The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  The camp lay quiet beneath a gibbous moon that gave as much light in a cloudless sky as it normally would have full, a brightness that washed out the stars. Some sort of night-bird cried shrilly, then fell silent at an owl’s deep hoot. There was a small breeze, and for a wonder, it actually seemed a little cool. Probably her imagination. The nights were cool only in comparison to the days.

  Most of the men were asleep, dark humps among the shadows beneath the trees. A few remained awake, talking around the handful of fires still burning. She made no effort to hide, but none noticed her. Some appeared half asleep where they sat, heads nodding. If she had not known how well the men on sentry duty would be keeping watch, she might have thought the camp could be surprised by a herd of wild cattle. Of course, the Maidens would be on guard in the night, too. But it did not matter if they saw her, either.

  The high-wheeled carts made long, shadowed rows, the servants already snug and snoring beneath. Most of the servants. One fire still crackled there. Maighdin and her friends sat around it. Tallanvor was talking, gesturing fiercely, but only the other men seemed to be paying him any mind, though he appeared to be addressing himself to Maighdin. That they had had better garb in their bundles than those near rags was not surprising, but their former mistress must have had a very free hand to give out silk to her people, and Maighdin wore finely cut silk indeed, in a muted blue. None of the others was dressed so well, so perhaps Maighdin had been their lady’s favorite.

  A twig snapped under Faile’s foot, and heads whipped around, Tallanvor starting to his feet, half drawing his sword before he saw her gathering her robe in the moonlight. They were more alert than the Two Rivers men behind her. For an instant the lot of them just stared at her; then Maighdin rose gracefully and made a deep curtsy, and the others hastily followed her example with varying degrees of skill. Only Maighdin and Balwer appeared at all at ease. A nervous smile split Gill’s round face.

  “Go on with what you were doing,” Faile told them kindly. “But don’t stay up too late; tomorrow will be full.” She walked on, but when she glanced back, they were still standing, still peering after her. Their travels must have made them wary as rabbits, always watching for a fox. She wondered how well they would fit in. Over the next few weeks, she would be busy training them to her ways, learning theirs. One was as important as the other for a well-run household. The time would have to be found.

  They did not stay long in her thoughts tonight. Soon she was beyond the carts, not quite out to where Two Rivers men would be keeping sharp watch from up in the trees. Nothing larger than a mouse would get by them unseen—even some of the Maidens had been spotted upon occasion—but they were watching for anyone attempting to sneak in. Not for those who had a right to be there. In a small moonlit clearing, her people were waiting.

  Some of the men bowed, and Parelean nearly went to one knee before stopping himself. Several women instinctively made curtsies that looked quite peculiar in men’s garb, then dropped their eyes or shifted in embarrassment at realizing what they had done. The manners of the court had been bred into them, though they tried very hard to adopt Aiel customs. What they believed were Aiel customs, at least. Sometimes they horrified the Maidens with what they believed. Perrin called them fools, and they were in some ways, but they had sworn fealty to her, these Cairhienin and Tairens—water oath, they named it, copying the Aiel, trying to—and that made them hers. Among themselves they had taken to calling their “society” Cha Faile, the Falcon’s Talon, though they had seen the necessity of keeping that quiet. They were not fools in all ways. In fact, around the edges anyway, they were not too unlike the young men and women she had grown up with.

  Those she had sent off early that morning had just returned, for the women among them were still changing out of the dresses they had worn of necessity. Even one woman dressed as a man would have roused notice in Bethal, not to mention five. The clearing was a great flurry of skirts and shifts, coats and shirts and breeches. The women made believe they did not mind being unclothed in front of others, including men, since the Aiel apparently did not, but haste and labored breathing gave them the lie. The men were all shifting feet and turning heads, torn between looking away decently and watching, as they thought the Aiel did, while pretending they were not looking at half-dressed women. Faile held her robe close over her nightdress; she could not have dressed further without waking Perrin for sure, but she made no pretense at comfort. She was no Domani, to receive her retainers in her bath.

  “Forgive us for being late, my Lady Faile,” Selande panted, tugging her coat on. The accents of Cairhien were sharp in the short woman’s voice. Even for a Cairhienin, she was not tall. She managed a credible swagger, though, a suitable boldness in the tilt of her head and the set of her shoulders. “We would have returned sooner, but the gate guards made a bother letting us out.”

  “A bother?” Faile said sharply. If only she could have seen with her own eyes, on top of theirs; if only Perrin had let her go instead of that trollop. No, she would not think about Berelain. It was not Perrin’s fault. She repeated that to herself twenty times a day, like a prayer. But why was the man so blind? “What kind of bother?” She drew a chagrined breath. Troubles with your husband should never affect your tone with your vassals.

  “Nothing of note, my Lady.” Selande buckled her sword belt and settled it on her hips. “They let some fellows ahead of us drive their wagons through without a second look, but they were worried about letting women go out into the night.” Some of the other women laughed. The five men who had gone into Bethal stirred irritably, no doubt because they had not been thought enough protection. The rest of Cha Faile made a thick semicircle behind those ten, watching Faile closely, listening closely. Moonlight shadowed their faces.

  “Tell me what you saw,” Faile commanded in a calmer tone. Much better.

  Selande made her report concisely, and for all Faile’s wishes that she had gone herself, she had to admit they had seen almost as much as she could have wished. The streets of Bethal were nearly empty even at the busiest hours of the day. People stayed to their own homes as much as possible. A little commerce trickled in and out, but few merchants ventured into this part of Ghealdan, and barely enough food came in from the countryside to keep everyone fed. Most of the townspeople seemed stunned, afraid of what lay outside the walls, sinking deeper and deeper into apathy and despair. Everyone kept their mouths closed for fear of the Prophet’s spies, and their eyes as well, for fear of being taken for spies. The Prophet had a deep effect. For instance, however many bandits roamed the hills, cutpurses and footpads had vanished from Bethal. It was said the Prophet’s penalty for a thief was to cut off the man’s hands. Though that did not seem to apply to his own people.

  “The Queen tours the city every day, showing herself to keep spirits up,” Selande said, “but I do not think it helps much. She is making a progress here in the south to remind people they have a Queen; maybe she has had more success elsewhere. The Watch has been added to the wall guards, and all but a handful of her soldiers, too. Perhaps it makes the townsfolk feel safer. Until she moves on. Unlike everyone else, Alliandre herself apparently feels no fear the Prophet will come storming over the walls. She walks alone in the gardens of Lord Telabin’s palace, morning and evening, and keeps only a few soldiers, who spend most of their time in the kitchens. Everybody in the city seems as concerned with food, with how long there will be enough, as they are with the Prophet. In truth, my Lady, for all the guards on the walls, I think if Masema appeared at the gates alone, they might give him the town.”

  “They would,” Meralda put in contemptuously, buckling her own sword round her waist, “and beg for mercy.” Dark and stocky, Meralda was as tall as Faile, but the Tairen woman ducked her head at a frown from Selande and murmured an apology. There were no doubts who led Cha Faile, after Faile herself.

  She had been pleased there was no need to change the precedence they had established. Selande was the brightest of th
em except perhaps for Parelean, and only Arrela and Camaille were quicker. And Selande had something extra, a steadiness, as if she had already faced the worst fear in her life and nothing could ever be that bad again. Of course, she wanted a scar like those some of the Maidens had. Faile possessed several small scars, badges of honor most of them, but actually seeking one was idiocy. At least the woman was not too very eager in the matter.

  “We made a map, as you required, my Lady,” the diminutive woman finished with a last, warning glance at Meralda. “We marked out Lord Telabin’s palace on the back as much as we could, but I fear that is not much more than the gardens and stables.”

  Faile did not try to make out the lines on the paper she unfolded in the moonlight. A pity she had not been able to go herself; she could have mapped the interior, too. No. Done was done, as Perrin liked to say. And it was enough. “You are certain no one searches wagons leaving the city?” Even in the pale light, she could see confusion on many of the faces in front of her. None knew why she had sent some of them into Bethal.

  Selande did not look confused. “Yes, my Lady,” she said calmly. Quite bright, and more than quick enough.

  The wind gusted for a moment, rustling leaves on the trees, rustling dead leaves on the ground, and Faile wished she had Perrin’s ears. His nose and eyes, too. It did not matter if anyone saw her here with her retainers, but eavesdroppers would be something else. “You’ve done very well, Selande. All of you have.” Perrin knew the dangers here, as real as any farther south; he knew, but like most men, he thought with his heart as often as his head. A wife had to be practical, to keep her husband out of trouble. That had been her mother’s very first piece of advice on married life. “At first light, you will return to Bethal, and if you receive word from me, this is what you will do. . . .”

  Even Selande’s eyes widened in shock as she went on, but no one murmured the slightest protest. Faile would have been surprised if anyone had. Her instructions were to the point. There would be some danger, but under the circumstances, not nearly what might have been.

  “Are there any questions?” she said finally. “Does everyone understand?”

  With one voice, Cha Faile answered. “We live to serve our Lady Faile.” And that meant they would serve her beloved wolf, whether he wanted them to or not.

  Maighdin shifted in her blankets on the hard ground, sleep eluding her. That was her name, now; a new name for a new life. Maighdin, for her mother, and Dorlain, for a family on an estate that had been hers. A new life for an old life gone, but ties of the heart could not be cut. And now. . . . Now. . . .

  A faint crackle of dead leaves brought her head up, and she watched a dim shape pass through the trees. The Lady Faile, returning to her tent from wherever she had gone. A pleasant young woman, kindhearted and well spoken. Whatever her husband’s stock, she almost certainly was nobly born. But young. Inexperienced. That might be a help.

  Maighdin let her head fall back on the cloak she had wadded up for a pillow. Light, what was she doing here? Taking service as a lady’s maid! No. She would hold on to her confidence in herself, at least. She could still find that. She could. If she dug deeply. Her breath caught at the sound of footsteps close by.

  Tallanvor knelt gracefully at her side. He was shirtless, moonlight gleaming on the smooth muscles of his chest and shoulders, his face in shadows. A slight breeze ruffled his hair. “What madness is this?” he asked softly. “Entering service? What are you up to? And don’t tell me that nonsense about making a new life; I don’t believe it. No one does.”

  She tried to turn away, but he laid a hand on her shoulder. He exerted no pressure, yet it stopped her as surely as a halter. Light, please let her not tremble. The Light did not listen, but at least she managed to keep her voice steady. “If you haven’t noticed, I must make my way in the world, now. Better as a lady’s maid than a tavern maid. You may feel free to go on alone if service here doesn’t suit.”

  “You didn’t abdicate your wits or your pride when you gave up the throne,” he muttered. Burn Lini for revealing that! “If you mean to pretend that you did, I suggest you avoid letting Lini get you alone.” The man chuckled at her! He chuckled, oh, so richly! “She wants a word with Maighdin, and I suspect she won’t be as gentle with Maighdin as she was with Morgase.”

  Angrily she sat up, brushing his hand away. “Are you blind, and deaf as well? The Dragon Reborn has plans for Elayne! Light, I wouldn’t like it if he simply knew her name! It must be more than chance that brought me to one of his henchmen, Tallanvor. It has to be!”

  “Burn me, I knew it must be that. I hoped I was wrong, but. . . .” He sounded as angry as she. He had no right to be angry! “Elayne is safe in the White Tower, the Amyrlin Seat won’t let her anywhere near a man who can channel, even if he is the Dragon Reborn—especially if he is!—and Maighdin Dorlain can do nothing about the Amyrlin Seat, the Dragon Reborn, or the Lion Throne. All she can do is get her neck snapped, or her throat cut, or—!”

  “Maighdin Dorlain can watch!” she broke in, at least partly to stop that awful litany. “She can listen! She can . . . !” Irritably, she trailed off. What could she do? Suddenly she realized she was sitting there in a thin shift and hurriedly folded her blankets around her. The night actually seemed a little cool. Or maybe the goose bumps on her skin were from Tallanvor’s unseen eyes on her. The thought roused a flush in her cheeks she hoped he could not see. Luckily, it put a heat in her voice, too. She was not a girl, to go blushing because a man looked at her! “I will do what I can, whatever that is. The chance will come to learn something or do something that will help Elayne, and I will take it!”

  “A dangerous decision,” he told her calmly. She wished she could make out his face in the darkness. Only to read his expression, of course. “You heard him threaten to hang anyone who looked at him the wrong way. I can believe it, in a man with those eyes. Like a beast. I was surprised he let that fellow go; I thought he’d rip his throat out! If he discovers who you are, who you used to be. . . . Balwer might betray you. He never really explained why he helped us escape Amador. Maybe he thought Queen Morgase would give him a new position. Now he knows there’s no chance of that, and he might want to curry favor with his new master and mistress.”

  “Are you afraid of Lord Perrin Goldeneyes?” she demanded contemptuously. Light, the man frightened her! Those eyes belonged on a wolf. “Balwer knows enough to hold his tongue. Anything he says will reflect on him; he came with me, after all. If you’re afraid, then ride on!”

  “You always fling that in my face,” he sighed, settling back on his heels. She could not see his eyes, but she could feel them. “Ride on if you wish, you say. Once, there was a soldier loved a queen from afar, knowing it was hopeless, knowing he could never dare speak. Now the queen is gone, and only a woman remains, and I hope. I burn with hope! If you want me to leave, Maighdin, say it. One word. ‘Go!’ A simple word.”

  She opened her mouth. A simple word, she thought. Light, it’s only one word! Why can’t I say it! Light, please! For the second time that night, the Light failed to hear. She sat there huddled in her blankets like a fool, her mouth open, her face growing hotter and hotter.

  If he had chuckled again, she would have put her belt knife in him. If he had laughed, or given any sign of triumph. . . . Instead, he leaned forward and gently kissed her eyes. She made a sound deep in her throat; she could not seem to move. Wide-eyed, she watched him stand. He loomed in the moonlight. She was a queen—she had been a queen—used to command, used to hard decisions in hard times, but right then the pounding of her heart drummed thought from her head.

  “Had you said ‘go,’ ” he told her, “I’d have buried hope, but I could never leave you.”

  Not until he was back in his own blankets could she make herself lie down and draw hers around her. She breathed as if she had been running. The night was cool; she was shivering, not trembling. Tallanvor was too young. Too young! Worse, he was right. Burn him for that!
A lady’s maid could do nothing to affect events, and if the Dragon Reborn’s wolf-eyed killer learned that he had Morgase of Andor in his hands, she could be used against Elayne instead of helping her. He had no right to be right when she wanted him to be wrong! The illogic of that thought infuriated her. There was a chance she might do some good! There had to be!

  In the back of her head, a small voice laughed. You can’t forget that you’re Morgase Trakand, it told her scornfully, and even after she’s abdicated her throne, Queen Morgase can’t stop trying her hand in the affairs of the mighty, no matter how much ruin she’s made of it so far. And she can’t tell a man to go away, either, because she can’t stop thinking how strong his hands are, and how his lips curve when he smiles, and—

  Furious, she pulled the blanket over her head, trying to shut out the voice. She was not staying because she could not walk away from power. As for Tallanvor. . . . She would set him firmly in his place. This time she would! But. . . . What was his place, with a woman who was no longer a queen? She tried to put him out of her mind and tried to ignore that mocking voice that would not be quiet, yet when sleep finally came, she could still feel the pressure of his lips on her eyelids.

  CHAPTER

  9

  Tangles

  Perrin woke before first light as usual, and as usual, Faile was already up and about. She could make a mouse seem noisy when she wanted to, and he suspected that if he woke an hour after lying down, she would still manage to be up first. The door-flaps were tied back, the side panels raised a little at the bottom, and a stir of air rose through the venthole in the peak, enough to create an illusion of coolness. Perrin actually shivered while searching for his shirt and breeches. Well, it was supposed to be winter, even if the weather did not know it.