On the opposite side of the bed, Samitsu, with those silver bells in her hair, and a slender sister with thick black eyebrows and a wild look to her raven hair stood with Cadsuane, who had her fists planted on her hips. Samitsu and the raven-haired Aes Sedai wore yellow-fringed shawls and had jaws set every bit as firmly as Bera or Kiruna, yet Cadsuane’s stern stare made all four appear hesitant. The two groups of women were not staring at one another, but at the men.
At the foot of the bed were Dashiva with the silver sword and red-and-gold Dragon glittering his collar, and Flinn and Narishma, all grim-faced, trying to watch the women on both sides of the bed at once. Jonan Adley stood beside them, his black coat looking singed on one sleeve. Saidin filled all four men, to overflowing it seemed. Dashiva held almost as much as Rand could have. Rand looked to Adley, who nodded slightly.
Abruptly, Rand realized that he was not wearing anything beneath the sheet that had fallen to his waist, and nothing above except a bandage wound around his middle. “How long have I been asleep?” he asked. “How is it I’m alive?” He touched the pale bandage gingerly. “Fain’s dagger came from Shadar Logoth. Once I saw it kill a man in moments with a scratch. He died fast, and he died hard.” Dashiva muttered a curse with Padan Fain’s name in it.
Samitsu and the other Yellow exchanged startled looks, but Cadsuane merely nodded, the golden ornaments around her iron-gray bun swaying. “Yes; Shadar Logoth; that would explain several matters. You can thank Samitsu that you’re alive, and Master Flinn.” She did not glance toward the grizzled man with his fringe of white hair, but he grinned as though she had given him a bow; in truth, surprisingly, the Yellows did nod to him. “And Corele, here, of course,” Cadsuane went on. “Each has done a part, including some things I think have not been done since the Breaking.” Her voice turned grim. “Without all three; you would be dead by now. You still may die unless you let yourself be guided. You must rest, without exertion.” His stomach rumbled suddenly, loudly, and she added, “We’ve only been able to get a little water and broth down you since you were hurt. Two days is a long time without food for a sick man.”
Two days. Only two. He avoided looking at Adley. “I’m getting up,” he said.
“I won’t let them kill you, sheepherder,” Min said with an obstinate glint in her eyes, “and I won’t let you kill you, either.” She put her arms around his shoulders as if to hold him where he was.
“If the Car’a’carn wishes to rise,” Amys said flatly, “I will have Nandera bring in the Maidens from the corridor. Somara and Enaila will be especially happy to give him just the assistance he needs.” The corners of her mouth twitched toward a smile. Once a Maiden herself, she knew close enough to everything of that situation. Neither Kiruna nor Bera smiled; they frowned at him as at an absolute fool.
“Boy,” Cadsuane said dryly, “I’ve already seen more of your hairless bottomcheeks than I wish to, but if you want to flaunt them in front of all six of us, perhaps someone will enjoy the show. If you fall on your face, though, I may just spank you before I put you back to bed.” By Samitsu’s face, and Corele’s, they would be happy to assist her.
Narishma and Adley stared at Cadsuane in shock, while Flinn tugged at his coat as though arguing with himself. Dashiva, though, barked a rough laugh. “If you want us to clear the women out . . . ” The plain-faced man began preparing flows; not shields, but complex weaves of Spirit and Fire that Rand suspected would put anyone they were laid on in too much pain to think of channeling.
“No,” he said quickly. Bera and Kiruna would obey a simple order to go, and if Corele and Samitsu had helped keep him alive, he owed them more than pain. But if Cadsuane thought nakedness would hold him where he was, she was in for a surprise. He was not sure the Maidens had left him any modesty at all. With a smile for Min, he unwound her arms, tossed back the sheet, and climbed out of the bed on Amys’ side.
The Wise One’s mouth tightened; he could almost see her considering whether to call for the Maidens. Bera gave Amys an agonized, uncertain look, while Kiruna hurriedly turned her back, her cheeks darkening. Slowly he walked to the wardrobe. Slowly because he expected he might give Cadsuane her chance if he tried to move quickly.
“Phaw!” she muttered behind him. “I vow, I should smack the stubborn boy’s bottom.” Someone grunted what might have been agreement, or just disapproval of what he was doing.
“Ah, but it’s such a pretty bottom, now isn’t it that?” someone else said in a lilting Murandian accent. That must have been Corele.
A good thing he had his head inside the wardrobe. Maybe the Maidens had not peeled away as much modesty as he thought. Light! His face felt hot as a furnace. Hoping the motions of dressing would cover any wobbles, he climbed into his clothes hurriedly. His sword stood propped in the back of the wardrobe, sword belt wound around the dark boarhide scabbard. He touched the long hilt, then took his hand away.
Barefoot, he turned back to the others while still tying the laces of his shirt. Min still sat cross-legged on the bed in her snug green silk breeches, by her expression unable to decide between approval and frustration. “I need to talk with Dashiva and the other Asha’man,” he said. “Alone.”
Min scrambled off the bed and ran to hug him. Not tightly; she was very careful of his bandaged side. “I’ve waited too long to see you awake again,” she said, sliding an arm around his waist. “I need to be with you.” She emphasized that just a tad; she must have had a viewing. Or maybe she just wanted to help steady his legs; that arm seemed to offer support. Either way, he nodded; he was not all that steady. Laying a hand on her shoulder, he suddenly realized that he did not want the Asha’man to know how weak he was any more than Cadsuane or Amys.
Bera and Kiruna made reluctant curtsies and started for the door, then hesitated when Amys did not move right away. “So long as you do not intend to leave these rooms,” the Wise One said, not in the slightest as though speaking to her Car’a’carn.
Rand raised a naked foot. “Do I look as though I’m going anywhere?” Amys sniffed, but with a glance at Adley, she gathered up Bera and Kiruna and departed.
Cadsuane and the other two were only a moment more in going. The gray-haired Green glanced at Adley, too. It could not be much of secret that he had been gone from Cairhien for days. At the door, she paused. “Don’t do anything foolish, boy.” She sounded like a stern aunt cautioning a shiftless nephew, without much expectation he would listen. Samitsu and Corele followed her out, dividing their frowns between him and the Asha’man. As they vanished, Dashiva laughed, a sharp wheeze, shaking his head; he actually sounded amused.
Rand stepped away from Min to fetch his boots from beside the wardrobe and take a rolled pair of stockings from inside. “I’ll join you in the anteroom as soon as I’m booted, Dashiva.”
The plain-faced Asha’man gave a start. He had been frowning at Adley. “As you command, my Lord Dragon,” he said, pressing fist to heart.
Waiting until the four men were gone, Rand sat down in a chair with a feeling of relief and began pulling on his stockings. He was sure his legs felt stronger just for being up and moving. Stronger, but they still did not want to support him very well.
“Are you sure this is wise?” Min said, kneeling beside his chair, and he gave her a startled look. If he had talked in his sleep during those two days, the Aes Sedai would have known. Amys would have had Enaila and Somara and fifty more Maidens waiting when he woke.
He tugged the stocking the rest of the way up. “Do you have a viewing?”
Min sat back on her heels, folded her arms beneath her breasts and gave him a firm look. After a moment, she decided it was not working and sighed. “It’s Cadsuane. She is going to teach you something, you and the Asha’man. All the Asha’man, I mean. It’s something you have to learn, but I don’t know what it is, except that none of you will like learning it from her. You aren’t going to like it at all.”
Rand paused with a boot in hand, then stuffed his foot in. What co
uld Cadsuane, or any Aes Sedai, teach the Asha’man? Women could not teach men, or men women; that was as hard a fact as the One Power itself. “We will see” was all he said.
Plainly that did not satisfy Min. She knew it would happen, and so did he; she was never wrong. But what could Cadsuane possibly teach him? What would he let her teach him? The woman made him unsure of himself, uneasy in a way he had not felt since before the Stone of Tear fell.
Stamping his foot to settle it in the second boot, he fetched his sword belt from the wardrobe, and a red coat worked in gold, the same he had worn to the Sea Folk. “What bargain did Merana make for me?” he asked, and she made an exasperated sound in her throat.
“None, as of this morning,” she said impatiently. “She and Rafela haven’t left the ship since we did, but they’ve sent half a dozen messages asking if you’re well enough to return. I don’t think the bargaining has gone well for them without you. I suppose it’s too much to hope that’s where you’re going.”
“Not yet,” he told her. Min said nothing, but she said it very loudly, fists on her hips and one eyebrow raised high. Well, she would know most of it soon enough.
In the anteroom, all the Asha’man except Dashiva sprang out of their chairs when Rand appeared with Min. Staring at nothing and talking to himself, Dashiva did not notice until Rand reached the Rising Sun set in the floor, and then he blinked several times before rising.
Rand addressed himself to Adley while fastening the Dragon-shaped buckle of his sword belt. “The army’s reached the hillforts in Illian already?” He wanted to take one of the gilded armchairs, but would not let himself. “How? It should have been several more days at the best. At best.” Flinn and Narishma looked as startled as Dashiva; none of them had known where Adley and Hopwil had gone — or Morr. Deciding who to trust was always the difficulty, and trust a razor’s edge.
Adley drew himself up. There was something about his eyes, beneath those thick eyebrows. He had seen the wolf, as they said in Cairhien. “The High Lord Weiramon left the foot behind and pressed forward with the horse,” he said, reporting stiffly. “The Aiel kept up, of course.” He frowned. “We encountered Aiel yesterday. Shaido; I don’t know how they got there. There were maybe nine or ten thousand, altogether, but they didn’t seem to have any Wise Ones who could channel with them, and they didn’t really slow us down. We reached the hillforts at noon today.”
Rand wanted to snarl. Leaving the foot behind! Did Weiramon think he was going to take palisaded forts on hilltops with horsemen? Probably. The man probably would have left the Aiel behind too, if he could have outrun them. Fool nobles and their fool honor! Still, it did not matter. Except to the men who died because the High Lord Weiramon was contemptuous of anyone who did not fight from horseback.
“Eben and I began destroying the first palisades soon as we arrived,” Adley went on. “Weiramon didn’t much like that; I think he would have stopped us, but he was afraid to. Anyway, we began setting fire to the logs and blowing holes in the walls, but before we more than started, Sammael came. A man channeling saidin, at least, and a lot stronger than Eben or me. As strong as you, my Lord Dragon, I’d say.”
“He was there right away?” Rand said incredulously, but then he understood. He had been sure Sammael would stay safe in Illian behind defenses woven of the Power if he thought he had to face Rand; too many of the Forsaken had tried, and most were dead now. In spite of himself, Rand laughed — and had to hug his side; laughing hurt. All that elaborate deception to convince Sammael he would be anywhere but with the invading army, to bring the man out of Illian, and all made unnecessary by a knife in Padan Fain’s hand. Two days. By this time, everybody who had eyes-and-ears in Cairhien — which certainly included the Forsaken — knew that the Dragon Reborn lay on the edge of death. As well toss wet wood on the fire as think otherwise. “Men scheme and women plot, but the Wheel weaves as it will”; that was how they said it in Tear. “Go on,” he said. “Morr was with you last night?”
“Yes, my Lord Dragon; Fedwin comes every night, just like he’s supposed to. Last night, it was plain as Eben’s nose we’d reach the forts today.”
“I don’t understand any of this.” Dashiva sounded upset; a muscle in his cheek was twitching. “You’ve lured him out, but to what purpose? As soon as he feels a man channel with anything near your strength, he’ll flee back to Illian and whatever traps and alarms he has woven. You won’t get at him there; he will know as soon as a gateway opens within a mile of the city.”
“We can save the army,” Adley burst out, “that’s what we can do. Weiramon was still sending charges against that fort when I left, and Sammael cuts every one to rags despite anything Eben or I can do.” He shifted the arm with the singed sleeve. “We have to strike back and run immediately, and even so, he nearly burned us where we stood, more than once. The Aiel are taking casualties too. They’re only fighting the Illianers who come out — the other hillforts must be emptying, so many were coming when I left — but any time Sammael sees fifty of us together, Aiel or anybody, he rips them apart. If there were three of him, or even two, I’m not sure I’d find anybody alive when I go back.” Dashiva stared at him as if at a madman, and Adley shrugged suddenly, as though feeling the lightness of his bare black collar compared with the sword and Dragon on the older man’s. “Forgive me, Asha’man,” he muttered, abashed, then added in a still lower voice, “But we can at least save them.”
“We will,” Rand assured him. Just not the way Adley expected. “You’re all going to help me kill Sammael today.” Only Dashiva looked startled; the other men just nodded. Not even the Forsaken frightened them anymore.
Rand expected argument out of Min, maybe a demand to come along, but she surprised him. “I expect you would as soon no one found out you’re gone before they have to, sheepherder.” He nodded and she sighed. Perhaps the Forsaken had to depend on pigeons and eyes-and-ears just like anyone else, but being too sure could be fatal.
“The Maidens will want to come if they know, Min.” They would want to, and he would be hard-pressed to refuse. If he could refuse. Yet the disappearance even of Nandera and whoever she had on guard might be too much.
Min sighed again. “I suppose I could go talk to Nandera. I might be able to keep them out in the hallway for an hour, but they won’t be pleased with me when they find out.” He almost laughed again before he remembered his side; they definitely would not be pleased with her, or with him. “More to the point, farmboy, Amys won’t be pleased. Or Sorilea. The things I let you get me into.”
He opened his mouth to tell her he had not asked her to do anything, yet before he could utter a word, she moved very close. Looking up at him through long lashes, she put a hand on his chest, tapping her fingers. She smiled warmly and kept her voice soft, but the fingers were a giveaway. “If you let anything happen to you, Rand al’Thor, I’ll give Cadsuane a hand whether she needs one or not.” Her smile brightened for a moment, almost cheerily, before she turned for the doors. He watched her go; she might make his head spin sometimes — nearly every woman he had ever met had done that at least a time or two — but she did have a way of walking that made him want to watch.
Abruptly he realized Dashiva was watching as well. And licking his lips. Rand cleared his throat loudly enough to be heard over the sound of the door closing behind her. For some reason, the plain-faced man raised his hands defensively. It was not as though Rand glared at him; he could not go around glaring at men just because Min wore tight breeches. Surrounding himself with the emptiness of the Void, he seized saidin and forced frozen fire and molten filth into the weaves for a gateway. Dashiva leaped back as it opened. Maybe having a hand sliced off would teach the man not to lick his lips like a goat. Something crooked and red spiderwebbed across the outside of the Void.
He stepped through onto bare dirt, with Dashiva and the others right behind, releasing the Source as soon as the last stepped clear. A sense of loss rushed in as saidin left, as awareness of Al
anna dwindled. The loss had not seemed so great while Lews Therin was there; not so huge.
Overhead, the golden sun was more than halfway down to the horizon. A gust of wind swept dust from under his boots without leaving any coolness behind. The gateway had opened in a cleared area, marked off by a rope strung between four wooden posts. At each corner stood a pair of guards in short coats and baggy trousers stuffed into their boots, swords that appeared slightly serpentine hanging at their sides. Some had heavy mustaches that hung to their chins or thick beards, and all had bold noses and dark eyes that seemed tilted. As soon as Rand appeared, one of them went running.
“What are we doing here?” Dashiva said, looking about incredulously.
Around them stretched hundreds of sharp-peaked tents, gray and dusty white, tents and picket lines of already saddled horses. Caemlyn lay not many miles away, hidden behind the trees, and the Black Tower not much farther, but Taim would not know of this unless he had a spy watching. One of Fedwin Morr’s tasks had been to listen — to feel — for anyone trying to spy. In a ripple of murmurs spreading outward from the ropes, men with bold noses and serpentine swords rose from their heels and turned to stare expectantly toward Rand. Here and there women stood as well; Saldaean women often rode to the wars with their husbands, at least among the nobles and officers. There would be none of that today, though.
Ducking under the rope, Rand strode directly to a tent no different from any other except for the banner on the staff in front, three simple red blossoms on a field of blue. The kingspenny did not die back even in Saldaean winters, and when fires blackened the forests, those red flowers were always the first to reappear. A blossom nothing could kill: the sign of House Bashere.
Inside the tent, Bashere himself was already booted and spurred, and his sword on his hip. Ominously, Deira was with him, in a riding dress the same shade as her husband’s gray coat, and if she wore no sword, the long dagger at her belt of heavy silver roundels would do to go on with. The leather gauntlets tucked behind that belt spoke of someone meaning to ride hard.
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