Towers of Midnight

by Robert Jordan; Brandon Sanderson

  His procession passed numerous camps on the open plains around Caemlyn. All mercenaries were required to stay at least a league away, but the forces of the lords could camp closer. That put Mat in a rough place. There was always tension between sell-swords and loyal armsmen, and with the mercenaries so far from Caemlyn, fights were common. The Band was right in the middle of it.

  He did some quick figuring based on the trails of campfire smoke he saw twisting into the air. There were at least ten thousand mercenaries in the area. Did Elayne know what a bubbling kettle she was brewing here? Too much heat, and the whole bloody thing would boil over!

  Mat's procession drew attention. He had one of the men flying the banner of the Band of the Red Hand, and his men were developing a reputation. By Mat's count, they were the largest single group—mercenary or lord's force—outside Caemlyn's walls. They were as organized and disciplined as a regular army, and were under the leadership of a personal friend of the Dragon Reborn. His men could not help bragging about that, though Mat would much rather that they had kept quiet.

  They passed groups of men waiting by the side of the road, curious to catch a glimpse of "Lord Mat." He kept his eyes forward. If they had expected some fop in a rich coat, then they would be disappointed! Though perhaps he could have chosen a better coat. This one was stiff, and the collar itched.

  Of course, more than a few seemed to think Talmanes was "Lord Mat" from the way they pointed, probably because of how he was dressed. Bloody ashes!

  This conversation with Elayne was going to be tough. But Mat had a hidden card, one he hoped would be enough to get her to look past the expense of Aludra's proposal. Though he was more afraid she would see what he was doing and want to take part in it. And when a woman wanted to be part" of something, that meant she wanted to be in charge.

  They approached the gate in Caemlyn's white-gray walls, passing the growing outer city. The soldiers waved him on. Mat gave them a tip of the hat, and Thom gave a flourishing wave to the small crowd gathered here. They cheered. Great. Just bloody great.

  The march through the New City was uneventful save for more crowds watching. Would someone recognize his face from those drawings? Mat wanted to get off the main thoroughfares, but Caemlyn's narrow streets were a twisting mess. A force of fifty horsemen was too large to move tfirough those streets.

  They eventually passed through the brilliant white walls of the Inner City, where the roads were wider, the Ogier-built buildings less cramped, and the population thinner. Here, they passed more groups of armed men,' including Guardsmen in white and red. Mat could make their camp out ahead, covering the gray paving stones of the courtyard with their tents and horselines.

  The Caemlyn palace was like another little city within the city inside the city. It had a low fortified wall, and while its peaks and spires rose into the air, it had more of the look of a war bunker than the Sun Palace did. Odd, how he had never noticed that when he was younger. If Caemlyn fell this palace could hold on its own. They needed more barracks, though, within that wall. This camping out in the courtyard was ridiculous.

  Mat took Talmanes, Thorn and a force of ten Redarms as an escort. A tall man in a burnished breastplate, three golden knots on the shoulder of his cloak, waited at the palace entrance. He was a young man, but the way he stood—relaxed, yet poised, hand on the pommel of his sword— indicated he was a practiced soldier. Too bad he had such a pretty face. A life in the military would probably end up wrecking that.

  The man nodded to Mat, Thorn and Talmanes. "Lord Cauthon?" he asked Mat.

  "Just Mat."

  The man raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. "My name is Charlz Guybon. I'll lead you to Her Majesty."

  She had sent Guybon himself to escort Mat. He was high-ranking, second-in-command of the armies. That was unexpected. Was Elayne afraid of him, or was she was honoring him? Maybe Guybon had wanted to see Mat for himself. She would not honor Mat, not after making him wait so long to get an audience! A fine greeting for an old friend. His suspicions were confirmed when Guybon did not lead them to the Grand Hall, but down to a quiet area of the Palace.

  "I've heard much about you, Master Cauthon," Guybon said. He seemed like one of those stiff soldiers. Solid, but maybe a little too solid-Like a bow without enough spring to it.

  "From who?" Mat asked. "Elayne?"

  "Mostly rumors around the city. People like to talk about you."

  They do? Mat thought. "I didn't do half of what they say," he grumbled, and the other half wasn't my bloody fault." Guybon laughed. "What of the story of you hanging from a tree for

  nine days?"

  "Didn't happen," Mat said, resisting the urge to tug at the scarf around

  his neck. Nine days? Where did that come from? He had not even hung for

  nine bloody minutes! Nine seconds had been too long.

  "They also say," Guybon continued, "that you never lose at dice or at love, and that your spear never misses its target."

  "Wish those second two were true. Burn me, but I wish they were."

  "But you do always win at dice?"

  "Near enough," Mat said, tugging down the brim of his hat. "But don't spread that one, or I'll never find a game."

  "They say you slew one of the Forsaken," Guybon noted.

  "Not true," Mat said. Where had that one come from?

  "And the stories of you dueling the King of the Aiel invaders in a battle of honor? Did you really win the Dragon Reborn the loyalty of the Aiel?"

  "Bloody ashes," Mat said. "I killed Couladin, but it didn't happen in any kind of duel! I ran into him on the battlefield, and one of us had to die. It wasn't bloody well going to be me."

  "Interesting," Guybon said. "I thought that one might be true. At least, it's one of the few that could have happened. Unlike. . . ." He trailed off.

  "What?" Mat said. They passed an intersection of halls where servants grouped, watching him and the other pass and whispering among themselves.

  Guybon looked hesitant. "I'm sure you've heard."

  "Doubtful." Burn him! What was next? Had the members of the Band been spreading these rumors? Even they did not know about some of those things!

  Well, there's this rumor that says you stepped into death's domain to challenge him and demand answers to your questions," Guybon said, look-ing more embarrassed. "And that he gave you that spear you hold and foretold to you your own death."

  Mat felt a chill. That one was close enough to the truth to be frightening. Silly, I know," Guybon said.

  Sure," Mat said. "Silly." He tried to laugh, but it came out as a cough. Guybon regarded him curiously.

  Light, Mat realized, he thinks I'm dodging the question! "Only rumors, of course, Mat said quickly. Too quickly, maybe. Blood and bloody ashes!

  Guybon nodded, looking thoughtful.

  Mat wanted to change the topic, but he did not trust himself to open his bloody mouth. He could see that more and more palace servants had stopped to watch the procession. He felt like cursing some more at thar but then noticed that many of them seemed focused on Thorn.

  Thorn had been court-bard right here in Caemlyn. He did not talk about it, but Mat knew he had suffered a falling-out with the Queen Thorn had been in virtual exile ever since, coming to Caemlyn only when pressed.

  Morgase was dead now, so this was Thorn returning from his exile it seemed. That was probably why he had dressed so finely. Mat looked down at his coat again. Burn me, I should have worn something nicer.

  Guybon led them to a carved wooden door, bearing the roaring Lion of Andor. He knocked softly, received the call to enter, then gestured Mat toward the door. "The Queen will receive you in her sitting room."

  "Thorn, you're with me," Mat said. "Talmanes, you watch the soldiers." The nobleman looked crestfallen, but Elayne was undoubtedly going to embarrass Mat, and he did not want Talmanes there to see. "I'll introduce you later," Mat promised. Bloody noblemen. They thought every second thing was an affront to their honor. Mat would have b
een happy to wait outside!

  Mat stepped up to the door, taking a deep breath. He had fought in dozens of skirmishes and battles without growing nervous. Now his hands were shaking. Why did he feel as if he were walking directly into an ambush without a scrap of armor on?

  Elayne. As Queen. Burn him, but this was going to hurt. He opened the door and strode in.

  His eyes found Elayne immediately. She sat beside a hearth, holding a cup of what appeared to be milk. She looked radiant in a gown of deep red and gold. Beautiful, full red lips that Mat would not have minded kissing, if he had not been a married man. Her red-gold hair seemed to shimmer in the hearthlight, and her cheeks were full of color. She seemed to have gained a little weight. Best not to mention that. Or should he? Sometimes women got angry when you mentioned that they looked different, and sometimes they got angry if you did not notice.

  She was a pretty thing. Not as pretty as Tuon, of course. Elayne was far too pale, and too tall, and had too much hair. It was distracting. Still, she was pretty. Seemed a waste as a queen. She would have made an excellent serving girl. Ah well. Somebody had to be Queen.

  Mat glanced at Birgitte, who was the only other one in the room. She looked the same. Always did, with that golden braid and high boots, like

  the hero from the bloody stories. Which was exactly what she was. It was good to see her again; she was one woman he knew who would not snap at him for speaking the truth.

  Thorn stepped in beside him, and Mat cleared his throat. She would expected him to be formal. Well, he was not going to bow or scrape, and

  Elayne leaped out of her chair. She ran across the room as Birgitte closed the door. "Thorn, I'm so glad that you're all right!" Elayne grabbed him in an embrace.

  "Hello, dear one," Thorn said fondly. "I hear you've done well for yourself and for Andor."

  Elayne was crying! Mat pulled off his hat, befuddled. Sure, Thorn and Elayne had been close, but Elayne was Queen now. Elayne turned toward Mat. "It's good to see you, Mat. Do not think that the Crown has forgotten your service to me. Bringing Thorn back to Andor is another debt we owe

  you."

  "Well, um," Mat said. "It really wasn't anything, you know, Elayne. Burn me. You're Queen! How's that feel?"

  Elayne laughed, finally releasing Thom. "Such a way with words you have, Mat."

  "I'm not going to bow to you or anything," he warned. "Or bother with that 'Your Majesty' nonsense."

  "I wouldn't expect it," Elayne said. "Unless we're in public, of course. I mean, I have to keep up appearances for the people."

  "I suppose that's true," Mat agreed. It did make sense. He held out a hand to Birgitte, but she chuckled and gave him a hug, slapping him on the back like an old pal meeting for a mug of ale. And, well, perhaps that was what they were. Without the ale.

  He could have used some ale.

  "Come, sit," Elayne said, gesturing toward the chairs by the fire. "I'm sorry to make you wait so long, Mat."

  "It's nothing," he said. "You're busy."

  It's embarrassing," she said. "One of my stewards lumped you with the mercenary groups. It's so hard to keep track of them all! If you wish, I'll give you leave to camp closer to the city. There's not room inside the walls for the Band, I'm afraid."

  That won't be needed," Mat said, taking one of the seats. "Letting us move closer is kind enough. Thank you." Thom sat, and Birgitte preferred to stand, though she did join them by the hearth, leaning back against the stones.

  "You look well, Elayne," Thorn said. "Is everything going well with the child?"

  "Children," Elayne corrected. "There will be twins. And yes, every-thing is well. Save for me having to be poked and prodded at nearly every opportunity."

  "Wait," Mat said. "What?" He glanced again at Elayne's stomach.

  Thom rolled his eyes. "Don't you ever listen when you're in the city gambling?"

  "I listen," Mat muttered. "Usually." He looked accusingly at Elayne. "Does Rand know about this?"

  She laughed. "I should hope he isn't too surprised."

  "Burn me!" Mat said. "He's the father!"

  "The father of my children is a matter of some speculation in the city," Elayne said solemnly. "And the Crown prefers there to be speculation, for the time. But enough about me! Thom, you have to tell me everything. How did you escape Ebou Dar?"

  "Forget Ebou Dar," Birgitte snapped. "How's Olver? Did you find him?"

  "We did," Thom said. "And he is well, though I fear the lad is destined for life as a professional soldier."

  "Not a bad life," Birgitte said. "Eh, Mat?"

  "There are worse," he said, still trying to get his legs underneath him. How had becoming Queen made Elayne less high-and-mighty? Had he missed something? She actually seemed agreeable now!

  Well, that was unfair. There were times when she had been agreeable before. They had merely been mixed between times when she had been ordering Mat around. He found himself smiling as Thom related the details of their escape and the capture of Tuon, followed by their travels with Master Luca's menagerie. Drawn from the quiver of a storyteller, the tale sounded a whole lot more impressive than it had been to live. Mat almost thought himself a hero, listening to Thom.

  Right before Thom got to the part about Tuon's marriage words, however, Mat coughed and cut in. "And we beat the Seanchan, fled into Mu-randy, and eventually found an Aes Sedai to get us here through a gateway. By the way, have you seen Verin lately?"

  "No," Elayne said. Thom eyed Mat with amusement.

  "Blast," Mat said. Well, there went his chance to use her for a gateway to the Tower of Ghenjei. He would worry about that later. He took the leather envelope from his belt, then opened it, taking out Aludra's papers. "Elayne," he said, "I need to talk to you."

  "Yes, you mentioned 'bellfounders' in your letter. What trouble have you gotten yourself into, Matrim Cauthon?"

  "That's not fair at all," he said, spreading out the sheets. "I'm not the one who gets into trouble. If I—"

  "You're not going to mention my getting captured in the Stone of Tear again are you?" she asked with a roll of her eyes. He stopped. "Of course not. That happened ages ago. I barely remember

  She laughed, the pretty sound ringing in the room. He felt himself blushing. "Anyway, I'm not in trouble. I just need some resources."

  "What kind of resources?" Elayne asked, growing curious as he spread out the papers on the table next to her chair. Birgitte leaned down.

  "Well," Mat said, rubbing his chin. "There are three bellfounders in the city; I'll need those. And we're going to need some powders. They're listed on this page. And . . . we'll need a little bit of metal." He winced and handed her one of Aludra's lists.

  Elayne read the page, then blinked. "Are you mad?"

  "Sometimes I think I might be," he said. "But burn me, I think this will be worth the cost."

  "What is it?" Elayne asked as Birgitte looked over one of the sheets, then handed it to Elayne.

  "Aludra calls them dragons," Mat said. "Thorn says you knew her?"

  "Yes, I did," Elayne said.

  "Well, these are launching tubes, like the ones for her fireworks. Only they're made of metal, and they're big. And instead of launching nightflow-ers, they launch these head-sized chunks of iron."

  "Why would you want to launch chunks of iron up into the air?" Elayne said, frown deepening.

  You don't" Birgitte said, eyes opening wide. "You launch them at someone else's army."

  Mat nodded. "Aludra claims that one of these dragons could launch an iron ball as far as a mile."

  Mother's milk in a cup!" Birgitte said. "You can't be serious."

  She is," Mat said. "And I believe her. You should see what she's created

  already, and she claims these will be her masterpiece. Look, she shows here

  the dragons firing on a city wall from a mile away. With fifty dragons and

  two hundred and fifty solders she could knock down a wall like the one

  around Caemlyn
in a few hours."

  Elayne looked pale. Did she believe him? Would she be angry at him for wasting her time?

  "I know that won't be of much use in the Last Battle," Mat said quicly. "Trollocs don't have walls. But look here. I had her design a spreading shot. Fire it on a line of Trollocs from four hundred paces, and one of these dragons will do the work of fifty bowmen. Burn me, Elayne, but we're going to be at a disadvantage. The Shadow can always toss more Trollocs at us than we have soldiers, and the bloody things are twice as hard to kill as a man. We need an advantage. I remember—"

  He cut himself off. He had been about to say he remembered the Trol-loc Wars, which would not have been a good idea. A man could start some embarrassing rumors that way. "Look," he said. "I know this sounds outrageous, but you have to give it a chance."

  She looked up at him, and . . . was she crying again? What had he done?

  "Mat, I could kiss you," she declared. "This is exactly what I needed!"

  Mat blinked. What?

  Birgitte chuckled. "First Norry, now Mat. You'll have to watch yourself, Elayne. Rand will be jealous."

  Elayne snorted, looking down at the plans. "The bellfounders aren't going to like this. Most of the craftsmen were looking forward to getting back to daily work, following the siege."

  "Oh, I don't know about that, Elayne," Birgitte said. "I've known a craftsman or two in my time. To a person, they complain about royal privilege during war, but as long as the Crown compensates them, they're secretly happy. Steady work is always appreciated. Besides, something like this will make them curious."

  "We'll have to keep it secret," Elayne said.

  "So you'll do it?" Mat asked, surprised. He had not needed his secret bribe to distract her!

  "We'll need proof of one working first, of course," Elayne said. "But if these devices, these dragons, work half as well as Aludra claims . . • well, I'd be a fool not to put every man on them we can!"

  "That's right generous of you," Mat said, scratching his head.