"Who?" Nynaeve said quickly. "If you mean a lord, one of the High Lords, remember we have no proof to offer till we find them."
Ailhuin laughed until she wheezed. "Girl, nobody from the Maule knows High Lord, or any kind of lord. Mudfish don't school with silversides. I will bring you the dangerous man I know who isn't a swordsman, and the more dangerous of the two, at that. Juilin Sandar is a thief-catcher. The best of them. I do not know how it is in Andor, but here a thief-catcher will work for you or me as soon as for a lord or a merchant, and charge less at that. Juilin can find these women for you if they can be found, and bring your things back without you having to go near these Darkfriends."
Nynaeve agreed as if she were still not entirely sure, and Ailhuin tied those platforms to her shoes — clogs, she called them — and hurried out. Egwene watched her go, through one of the kitchen windows, past the horses and around the corner up the alley.
"You are learning how to be Aes Sedai, Maryim," she said as she turned from the window. "You manipulate people as well as Moiraine." Nynaeve's face went white.
Elayne stalked across the floor and slapped Egwene's face. Egwene was so shocked she could only stare. "You go too far," the golden-haired woman said sharply. "Too far. We must live together, or we will surely die together! Did you give Ailhuin your true name? Nynaeve told her what we could, that we seek Darkfriends, and that was risk enough, linking us with Darkfriends. She told her they were dangerous, murderers. Would you have had her say they are Black Ajah? In Tear? Would you risk everything on whether Ailhuin would keep that to herself?"
Egwene rubbed her cheek gingerly. Elayne had a strong arm. "I do not have to like doing it."
"I know," Elayne sighed. "Neither do I. But we do have to."
Egwene turned back to peering through the window at the horses. I know we do. But I do not have to like it.
Chapter 49
(Dice)
A Storm in Tear
Egwene finally returned to the table and her tea. She thought perhaps Elayne was right, that she had gone too far, but she could not bring herself to apologize, and they sat in silence.
When Ailhuin returned, she had a man with her, a lean fellow in his middle years who looked as if he had been carved from aged wood. Juilin Sandar took off his clogs by the door and hung his flat, conical straw hat on a peg. A sword-breaker, much like Hurin's but with short slots to either side of the long one, hung from a belt over his brown coat, and he carried a staff exactly as tall as he was, but not much thicker than his thumb and made of that pale wood, like ridged joints, that the ox-drivers used for their goads. His short-cut black hair lay flat on his head, and his quick, dark eyes seemed to note and record every detail of the room. And of everyone in it. Egwene would have bet he examined Nynaeve twice, and to her, at least, Nynaeve's lack of reaction was blatant; it was obvious she knew it, too.
Ailhuin motioned him to a place at the table, where he turned back the cuffs of his coat sleeves, bowed to each of them in turn, and sat with his staff propped against his shoulder, not speaking until the gray-haired woman had made a fresh pot of tea and everyone had sipped from their cups.
"Mother Guenna has told me of your problem," he said quietly as he set his cup down. "I will help you if I can, but the High Lords may have their own business to put me to, soon."
The big woman snorted. "Juilin, when did you begin haggling like a shopkeeper trying to charge silk prices for linen? Do not claim you know when the High Lords will summon you before they do."
"I won't claim it," Sandar told her with a smile, "but I know when I've seen men on the rooftops in the night. Just out of the corner of my eye — they can hide like pipefish in reeds — but I have seen the movement. No one has reported a theft yet, but there are thieves working inside the walls, and you can buy your supper with that. Mark me. Before another week, I'll be summoned to the Stone because a band of thieves is breaking into merchants' houses, or even lords' manors. The Defenders may guard the streets, but when thieves need tracking they send for a thief-catcher, and me before any other. I am not trying to drive up my price, but whatever I do for these pretty women, I must do soon."
"I believe he speaks the truth," Ailhuin said reluctantly. "He'll tell you the moon is green and water white if he thinks it will bring him a kiss, but he lies less than most men about other things. He may be the most honest man ever born in the Maule." Elayne put a hand over her mouth, and Egwene struggled not to laugh. Nynaeve sat unmoved and obviously impatient.
Sandar grimaced at the gray-haired woman, then apparently decided to ignore what she had said. He smiled at Nynaeve. "I will admit that I'm curious about these thieves. I've known women thieves, and bands of thieves, but I never heard of a band of women thieves before. And I owe Mother Guenna favors." His eyes seemed to record Nynaeve all over again.
"What do you charge?" she asked sharply.
"To recover stolen goods," he said briskly, "I ask the tenth part of the value of what I recover. For finding someone, I ask a silver mark for each person. Mother Guenna says the things stolen have little value except to you, mistress, so I suggest you take that choice." He smiled again; he had very white teeth. "I would not take money from you at all, except that the brotherhood would frown on it, but I will take as little as I can. A copper or two, no more."
"I know a thief-taker," Elayne told him. "From Shienar. A very respectful man. He carries a sword as well as a sword-breaker. Why do you not?"
Sandar looked startled for a moment, and then upset with himself for being startled. He had not caught her hint, or else had decided to ignore it. "You are not Tairen. I have heard of Shienar, mistress, tales of Trollocs, and every man a warrior." His smile said these were tales for children.
"True stories," Egwene said. "Or true enough. I have been to Shienar."
He blinked at her, and went on. "I am not a lord, nor a wealthy merchant, nor even a soldier. The Defenders do not trouble foreigners much for carrying swords — unless they mean to stay long, of course — but I would be thrust into a cell under the Stone. There are laws, mistress." His hand rubbed along his staff, as if unconsciously. "I do as well as may be, without a sword." He focused his smile on Nynaeve once more. "Now, if you will describe these things — "
He stopped as she set her purse on the edge of the table and counted out thirteen silver marks. Egwene thought she had chosen the lightest coins; most were Tairen, only one Andoran. The Amyrlin had given them a great deal of gold, but even that would not last forever.
Nynaeve looked into the purse thoughtfully before tightening the strings and putting it back into her pouch. "There are thirteen women for you to find, Master Sandar, with as much silver again when you do. Find them, and we will recover our property ourselves."
"I will do that myself for less than this," he protested. "And there's no need for extra rewards. I charge what I charge. Have no fear I'll take a bribe."
"There is no fear of that," Ailhuin agreed. "I said he is honest. Just do not believe him if he says he loves you." Sandar glared at her.
"I pay the coin, Master Sandar," Nynaeve said firmly, "so I choose what I am buying. Will you find these women, and no more?" She waited for him to nod, reluctantly, before going on. "They may be together, or not. The first is a Taraboner. She is a little taller than I, with dark eyes and pale, honey-colored hair that she wears in many small braids after the Tarabon fashion. Some men might think her pretty, but she would not consider it a compliment. She has a mean, sulky mouth. The second is Kandori. She has long black hair with a white streak above her left ear, and…"
She gave no names, and Sandar asked for none. Names were so easily changed. His smile was gone now that the business was at hand. Thirteen women she described as he listened intently, and when she was done, Egwene was sure he could have recited them back word for word.
"Mother Guenna may have told you this," Nynaeve finished, "but I will repeat it. These women are more dangerous than you can believe. Over a dozen have died at th
eir hands already, that I know of, and I would not be surprised if that was only a drop of the blood on their hands." Sandar and Ailhuin both blinked at that. "If they discover you are asking after them, you will die. If they take you, they will make you tell where we are, and Mother Guenna will probably die with us." The gray-haired woman looked disbelieving. "Believe it!" Nynaeve's stare demanded agreement. "Believe it, or I'll take back the silver and find another with more brains!"
"When I was young," Sandar said, voice serious, "a cutpurse put her knife in my ribs because I thought a pretty young girl wouldn't be as quick to stab as a man. I do not make that mistake anymore. I will behave as if these women are all Aes Sedai, and Black Ajah." Egwene almost choked, and he gave her a rueful grin as he scooped the coins into his own purse and stuck it behind his sash. "I did not mean to frighten you, mistress. There are no Aes Sedai in Tear. It may take a few days, unless they are together. Thirteen women together will be easy to find; apart, they will be harder. But either way, I will find them. And I will not frighten them away before you learn where they are."
When he had donned his straw hat and clogs and departed by the back door, Elayne said, "I hope he is not overconfident. Ailhuin, I heard what he said but… He does understand that they are dangerous, does he not?"
"He has never been a fool except for a pair of eyes or a pretty ankle," the gray-haired woman said, "and that is a failing of every man. He is the best thief-catcher in Tear. Have no worry. He will find these Darkfriends of yours."
"It will rain again before morning." Nynaeve shivered, despite the warmth of the room. "I feel a storm gathering." Ailhuin only shook her head and set about filling bowls with fish soup for supper.
After they ate and cleaned up, Nynaeve and Ailhuin sat at the table talking of herbs and cures. Elayne worked on a small patch of embroidery she had begun on the shoulder of her cloak, tiny blue and white flowers, then read in a copy of The Essays of Willim of Manaches that Ailhuin had on her small shelf of books. Egwene tried reading, but neither the essays, nor The Travels of Jain Farstrider, nor the humorous tales of Aleria Elffin could hold her interest for more than a few pages. She fingered the stone ter'angreal through the bosom of her dress. Where are they? What do they want in the Heart? None but the Dragon — none but Rand — can touch Callandor, so what do they want? What? What?
As night deepened, Ailhuin showed them each to a bedroom on the second floor, but after she had gone to her own, they gathered in Egwene's by the light of a single lamp. Egwene had already undressed to her shift; the cord hung 'round her neck with the two rings. The striped stone felt far heavier than the gold. This was what they had done every night since leaving Tar Valon, with the sole exception of that night with the Aiel.
"Wake me after an hour," she told them.
Elayne frowned. "So short, this time?"
"Do you feel uneasy?" Nynaeve said. "Perhaps you are using it too often."
"We would still be in Tar Valon scrubbing pots and hoping to find a Black sister before a Gray Man found us if I had not," Egwene said sharply. Light, Elayne's right. I am snapping like a sulky child. She took a deep breath. "Perhaps I am uneasy. Maybe it is because we are so close to the Heart of the Stone, now. So close to Callandor. So close to the trap, whatever it is."
"Be careful," Elayne said, and Nynaeve said, more quietly, "Be very careful, Egwene. Please." She was tugging her braid in short jerks.
As Egwene lay down on the low-posted bed, with them on stools to either side, thunder rolled across the sky. Sleep came slowly.
It was the rolling hills again, as always at first, flowers and butterflies under spring sunshine, soft breezes and birds singing. She wore green silk, this time, with golden birds embroidered over her breasts, and green velvet slippers. The ter'angreal seemed light enough to drift up out of her dress except for the weight of the Great Serpent ring holding it down.
By simple trial and error she had learned a little of the rules of Tel'aran'rhiod — even this World of Dreams, this Unseen World, had its rules, if odd ones; she was sure she did not know a tenth of them — and one way to make herself go where she wanted. Closing her eyes, she emptied her mind as she would have to embrace saidar. It was not as easy, because the rosebud kept trying to form, and she kept sensing the True Source, kept aching to embrace it, but she had to fill the emptiness with something else. She pictured the Heart of the Stone, as she had seen it in these dreams, formed it in every detail, perfect within the void. The huge, polished redstone columns. The age-worn stones of the floor. The dome, far overhead. The crystal sword, untouchable, slowly revolving hilt-down in midair. When it was so real she was sure she could reach out and touch it, she opened her eyes, and she was there, in the Heart of the Stone. Or the Heart of the Stone as it existed in Tel'aran'rhiod.
The columns were there, and Callandor. And around the sparkling sword, almost as dim and insubstantial as shadows, thirteen women sat cross-legged, staring at Callandor as it revolved. Honey-haired Liandrin turned her head, looking straight at Egwene with those big, dark eyes, and her rosebud mouth smiled.
Gasping, Egwene sat up in bed so fast she almost fell off the side.
"What is the matter?" Elayne demanded. "What happened? You look frightened."
"You only just closed your eyes," Nynaeve said softly. "This is the first time since the very beginning that you've come back without us waking you. Something did happen, didn't it?" She tugged her braid sharply. "Are you all right?"
How did I get back? Egwene wondered. Light, I do not even know what I did. She knew she was only trying to put off what she had to say. Unfastening the cord around her neck, she held the Great Serpent ring and the larger, twisted ter'angreal on her palm. "They are waiting for us," she said finally. There was no need to say who. "And I think they know we are in Tear."
Outside, the storm broke over the city.
Rain drumming on the deck over his head, Mat stared at the stones board on the table between him and Thom, but he could not really concentrate on the game, even with an Andoran silver mark riding on the outcome. Thunder crashed, and lightning flashed in the small windows. Four lamps lit the captain's cabin of the Swift. Bloody ship may be as sleek as the bird, but it's still taking too bloody long. The vessel gave a small jolt, then another; the motion seemed to change. He had better not run us into the bloody mud! If he is not making the best time he can wring out of this buttertub, I will stuff that gold down his throat! Yawning — he had not slept well since leaving Caemlyn; he could not stop worrying enough to sleep well — yawning, he set a white stone on the intersection of two lines; in three moves, he would capture nearly a fifth of Thom's black stones.
"You could be a good player, boy," the gleeman said around his pipe, placing his next stone, "if you put your mind to it." His tabac smelled like leaves and nuts.
Mat reached for another stone from the pile at his elbow, then blinked and let it lie. In the same three moves, Thom's stones would surround over a third of his. He had not seen it coming, and he could see no escape. "Do you ever lose a game? Have you ever lost a game?"
Thom removed his pipe and knuckled his mustaches. "Not in a long while. Morgase used to beat me about half the time. It is said good commanders of soldiers and good players of the Great Game are good at stones, as well. She is the one, and I've no doubt she could command a battle, too."
"Wouldn't you rather dice some more? Stones take too much time."
"I like a chance to win more than one toss in nine or ten," the white-haired man said dryly.
Mat bounded to his feet as the door banged open to admit Captain Derne. The square-faced man whipped his cloak from his shoulders, shaking the rain off and muttering curses to himself. "The Light sear my bones, I do not know why I ever let you hire Swift. You, demanding more flaming speed in the blackest night or the heaviest rain. More speed. Always more bloody speed! Could have run on a bloody mudflat a hundred times over by now!"
"You wanted the gold," Mat said harshly. "You said this h
eap of old boards was fast, Derne. When do we reach Tear?"
The captain smiled a tight smile. "We are tying off to the dock, now. And burn me for a bloody farmer if I carry anything that can flaming talk ever again! Now, where is the rest of my gold?"
Mat hurried to one of the small windows and peered out. In the harsh glare of lightning flashes he could see a wet stone dock, if not much else. He fished the second purse of gold from his pocket and tossed it to Derne. Whoever heard of a riverman who didn't dice! "About time," he growled. Light send I'm not too late.
He had stuffed all of his spare clothes and his blankets into the leather script, and he hung that on one side of him and the roll of fireworks on the other, from the cord he tied to it. His cloak covered it all, but gapped a little in the front. Better he got wet than the fireworks. He could dry out and be as good as new; a test with a bucket had shown fireworks could not. I guess Rand's da was right. Mat had always thought the Village Council would not set them off in the rain because they made a better show on clear nights.
"Aren't you about ready to sell those things?" Thom was settling his gleeman's cloak on his shoulders. It covered his leather-cased harp and flute, but his bundle of clothes and blankets he slung on his back outside the patch-covered cloak.
"Not until I figure out how they work, Thom. Besides, think what fun it will be when I set them all off."
The gleeman shuddered. "As long as you don't do it all at once, boy. As long as you don't throw them in the fireplace at supper. I'd not put it past you, the way you've been behaving with them. You're lucky the captain here did not throw us off the ship two days ago."
"He wouldn't." Mat laughed. "Not while that purse was in the offing. Eh, Derne?"
Derne was tossing the purse of gold in his hand. "I have not asked before this, but you've given me the gold, now, and you'll not take it back. What is this all about? All this flaming speed."
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