The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  Elayne stepped in front of Rand, between him and the newcomer, head high and as confident as ever. “He is a loyal subject of our mother, and a good Queen’s man. And he is under my protection, Galad.”

  Rand tried to remember what he had heard from Master Kinch, and since from Master Gill. Galadedrid Damodred was Elayne’s half-brother, Elayne’s and Gawyn’s, if he remembered correctly; the three shared the same father. Master Kinch might not have liked Taringail Damodred too well—neither did anyone else that he had heard—but the son was well thought of by wearers of the red and the white alike, if talk in the city was any guide.

  “I am aware of your fondness for strays, Elayne,” the slender man said reasonably, “but the fellow is armed, and he hardly looks reputable. In these days, we cannot be too careful. If he’s a loyal Queen’s man, what is he doing here where he does not belong? It is easy enough to change the wrappings on a sword, Elayne.”

  “He is here as my guest, Galad, and I vouch for him. Or have you appointed yourself my nurse, to decide whom I may talk to, and when?”

  Her voice was rich with scorn, but Galad seemed unmoved. “You know I make no claims for control over your actions, Elayne, but this . . . guest of yours is not proper, and you know that as well as I. Gawyn, help me convince her. Our mother would—”

  “Enough!” Elayne snapped. “You are right that you have no say over my actions, nor have you any right to judge them. You may leave me. Now!”

  Galad gave Gawyn a rueful look; at one and the same time it seemed to ask for help while saying that Elayne was too headstrong to be helped. Elayne’s face darkened, but just as she opened her mouth again, he bowed, in all formality yet with the grace of a cat, took a step back, then turned and strode down the paved path, his long legs carrying him quickly out of sight beyond the arbor.

  “I hate him,” Elayne breathed. “He is vile and full of envy.”

  “There you go too far, Elayne,” Gawyn said. “Galad does not know the meaning of envy. Twice he has saved my life, with none to know if he held his hand. If he had not, he would be your First Prince of the Sword in my place.”

  “Never, Gawyn. I would choose anyone before Galad. Anyone. The lowest stableboy.” Suddenly she smiled and gave her brother a mock-stern look. “You say I am fond of giving orders. Well, I command you to let nothing happen to you. I command you to be my First Prince of the Sword when I take the throne—the light send that day is far off!—and to lead the armies of Andor with the sort of honor Galad cannot dream of.”

  “As you command, my Lady.” Gawyn laughed, his bow a parody of Galad’s.

  Elayne gave Rand a thoughtful frown. “Now we must get you out of here quickly.”

  “Galad always does the right thing,” Gawyn explained, “even when he should not. In this case, finding a stranger in the gardens, the right thing is to notify the Palace guards. Which I suspect he is on his way to do right this minute.”

  “Then it’s time I was back over the wall,” Rand said. A fine day for going unnoticed! I might as well carry a sign! He turned to the wall, but Elayne caught his arm.

  “Not after the trouble I went to with your hands. You’ll only make fresh scrapes and then let some back-alley crone put the Light knows what on them. There is a small gate on the other side of the garden. It’s overgrown, and no one but me even remembers it’s there.”

  Suddenly Rand heard boots pounding toward them over the slate paving stones.

  “Too late,” Gawyn muttered. “He must have started running as soon as he was out of eyeshot.”

  Elayne growled an oath, and Rand’s eyebrows shot up. He had heard that one from the stablemen at The Queen’s Blessing and had been shocked then. The next moment she was in cool self-possession once more.

  Gawyn and Elayne appeared content to remain where they were, but he could not make himself stay for the Queen’s Guards with such equanimity. He started once more for the wall, knowing he would be no more than halfway up before the guards arrived, but unable to stand still.

  Before he had taken three steps red-uniformed men burst into sight, breastplates catching the sun as they dashed up the path. Others came like breaking waves of scarlet and polished steel, seemingly from every direction. Some held drawn swords; others only waited to set their boots before raising bows and nocking feathered shafts. Behind the barred faceguards every eye was grim, and every broadhead arrow was pointed unwaveringly at him.

  Elayne and Gawyn leaped as one, putting themselves between him and the arrows, their arms spread to cover him. He stood very still and kept his hands in plain sight, away from his sword.

  While the thud of boots and the creak of bowstrings still hung in the air, one of the soldiers, with the golden knot of an officer on his shoulder, shouted, “My Lady, my Lord, down, quickly!”

  Despite her outstretched arms Elayne drew herself up regally. “You dare to bring bare steel into my presence, Tallanvor? Gareth Bryne will have you mucking stables with the meanest trooper for this, if you are lucky!”

  The soldiers exchanged puzzled glances, and some of the bowmen uneasily half lowered their bows. Only then did Elayne let her arms down, as if she had only held them up because she wished to. Gawyn hesitated, then followed her example. Rand could count the bows that had not been lowered. The muscles of his stomach tensed as though they could stop a broadhead shaft at twenty paces.

  The man with the officer’s knot seemed the most perplexed of all. “My Lady, forgive me, but Lord Galadedrid reported a dirty peasant skulking in the gardens, armed and endangering my Lady Elayne and my Lord Gawyn.” His eyes went to Rand, and his voice finned. “If my Lady and my Lord will please to step aside, I will take the villain into custody. There is too much riff-raff in the city these days.”

  “I doubt very much if Galad reported anything of the kind,” Elayne said. “Galad does not lie.”

  “Sometimes I wish he would,” Gawyn said softly, for Rand’s ear. “Just once. It might make living with him easier.”

  “This man is my guest,” Elayne continued, “and here under my protection. You may withdraw, Tallanvor.”

  “I regret that will not be possible, my Lady. As my Lady knows, the Queen, your lady mother, has given orders regarding anyone on Palace grounds without Her Majesty’s permission, and word has been sent to Her Majesty of this intruder.” There was more than a hint of satisfaction in Tallanvor’s voice. Rand suspected the officer had had to accept other commands from Elayne that he did not think proper; this time the man was not about to, not when he had a perfect excuse.

  Elayne stared back at Tallanvor; for once she seemed at a loss.

  Rand looked a question at Gawyn, and Gawyn understood. “Prison,” he murmured. Rand’s face went white, and the young man added quickly, “Only for a few days, and you will not be harmed. You’ll be questioned by Gareth Bryne, the Captain-General, personally, but you will be set free once it’s clear you meant no harm.” He paused, hidden thoughts in his eyes. “I hope you were telling the truth, Rand al’Thor from the Two Rivers.”

  “You will conduct all three of us to my mother,” Elayne announced suddenly. A grin bloomed on Gawyn’s face.

  Behind the steel bars across his face, Tallanvor appeared taken aback. “My Lady, I—”

  “Or else conduct all three of us to a cell,” Elayne said. “We will remain together. Or will you give orders for hands to be laid upon my person?” Her smile was victorious, and the way Tallanvor looked around as if he expected to find help in the trees said he, too, thought she had won.

  Won what? How?

  “Mother is viewing Logain,” Gawyn said softly, as if he had read Rand’s thoughts, “and even if she was not busy, Tallanvor would not dare troop into her presence with Elayne and me, as if we were under guard. Mother has a bit of a temper, sometimes.”

  Rand remembered what Master Gill had said about Queen Morgase. A bit of a temper?

  Another red-uniformed soldier came running down the path, skidding to a halt to sal
ute with an arm across his chest. He spoke softly to Tallanvor, and his words brought satisfaction back to Tallanvor’s face.

  “The Queen, your lady mother,” Tallanvor announced, “commands me to bring the intruder to her immediately. It is also the Queen’s command that my Lady Elayne and my Lord Gawyn attend her. Also immediately.”

  Gawyn winced, and Elayne swallowed hard. Her face composed, she still began industriously brushing at the stains on her dress. Aside from dislodging a few pieces of bark, her effort did little good.

  “If my Lady pleases?” Tallanvor said smugly. “My Lord?”

  The soldiers formed around them in a hollow box that started along the slate path with Tallanvor leading. Gawyn and Elayne walked on either side of Rand, both appearing lost in unpleasant thoughts. The soldiers had sheathed their swords and returned arrows to quivers, but they were no less on guard than when they had had weapons in hand. They watched Rand as if they expected him at any moment to snatch his sword and try to cut his way to freedom.

  Try anything? I won’t try anything. Unnoticed! Hah!

  Watching the soldiers watching him, he suddenly became aware of the garden. One thing had happened after another, each new shock coming before the last had a chance to fade, and his surroundings had been a blur, except for the wall and his devout wish to be back on the other side of it. Now he saw the green grass that had only tickled the back of his mind before. Green! A hundred shades of green. Trees and bushes green and thriving, thick with leaves and fruit. Lush vines covering arbors over the path. Flowers everywhere. So many flowers, spraying the garden with color. Some he knew—bright golden sunburst and tiny pink tallowend, crimson starblaze and purple Emond’s Glory, roses in every color from purest white to deep, deep red—but others were strange, so fanciful in shape and hue he wondered if they could be real.

  “It’s green,” he whispered. “Green.” The soldiers muttered to themselves; Tallanvor gave them a sharp look over his shoulder and they fell silent.

  “Elaida’s work,” Gawyn said absently.

  “It is not right,” Elayne said. “She asked if I wanted to pick out the one farm she could do the same for, while all around it the crops still failed, but it still isn’t right for us to have flowers when there are people who do not have enough to eat.” She drew a deep breath, and refilled her self-possession. “Remember yourself,” she told Rand briskly. “Speak up clearly when you are spoken to, and keep silent otherwise. And follow my lead. All will be well.”

  Rand wished he could share her confidence. It would have helped if Gawyn had seemed to have it as well. As Tallanvor led them into the Palace, he looked back at the garden, at all the green streaked with blossoms, colors wrought for a Queen by an Aes Sedai’s hand. He was in deep water, and there was no bank in sight.

  Palace servants filled the halls, in red liveries with collars and cuffs of white, the White Lion on the left breast of their tunics, scurrying about intent on tasks that were not readily apparent. When the soldiers trooped by with Elayne and Gawyn, and Rand, in their midst, they stopped dead in their tracks to stare openmouthed.

  Through the middle of all the consternation a gray-striped tomcat wandered unconcernedly down the hall, weaving between the goggling servants. Suddenly the cat struck Rand as odd. He had been in Baerlon long enough to know that even the meanest shop had cats lurking in every corner. Since entering the Palace, the tom was the only cat he had seen.

  “You don’t have rats?” he said in disbelief. Every place had rats.

  “Elaida doesn’t like rats,” Gawyn muttered vaguely. He was frowning worriedly down the hall, apparently already seeing the coming meeting with the Queen. “We never have rats.”

  “Both of you be quiet.” Elayne’s voice was sharp, but as absent as her brother’s. “I am trying to think.”

  Rand watched the cat over his shoulder until the guards took him round a corner, hiding the tom from sight. A lot of cats would have made him feel better; it would have been nice if there was one thing normal about the Palace, even if it was rats.

  The path Tallanvor took turned so many times that Rand lost his sense of direction. Finally the young officer stopped before tall double doors of dark wood with a rich glow, not so grand as some they had passed, but still carved all over with rows of lions, finely wrought in detail. A liveried servant stood to either side.

  “At least it isn’t the Grand Hall.” Gawyn laughed unsteadily. “I never heard that Mother commanded anyone’s head cut off from here.” He sounded as if he thought she might set a precedent.

  Tallanvor reached for Rand’s sword, but Elayne moved to cut him off. “He is my guest, and by custom and law, guests of the royal family may go armed even in Mother’s presence. Or will you deny my word that he is my guest?”

  Tallanvor hesitated, locking eyes with her, then nodded. “Very well, my Lady.” She smiled at Rand as Tallanvor stepped back, but it lasted only a moment. “First rank to accompany me,” Tallanvor commanded. “Announce the Lady Elayne and the Lord Gawyn to Her Majesty,” he told the doorkeepers. “Also Guardsman-Lieutenant Tallanvor, at Her Majesty’s command, with the intruder under guard.”

  Elayne scowled at Tallanvor, but the doors were already swinging open. A sonorous voice sounded, announcing those who came.

  Grandly Elayne swept through the doors, spoiling her regal entrance only a little by motioning for Rand to keep close behind her. Gawyn squared his shoulders and strode in flanking her, one measured pace to her rear. Rand followed, uncertainly keeping level with Gawyn on her other side. Tallanvor stayed close to Rand, and ten soldiers came with him. The doors closed silently behind them.

  Suddenly Elayne dropped into a deep curtsy, simultaneously bowing from the waist, and stayed there, holding her skirt wide. Rand gave a start, then hastily emulated Gawyn and the other men, shifting awkwardly until he had it right. Down on his right knee, head bowed, bending forward to press the knuckles of his right hand against the marble tiles, his left hand resting on the end of his sword hilt. Gawyn, without a sword, put his hand on his dagger the same way.

  Rand was just congratulating himself on getting it right when he noticed Tallanvor, his head still bent, glaring sideways at him from behind his face-guard. Was I supposed to do something else? He was suddenly angry that Tallanvor expected him to know what to do when no one had told him. And angry over being afraid of the guards. He had done nothing to be fearful for. He knew his fear was not Tallanvor’s fault, but he was angry at him anyway.

  Everyone held their positions, frozen as if waiting for the spring thaw. He did not know what they were waiting for, but he took the opportunity to study the place to which he had been brought. He kept his head down, just turning it enough to see. Tallanvor’s scowl deepened, but he ignored it.

  The square chamber was about the size of the common room at The Queen’s Blessing, its walls presenting hunting scenes carved in relief in stone of the purest white. The tapestries between the carvings were gentle images of bright flowers and brilliantly plumaged hummingbirds, except for the two at the far end of the room, where the White Lion of Andor stood taller than a man on scarlet fields. Those two hangings flanked a dais, and on the dais a carved and gilded throne where sat the Queen.

  A bluff, blocky man stood bareheaded by the Queen’s right hand in the red of the Queen’s Guards, with four golden knots on the shoulder of his cloak and wide golden bands breaking the white of his cuffs. His temples were heavy with gray, but he looked as strong and immovable as a rock. That had to be the Captain-General, Gareth Bryne. Behind the throne and to the other side a woman in deep green silk sat on a low stool, knitting something out of dark, almost black, wool. At first the knitting made Rand think she was old, but at second glance he could not put an age to her at all. Young, old, he did not know. Her attention seemed to be entirely on her needles and yarn, just as if there were not a Queen within arm’s reach of her. She was a handsome woman, outwardly placid, yet there was something terrible in her concentration. T
here was no sound in the room except for the click of her needles.

  He tried to look at everything, yet his eyes kept going back to the woman with the gleaming wreath of finely wrought roses on her brow, the Rose Crown of Andor. A long red stole, the Lion of Andor marching along its length, hung over her silken dress of red and white pleats, and when she touched the Captain-General’s arm with her left hand, a ring in the shape of the Great Serpent, eating its own tail, glittered. Yet it was not the grandeur of clothes or jewelry or even crown that drew Rand’s eyes again and again: it was the woman who wore them.

  Morgase had her daughter’s beauty, matured and ripened. Her face and figure, her presence, filled the room like a light that dimmed the other two with her. If she had been a widow in Emond’s Field, she would have had a line of suitors outside her door even if she was the worst cook and most slovenly house keeper in the Two Rivers. He saw her studying him and ducked his head, afraid she might be able to tell his thoughts from his face. Light, thinking about the Queen like she was a village woman! You fool!

  “You may rise,” Morgase said in a rich, warm voice that held Elayne’s assurance of obedience a hundred times over.

  Rand stood with the rest.

  “Mother—” Elayne began, but Morgase cut her off.

  “You have been climbing trees, it seems, daughter.” Elayne plucked a stray fragment of bark from her dress and, finding there was no place to put it, held it clenched in her hand. “In fact,” Morgase went on calmly, “it would seem that despite my orders to the contrary you have contrived to take your look at this Logain. Gawyn, I have thought better of you. You must learn not only to obey your sister, but at the same time to be counterweight for her against disaster.” The Queen’s eyes swung to the blocky man beside her, then quickly away again. Bryne remained impassive, as if he had not noticed, but Rand thought those eyes noticed everything. “That, Gawyn, is as much the duty of the First Prince as is leading the armies of Andor. Perhaps if your training is intensified, you will find less time for letting your sister lead you into trouble. I will ask the Captain-General to see that you do not lack for things to do on the journey north.”