come north to find you and that between the two of us we would put time in its proper course. All of my life, I knew I would do that.
