"You have worked too long with Aes Sedai, Perrin Aybara," Edarra said with a sniff. "Not everything must be done at a cost. This will benefit us all. I have been contemplating suggesting it for some time."
Perrin frowned. "How long have you known that this might work?"
"Long enough."
"Burn you, woman, why didn't you bring it to me earlier, then?"
"You seem hardly interested in your position as chief, most of the time," Edarra said coldly. "Respect is a thing earned and not demanded, Perrin Aybara."
Morgase held her breath at that insolent comment. Many a lord would snap at someone for that tone. Perrin froze, but then nodded, as if that were the expected answer.
"Your Asha'man were sick when I first thought of this," Edarra continued. "It would not have worked before. This is the appropriate time to raise the question. Therefore, I have done so."
She insults Aes Sedai with one breath, Morgase thought, then acts just like one with the next. Still, being a captive in Maiden had helped Morgase begin to understand Aiel ways. Everyone claimed the Aiel were incomprehensible, but she gave talk like that little credence. Aiel were people, like any other. They had odd traditions and cultural quirks, but so did everyone else. A queen had to be able to understand all of the people within her realm—and all of her realm's potential enemies.
"Very well," Perrin said. "Grady, don't fatigue yourself too much, but start working with them. See if you can manage forming a circle."
"Yes, my Lord," Grady said. The Asha'man always seemed somewhat distant. "Might be good to involve Neald in this. He gets dizzy when he stands, but he's been itching to do something with the Power. This might be a way for him to get back into practice."
"All right," Perrin said.
"We have not finished talking of the scouts we are sending to Cairhien," Seonid said. "I would like to be with the group."
Perrin scratched his bearded chin. "I suppose. Take your Warders, two Maidens and Pel Aydaer. Be unobtrusive, if you can."
"Also Camaille Nolaisen will go," Faile said. Of course she would add one Cha Faile to the group.
Balwer cleared his throat. "My Lord. We are in dire need of paper and new pen nibs, not to mention some other delicate materials."
"Surely that can wait." Perrin frowned.
"No," Faile said slowly. '"No, husband, I think this is a good suggestion. We should send one person to collect supplies. Balwer, would you go and fetch the things yourself?"
"If my Lady wishes it," the secretary said. "I have ached to visit this school the Dragon has opened in Cairhien. They would have the supplies we need."
"I suppose you can go, then," Perrin said. "But nobody else. Light! Any more, and we might as well send the whole burning army through."
Balwer nodded, looking satisfied. That one was obviously spying for Perrin now. Would he tell Aybara who she really was? Had he done so already? Perrin didn't act as if he knew.
She gathered up more cups; the meeting was beginning to break up. Of course Balwer would offer to spy for Aybara; she should have approached the dusty man earlier, to see what the price would be to keep his silence. Mistakes like that could cost a queen her throne.
She froze, hand halfway to a cup. You're not a queen any longer. You have to stop thinking like one!
During the first weeks following her silent abdication, she'd hoped to find a way to return to Andor, so she could be a resource for Elayne. However, the more she'd considered it, the more she'd realized that she had to stay away. Everyone in Andor had to assume that Morgase was dead. Each queen had to make her own way, and Elayne might seem a puppet to her own mother if Morgase returned. Beyond that, Morgase had made many enemies before leaving. Why had she done such things? Her memory of those times was cloudy, but her return would only rip open old wounds.
She continued gathering up cups. Perhaps she should have done the noble thing and killed herself. If enemies of the throne discovered who she was, they could use her against Elayne, the same way that the Whitecloaks would have. But for now, she was not a threat. Besides, she was confident that Elayne would not risk Andor's safety, even to save her mother.
Perrin bade farewell to the attendees and gave some basic instructions for the evening camp. Morgase knelt down, using a rag to wipe dirt from the side of a teacup that had rolled over. Niall had told her that Gaebril was dead, and al'Thor held Caemlyn. That would have prompted Elayne to return, wouldn't it? Was she queen? Had the Houses supported her, or had they acted against her because of what Morgase had done?
The scouting party might bring news that Morgase hungered for. She would have to find a way into any meeting discussing their reports, perhaps by offering to serve the tea. The better she grew at her job as Faile's maid, the closer she'd be able to get to important events.
As the Wise Ones made their way from the tent, Morgase caught sight of someone outside. Tallanvor, dutiful as always. Tall, broad of shoulder, he wore his sword at his waist and a look of pointed concern in his eyes.
He'd followed her practically nonstop since Maiden, and while she'd complained of it out of principle, she didn't mind. After two months apart he wanted to take every opportunity to be together. Looking into those beautiful young eyes of his, she could not entertain the notion of suicide even for the good of Andor. She felt a fool for that. Hadn't she let her heart lead her into enough trouble already?
Maiden had changed her, though. She'd missed Tallanvor dearly. And then he'd come for her, when he shouldn't have risked himself so. He was more devoted to her than to Andor itself. And for some reason, that was exactly what she needed. She began to make her way toward him, balancing eight cups in the crook of her arm while carrying the saucers in her hand.
"Maighdin," Perrin said as she passed out of the tent. She hesitated, turning back. Everyone but Perrin and his wife had withdrawn.
"Come back here, please," Perrin said. "And Tallanvor, you might as well come in. I can see you lurking out there. Honestly. It's not as if anyone was going to swoop down and steal her away while she was inside a tent full of Wise Ones and Aes Sedai!"
Morgase raised an eyebrow. From what she'd seen, Perrin himself had followed Faile around lately nearly as much.
Tallanvor shot her a smile as he entered. He took some of the cups from her arm, then both of them presented themselves before Perrin. Tallanvor bowed formally, which gave Morgase a stab of annoyance. He was still a member of the Queen's Guard—the only loyal member, as far as she knew. He shouldn't be bowing to this rural upstart.
"I was given a suggestion back when you first joined us," Perrin said gruffly. "Well, I think it's about time I took it. Lately, you two are like youths from different villages, mooning over one another in the hour before Sunday ends. It's high time you were married. We could have Alliandre do it, or maybe I could. Do you have some tradition you follow?"
Morgase blinked in surprise. Curse Lini for putting that idea in Perrin's head! Morgase felt a sudden panic, though Tallanvor glanced at her questioningly.
"Go change into something nicer if you want," Perrin said. "Gather any you want to witness and be back here in an hour. Then we'll get this silliness over with."
She felt her face grow hot with anger. Silliness? How dare he! And in such a way! Sending her off like a child, as if her emotion—her love—was merely an inconvenience to him?
He was rolling up his map, but then Faile's hand placed on his arm caused him to look up and notice that his orders had not been followed.
"Well?" Perrin asked.
"No," Morgase said. She kept her gaze on Perrin; she didn't want to see the inevitable disappointment and rejection in Tallanvor's face.
"What?" Perrin asked.
"No, Perrin Aybara," Morgase said. "I will not be back here in an hour to be married."
"But—"
"If you want tea served, or your tent cleaned, or something packed, then call for me. If you wish your clothing washed, I will oblige. But I am your servant, Perrin Ay
bara, not your subject. I am loyal to the Queen of Andor. You have no authority to give me this sort of command."
"I—"
"Why, the Queen herself wouldn't demand this! Forcing two people to marry because you're tired of the way they look at one another? Like two hounds you intend to breed, then sell the pups?"
"I didn't mean it that way."
"You said it nonetheless. Besides, how can you be sure of the young man's intentions? Have you spoken to him, asked him, interviewed him as a lord should in a matter like this?"
"But Maighdin," Perrin said. "He does care for you. You should have seen the way he acted when you were taken. Light, woman, but it's obvious!"
"Matters of the heart are never obvious." Pulling herself up to her full height, she almost felt a queen again. "If I choose to marry a man, I will make that decision on my own. For a man who claims he doesn't like being in charge, you certainly do like giving commands. How can you be sure that I want this young man's affections? Do you know my heart?"
To the side, Tallanvor stiffened. Then he bowed formally to Perrin and strode from the tent. He was an emotional one. Well, he needed to know that she would not be shoved around. Not anymore. First Gaebril, then Valda, and now Perrin Aybara? Tallanvor would be ill-served if he were to receive a woman who married him because she was told to do so.
Morgase measured Perrin, who was blushing. She softened her tone.
"You're young at this yet, so I'll give you advice. There are some things a lord should be involved in, but others he should always leave untouched. You'll learn the difference as you practice, but kindly refrain from making demands like this one until you've at least counseled with your wife."
With that, she curtsied—still carrying the teacups—and withdrew. She shouldn't have spoken to him so. Well, he shouldn't have made a command like that! It seemed she had some spark left in her after all. She hadn't felt that firm or certain of herself since… well, since before Gaebril's arrival in Caemlyn! Though she would have to find Tallanvor and soothe his pride.
She returned the cups to the nearby washing station, then went through the camp, looking for Tallanvor. Around her, servants and workers were busy at their duties. Many of the former gai'shain still acted as if they were among the Shaido, bowing and scraping whenever someone so much as looked at them. Those from Cairhien were the worst; they'd been held longest, and Aiel were very good at teaching lessons.
There were, of course, a few real Aiel gai'shain. What an odd custom. From what Morgase had been able to determine, some of the gai'shain here had been taken by the Shaido, then had been liberated in Maiden. They retained the white, and so that meant they were now acting as slaves to their own relatives and friends.
Any people could be understood. But, she admitted, perhaps the Aiel would take longer than others. Take, for instance, that group of Maidens loping through camp. Why did they have to force everyone out of their way? There was no—Morgase hesitated. Those Maidens were heading straight for Perrin's tent. They looked like they had news.
Her curiosity getting the better of her, Morgase followed. The Maidens left two guards by the front tent flaps, but the ward against eavesdropping had been removed. Morgase rounded the tent, trying to look as if she was doing anything other than eavesdropping, feeling a stab of shame for leaving Tallanvor to his pain.
"Whitecloaks, Perrin Aybara," Sulin's stout voice reported from inside. "There is a large force of them on the road directly in front of us."
CHAPTER 7
Lighter than a Feather
The air felt calmer at night, though the thunder still warned Lan that not all was well. In his weeks traveling with Bulen, that storm above seemed to have grown darker.
After riding southward, they continued on to the east; they were somewhere near the border between Kandor and Saldaea, on the Plain of Lances. Towering, weathered hills—steep-sided, like fortresses—rose around them.
Perhaps they'd missed the border. There often was no marker on these back roads, and the mountains cared not which nation tried to claim them.
"Master Andra," Bulen said from behind. Lan had purchased a horse for him to ride, a dusty white mare. He still led his packhorse, Scouter.
Bulen caught up to him. Lan insisted upon being called "Andra." One follower was bad enough. If nobody knew who he was, they couldn't ask to come with him. He had Bulen to thank—inadvertently—for the warning of what Nynaeve had done. For that, he owed the man a debt.
Bulen did like to talk, though.
'Master Andra," Bulen continued. "If I may suggest, we could turn south at the Berndt Crossroads, yes? I know a waypoint inn in that direction that serves the very best quail. We could turn eastward again on the road to South Mettler. A much easier path. My cousin has a farm along that road—cousin on my mother's side, Master Andra—and we could—"
"We continue this way," Lan said.
"But South Mettler is a much better roadway!"
"And therefore much better traveled too, Bulen."
Bulen sighed, but fell silent. The hadori looked good around his head and he had proven surprisingly capable with the sword. As talented a student as Lan had seen in a while.
It was dark—night came early here, because of those mountains. Compared to the areas near the Blight, it also felt chilly. Unfortunately, the land here was fairly well populated. Indeed, about an hour past the crossroads they arrived at an inn, windows still glowing with light.
Bulen looked toward it longingly, but Lan continued on. He had them traveling at night, mostly. The better to keep from being seen.
A trio of men sat in front of the inn, smoking their pipes in the darkness. The pungent smoke wound in the air, past the inns windows. Lan didn't give them much consideration until—as a group—they broke off their smoking. They unhooked horses from the fence at the side of the inn.
Wonderful, Lan thought. Highwaymen, watching the night road for weary travelers. Well, three men shouldn't prove too dangerous. They rode behind Lan at a trot. They wouldn't attack until they were farther from the inn. Lan reached to loosen his sword in its sheath.
"My Lord," Bulen said urgently, looking over his shoulder. "Two of those men are wearing the hadori."
Lan spun around, cloak whipping behind him. The three men approached and did not stop. They split around him and Bulen.
Lan watched them pass. "Andere?" he called. "What do you think you're doing?"
One of the three—a lean, dangerous-looking man—glanced over his shoulder, his long hair held back with the hadori. It had been years since Lan had seen Andere. He looked as if he'd given up his Kandori uniform, finally; he was wearing a deep black cloak and hunting leathers underneath.
"Ah, Lan," Andere said, the three men pulling up to stop. "I didn't notice you there."
"I'm sure you didn't," Lan said flatly. "And you, Nazar. You put your hadori away when you were a lad. Now you don one?"
"I may do as I wish," Nazar said. He was getting old—he must be past his seventieth year—but he carried a sword on his saddle. His hair had gone white.
The third man, Rakim, wasn't Malkieri. He had the tilted eyes of a Saldaean, and he shrugged at Lan, looking a little embarrassed.
Lan raised his fingers to his forehead, closing his eyes as the three rode ahead. What foolish game were they playing? No matter, Lan thought, opening his eyes.
Bulen started to say something, but Lan quieted him with a glare. He turned southward off the road, cutting down a small, worn trail.
Before long, he heard muffled hoofbeats from behind. Lan spun as he saw the three men riding behind him. Lan pulled Mandarb to a halt, teeth gritted. "I'm not raising the Golden Crane!"
"We didn't say you were," Nazar said. The three parted around him again, riding past.
Lan kicked Mandarb forward, riding up to them. "Then stop following me."
"Last I checked, we were ahead of you," Andere said.
"You turned this way after me," Lan accused.
"You don't own the roads, Lan Mandragoran," Andere said. He glanced at Lan, face shadowed in the night. "If you haven't noticed, I'm no longer the boy the Hero of Salmarna berated so long ago. I've become a soldier, and soldiers are needed. So I will ride this way if I please."
"I command you to turn and go back," Lan said. "Find a different path eastward."
Rakim laughed, his voice still hoarse after all these years. "You're not my captain any longer, Lan. Why would I obey your orders?" The others chuckled.
"We'd obey a king, of course," Nazar said.
"Yes," Andere said. "If he gave us commands, perhaps we would. But I don't see a king here. Unless I'm mistaken."
"There can be no king of a fallen people," Lan said. "No king without a kingdom."
"And yet you ride," Nazar said, flicking his reins. "Ride to your death in a land you claim is no kingdom."
"It is my destiny."
The three shrugged, then pulled ahead of him.
"Don't be fools," Lan said, voice soft as he pulled Mandarb to a halt. "This path leads to death."
"Death is lighter than a feather, Lan Mandragoran," Rakim called over his shoulder. "If we ride only to death, then the trail will be easier than I'd thought!"
Lan gritted his teeth, but what was he to do? Beat all three of them senseless and leave them beside the road? He nudged Mandarb forward.
The two had become five.
***
Galad continued his morning meal, noting that Child Byar had come to speak with him. The meal was simple fare: porridge with a handful of raisins stirred in. A simple meal for every soldier kept them all from envy. Some Lords Captain Commander had dined far better than their men. That would not do for Galad. Not when so many in the world starved.
Child Byar waited inside the flaps of Galad's tent, awaiting recognition. The gaunt, sunken-cheeked man wore his white cloak, a tabard over mail underneath.
Galad eventually set aside his spoon and nodded to Byar. The soldier strode up to the table and waited, still at attention. There were no elaborate furnishings to Galad's tent. His sword—Valda's sword—lay on the plain table behind his wooden bowl, slightly drawn. The herons on the blade peeked out from beneath the scabbard, and the polished steel reflected Byar's form.
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