A Crown of Swords twot-7

by Robert Jordan

  "What is this I hear about—?" Kiruna began furiously. She saw Cadsuane. Bera saw Cadsuane. To Min's amazement, they stopped there with their mouths hanging open.

  "He is in good hands," Cadsuane said. "Unless one of you has suddenly found more Talent for Healing than I recall?"

  "Yes, Cadsuane," they said meekly. "No, Cadsuane." Min closed her own mouth.

  Samitsu took an ivory-inlaid chair against the wall, spreading her dark yellow skirts, and sat with her hands folded, watching Rand's chest rise and fall beneath the sheet. Niande went to Rand's bookshelf and selected a book before she sat near the windows. Reading! Kiruna and Bera started to sit, then actually looked to Cadsuane and waited for her impatient nod before they sat down.

  "Why aren't you doing something?" Min shouted.

  "That is what I might ask," Amys said, walking into the room. The youthful, white-haired Wise One stared at Rand for a moment, then shifted her deep brown shawl and turned to Kiruna and Bera. "You may go," she said. "And Kiruna, Sorilea wishes to see you again."

  Kiruna's dark face paled, but the pair of them rose and curtsied, murmuring, "Yes, Amys," even more meekly than for Cadsuane before leaving with embarrassed glances at the Green sister.

  "Interesting," Cadsuane said when they were gone. Her dark eyes locked with Amys' blue, and Cadsuane, at least, seemed to like what she saw. At any rate, she smiled. "I should like to meet this Sorilea. She is a strong woman?" She seemed to emphasize the word "strong."

  "The strongest I have ever known," Amys said simply. Calmly. You would never have thought Rand lay senseless in front of her. "I do not know your Healing, Aes Sedai. I trust that you have done what can be done?" Her tone was flat; Min doubted how much Amys did trust.

  "What can be done, has been," Cadsuane sighed. "All we can do now is wait."

  "While he dies?" a man's harsh voice said, and Min jumped.

  Dashiva strode into the room, his plain face contorted in a scowl. "Flinn!" he snapped.

  Niande's book thudded to the floor from apparently nerveless fingers; she stared at the three men in black coats as she would have at the Dark One himself. Pale-faced, Samitsu muttered something that sounded like a prayer.

  At Dashiva's command, the grizzled Asha'man limped to the bed on the opposite side from Cadsuane and began running his hands along the length of Rand's still body a foot above the sheet. Young Narishma stood frowning by the door, fingering the hilt of his sword, those big dark eyes trying to watch all three Aes Sedai at once. The Aes Sedai, and Amys. He did not look afraid; just a man confidently waiting for those women to show themselves his enemies. Unlike the Aes Sedai, Amys ignored the Asha'man except for Flinn. Her eyes followed him, smooth face utterly expressionless. But her thumb ran along the haft of her belt knife in a very expressive manner.

  "What are you doing?" Samitsu demanded, leaping up from her chair. Whatever her unease about Asha'man, concern for her unconscious patient had overcome it. "You, Flinn or whoever you are." She started toward the bed, and Narishma flowed to block her. Frowning, she tried to go around, and he put a hand on her arm.

  "Another boy with no manners," Cadsuane murmured. Of the three sisters, only she displayed no alarm whatsoever at the Asha'man. Instead, she studied them over steepled fingers.

  Narishma flushed at her comment and removed his hand, but when Samitsu tried to go around him again, he once more stepped in front of her.

  She settled for glaring past his shoulder. "You, Flinn, what are you doing? I won't have you killing him with your ignorance! Do you hear me?" Min practically danced from foot to foot. She did not think an Asha'man would kill Rand, not on purpose, but… He trusted them, but… Light, even Amys did not seem sure, frowning from Flinn to Rand.

  Flinn stripped the sheet down to Rand's waist, exposing the wound. The gash looked neither better nor worse than she remembered, a gaping, angry, bloodless wound slicing across the round scar. He appeared to be sleeping.

  "He can't do any worse than Rand already is," Min said. Nobody paid her any mind.

  Dashiva made a guttural sound, and Flinn looked at him. "You see something, Asha'man?"

  "I have no Talent for Healing," Dashiva said, twisting his mouth wryly. "You're the one who took my suggestion and learned."

  "What suggestion?" Samitsu demanded. "I insist that you —"

  "Be quiet, Samitsu," Cadsuane said. She seemed to be the only one in the room who was calm aside from Amys, and from the way the Wise One kept stroking her knife hilt, Min was not certain about her. "I think the last thing he wants to do is harm the boy."

  "But, Cadsuane," Niande began urgently, "that man is —"

  "I said, be quiet," the gray-haired Aes Sedai told her firmly.

  "I assure you," Dashiva said, managing to sound oily and harsh at the same time, "Flinn knows what he is about. Already he can do things you Aes Sedai never dreamed of." Samitsu sniffed; loudly. Cadsuane merely nodded and sat back in her chair.

  Flinn traced his finger along the puffy gash in Rand's side and across the old scar. That did seem more tender. "These are alike, but different, as if there's two kinds of infection at work. Only it isn't infection; it's… darkness. I can't think of a better word." He shrugged, eyeing Samitsu's Yellow-fringed shawl as she frowned at him, but it was a considering look she gave him now.

  "Get on with it, Flinn," Dashiva muttered. "If he dies…" Nose wrinkled as though at a bad smell, he seemed unable to look away from Rand. His lips moved as he talked to himself, and once he made a sound, half sob, half bitter laugh, without his face changing one line.

  Drawing a deep breath, Flinn looked around the room, at the Aes Sedai, at Amys. When he caught sight of Min, he gave a start, and his leathery face reddened. Hastily he rearranged the sheet to cover Rand to his neck, leaving only the old wound and the new exposed.

  "I hope nobody minds if I talk," he said, beginning to move callused hands above Rand's side. "Talking seems to help a mite." He squinted, focusing on the injuries, and his fingers writhed slowly. Very much as though he was weaving threads, Min realized. His tone was almost absent, only part of his mind on the words. "It was Healing made me go to the Black Tower, you might say. I was a soldier, till I took a lance in my thigh; couldn't grip a saddle proper after that, or even walk far. That was the fifteenth wound I took in near forty years in the Queen's Guards. Fifteen that counted, anyway; it don't if you can walk or ride, after. I seen a lot of friends die in them forty years. So I went, and the M'Hael taught me Healing. And other things. A rough sort of Healing; I was Healed by an Aes Sedai once — oh, nigh on thirty years back now — and this hurts, compared to that. Works as well, though. Then one day, Dashiva here — pardon; Asha'man Dashiva — says he wonders why it's all the same, no matter if a man's got a broke leg or a cold, and we got to talking, and… Well, he's got no feel for it, himself, but me, seems I got the knack you might say. The Talent. So I started thinking, what if I…? There. Best I can do."

  Dashiva grunted as Flinn abruptly sat back on his heels and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. Sweat beaded on his face, the first time Min had seen an Asha'man perspire. The slash in Rand's side was not gone, yet it seemed a little smaller, less red and angry. He still slept, but his face seemed less pale.

  Samitsu darted past Narishma so quickly he had no chance to intervene. "What did you do?" she demanded, laying fingers on Rand's forehead. Whatever she found with the Power, her eyebrows climbed halfway to her hair, and her tone leaped from imperious to incredulous. "What did you do?"

  Flinn shrugged his shoulders regretfully. "Not much. I couldn't really touch what's wrong. I sort of sealed them away from him, for a time, anyhow. It won't last. They're fighting each other, now. Maybe they'll kill off each other, while he heals himself the rest of the way." Sighing, he shook his head. "On the other hand, I can't say that they won't kill him. But I think he has a better chance than he did."

  Dashiva nodded self-importantly. "Yes; he has a chance, now." You would have thought h
e had done the Healing himself.

  To Flinn's evident surprise, Samitsu rounded the bed to help him rise. "You will tell me what you did," she said, regal tone at strong odds with the way her quick fingers straightened the old man's collar and smoothed his lapels. "If only there was some way you could show me! But you will describe it. You must! I will give you all the gold I possess, bear your child, whatever you wish, but you will tell me all that you can." Apparently not sure herself whether she was commanding or begging, she led a very bemused Flinn over by the windows. He opened his mouth more than once, but she was too busy trying to make him talk to see it.

  Not caring what anyone thought, Min climbed onto the bed and lay so she could tuck Rand's head under her chin and wrap her arms around him. A chance. Furtively she studied the three people gathered around the bed. Cadsuane in her chair, Amys standing opposite, Dashiva leaning against one of the square bedposts at the foot, all with unreadable auras and images dancing around them. All with their eyes intent on Rand. No doubt Amys saw some disaster for the Aiel if Rand died, and Dashiva, the only one with any expression, a dark yet worried scowl, disaster for the Asha'man. And Cadsuane… Cadsuane, who was not only known to Bera and Kiruna, but made them jump like girls for all their oaths to Rand. Cadsuane, who would not hurt Rand "any more than she had to."

  Cadsuane's gaze met Min's for a moment, and Min shivered. Somehow, she would protect him while he could not protect himself, from Amys, and Dashiva, and Cadsuane. Somehow. Unconsciously, she began to hum a lullaby, rocking Rand gently. Somehow.

  Chapter 37

  (Dice)

  A Note from the Palace

  The day after the Festival of Birds dawned to strong winds off the Sea of Storms that actually cut the heat in Ebou Dar. A sky without a cloud and the red-gold dome of the sun on the horizon gave promises for once the wind died, though. Mat hurried down through the Tarasin Palace with his green coat undone and his shirt only half-laced in anticipation. He did not quite jump at every sound, but he did give a start, considerably more wide-eyed than he liked, whenever one of the serving women passed, swishing her petticoats and smiling at him. Every last one of them smiled, in a particularly… knowing… way. It was all he could do not to run.

  At the last, he slowed, easing onto the shaded walk bordering the stableyard almost on tiptoe. Between the fluted columns of the walk, yellowish reedy plants in big red pottery bowls and vines with wide, red-striped leaves dangling from metal baskets on chains formed a thin screen. Unconsciously, he tugged his hat lower to obscure his face.

  His hands ran along his spear — an ashandarei, Birgitte called it — unthinkingly fingering the haft as if he might need to defend himself. The dice tumbled inside his head fiercely, yet that had nothing to do with his uneasiness. The source of that was Tylin.

  Six closed coaches with the green Anchor and Sword of House Mitsobar lacquered on the doors already waited in line before the tall arched outer gates with teams hitched and liveried drivers mounted. He could see Nalesean yawning in a yellow-striped coat on the far side of them, and Vanin sat slumped atop an upended barrel not far from the stable doors, apparently asleep. Most of the other Redarms were squatting patiently on the stableyard flagstones; a few tossed dice in the shadow of the huge white stables. Elayne stood between Mat and the coaches, just the other side of the screen of plants. Reanne Corly was with her, and close by, seven more of the women who were at that peculiar meeting he had burst into the evening before; Reanne was the only one not wearing the red belt of a Wise Woman. He had half-expected them not to appear this morning. They had the features of women used to ordering their own lives and other's, and most had at least a bit of gray in their hair, yet they watched fresh-faced Elayne with an air of expectation, seemingly on their toes, as though ready to jump at her command. The whole lot caught less than half his attention, though; none of them was the woman who had him ready to jump out of his skin. Tylin made him feel… well… helpless was the only word that seemed to fit, however ridiculous it seemed.

  "We do not need them, Mistress Corly," Elayne said. The Daughter-Heir sounded like a woman patting a child on the head. "I've told them to remain here until we return. We will attract less attention, especially across the river, without anyone recognizably Aes Sedai." Her notion of what to wear visiting the roughest part of the city without attracting attention was a wide green hat with green-dyed plumes, a light dustcloak of green linen worked in golden scrolls hanging down her back, and a high-necked green silk riding dress with gold embroidery climbing the divided skirts and thickly emphasizing the oval that exposed half her bosom. She even wore one of those necklaces for a marriage knife. That broad band of woven gold would make every thief's hand in the Rahad itch. She carried no weapon beyond a small belt knife. But as to that, what weapon did a woman who could channel need? Of course, every one of those red belts had a curved dagger tucked behind it. So did Reane's belt of plain worked leather.

  Reanne removed a large blue straw hat, frowned at it, then put it back on and retied the ribbons. Elayne's tone did not seem to be what was bothering her. She put on a diffident smile with the hat, and a timid tone. "But why does Merilille Sedai think we are lying, Elayne Sedai?"

  "They all do," one of the red-belts said breathlessly. All of them wore Ebou Dari dresses in sober colors, with narrow plunging necklines and skirts sewn up on one side to expose layered petticoats, but only this one, bone-lean and with more white than black in her long hair, had the olive skin and dark eyes of an Ebou Dari. "Sareitha Sedai called me liar to my face, about our numbers, about —" She cut off short at a frown and a "Be quiet, Tamarla" from Reanne; Mistress Corly might be ready to curtsy and simper for a child if the child was Aes Sedai, but she kept a tight rein on her companions.

  Mat frowned up at the windows overlooking the stable-yard, those he could see from where he stood. Elaborate white wrought-iron screens covered some, white wooden screens of intricately carved piercework others. Not likely Tylin was up there; not likely she would appear in the stableyard. He had been very careful not to wake her getting dressed. Besides, she would not try anything here. At least, he did not think she would. Then again, was anything past the woman who had had half a dozen serving women seize him in the halls last night and drag him into her apartments? The bloody woman treated him like a toy! He was not going to put up with it anymore. He was not. Light, who was he trying to fool? If they did not grab this Bowl of the Winds and get out of Ebou Dar, Tylin would be pinching his bottom and calling him her little pigeon again tonight.

  "It's your ages, Reanne." Elayne did not exactly sound hesitant — she never did that — but her tone became very careful. "It is considered rude among Aes Sedai to speak of age, but… Reanne, apparently no Aes Sedai since the Breaking has lived as long as any of you in the Knitting Circle claim." That was the odd name these Kin gave their ruling council. "In your own case, not by over a hundred years." The red-belts gasped, going wide-eyed. A slender brown-eyed woman with pale honey hair gave a nervous giggle and instantly covered her mouth at Reanne's whip-quick "Famelle!"

  "That can't be possible," Reanne said faintly to Elayne. "Surely, Aes Sedai must —"

  "Good morning," Mat said, stepping past the screen of plants. The whole discussion was idiotic; everyone knew Aes Sedai lived longer than anybody else. Instead of wasting time, they should be on their way to the Rahad. "Where are Thom and Juilin? And Nynaeve." She had to have come back last night, or Elayne would have been in a swivet. "Blood and ashes, I don't see Birgitte either. We need to be on our way, Elayne, not standing around. Is Aviendha coming?"

  She frowned at him slightly, with just a flicker of her eyes toward Reanne, and he knew she was deciding what performance to give him. Wide-eyed innocence might damage her standing with these women as much as flashing her dimple at him would; Elayne always expected that dimple to work where all else failed. Her chin rose slightly. "Thom and Juilin are helping Aviendha and Birgitte watch Carridin's palace, Mat." It was to be the
Daughter-Heir in near full-bloom. Not the whole flowering, since she surely knew how he would react to that, but a voice full of certainty, cool blue eyes demanding, and that pretty face chill if not exactly frozen with arrogance. Was there any woman in the world who was just one person? "Nynaeve will be down shortly, I'm sure. There is no reason for you to come, you know, Mat. Nalesean and your soldiers are a more than adequate bodyguard. You could enjoy yourself right here in the palace until we return."

  "Carridin!" he cried. "Elayne, we aren't staying in Ebou Dar to settle Jaichim Carridin. We are getting the Bowl, then you or Nynaeve is going to make a gateway, and we are leaving. Is that clear? And I'm going with you to the Rahad." Enjoy himself! The Light only knew what Tylin would get up to if he remained in the palace all day. The very thought made him want to laugh hysterically.

  Icy stares stabbed at him from the Wise Women; stout Sumeko pursed her lips angrily, and Melore, a plump Domani in her middle years whose bosom he had enjoyed eyeing yesterday, planted fists on hips with a face like a thunderhead. They should have known from yesterday that he was not intimidated by Aes Sedai, yet even Reanne gave him such a scowl he half thought she might try to box his ears. Apparently, if they were going to fall all over themselves around Aes Sedai, then everybody else had to as well.

  Elayne struggled with herself visibly. Her lips compressed, but one thing he had to give her; she was too smart to go on with what obviously would not work. On the other hand, she was snooty to the bone however she tried. And the other women were watching. "Mat, you know we cannot leave until we have used the Bowl." That haughty chin remained high, and her tone was at best halfway between explaining and telling. "It might require days for us to be sure of how to use it, perhaps even half a week or more, and we might as well finish Carridin if we can in that time." Such a crackle entered her voice on the Whitecloak's name that you might have thought she bore the man a personal grudge, but something else leaped out and clamped a fist on his thoughts.