“Every city on water?” Dobraine exclaimed. “Do they mean here, too?” He leaped to his feet and began pacing, spilling more of his wine than Min had. He did not seem to notice. “A mile square? Under the Light alone knows what peculiar laws? I’ve traveled on a Sea Folk ship, and it is peculiar! Bare legs are not in it! And what of the customs duties, and docking fees, and . . .” Suddenly he rounded on Rand. He scowled at the Aes Sedai, who paid him no mind, but it was to Rand he spoke, in a tone bordering on roughness. “They will ruin Cairhien in a year, my Lord Dragon. They will ruin any port where you allow them to do this.”
Min agreed, silently, but Rand merely waved a hand and laughed again. “They may think so, but I know something of this, Dobraine. They didn’t say who chooses the land, so it doesn’t have to be on the water at all. They’ll have to buy their food from you, and live with your laws when they leave, so they can’t be too arrogant. At worst, you can collect your customs when the goods come out of their . . . sanctuary. For the rest . . . If I can accept it, you can, too.” There was no laughter in his voice now, and Dobraine bowed his head.
Min wondered where he had learned all that. He sounded a king, and one who knew what he was doing. Maybe Elayne had taught him.
“ ‘Secondly’ implies more,” Rand said to the two Aes Sedai.
Merana and Rafela exchanged glances, unconsciously touched skirts and shawls, and then Merana spoke, her voice not at all pompous. In fact, it was much too light. “Thirdly, the Dragon Reborn agrees to keep an ambassador chosen by the Atha’an Miere with him at all times. Harine din Togara has named herself. She will be accompanied by her Windfinder, her Swordmaster and a retinue.”
“What?” Rand roared, springing from the chair.
Rafela rushed in, rushed ahead, as though afraid he might cut her off. “And fourthly, the Dragon Reborn agrees to go promptly to a summons from the Mistress of the Ships, but not more than twice in any three consecutive years.” She finished panting a little, trying to make the last sound like extenuation.
The Dragon Scepter flew from the floor behind Rand, and he snagged it out of the air without looking. His eyes were not ice any more. They were blue fire. “A Sea Folk ambassador clinging to my heels?” he shouted. “Obey summonses?” He shook the carved spearhead at them, the green-and-white tassel flailing. “There are a people out there who want to conquer all of us, and might be able to do it! The Forsaken are out there! The Dark One is waiting! Why didn’t you agree I’d caulk their hulls while you were about it!”
Normally, Min tried to soothe his temper when it flared, but this time she sat forward and glared at the Aes Sedai. She agreed with him fully. They had given away the barn to sell a horse!
Rafela actually swayed before that blast, but Merana drew herself up, her own eyes managing a good imitation of brown fire flecked with gold. “You castigate us?” she snapped in tones as frosty as her eyes were hot. She was Aes Sedai as the child Min had seen them, regal above queens, powerful above powers. “You were present in the beginning, ta’veren, and you twisted them as you wanted them. You could have had them all kneeling to you! But you left! They were not pleased to know they had been dancing for a ta’veren. Somewhere, they learned to weave shields, and before you were well off their ship, Rafela and I were shielded. So we could not take advantage with the Power, they said. More than once, Harine threatened to hang us in the rigging by our toes until we came to our senses, and I for one believe she meant it! Feel lucky that you have the ships you want, Rand al’Thor. Harine would have given you a handful! Feel lucky she didn’t want your new boots and that ghastly throne of yours as well! Oh, by the by, she formally acknowledged you as the Coramoor, may you get a bellyache from it!”
Min stared at her. Rand and Dobraine stared at her, and the Cairhienin’s jaw hung open. Rafela stared, her mouth working soundlessly. For that matter, the fire faded from Merana’s eyes, and they slowly grew wider and wider as if she were just hearing what she had said.
The Dragon Scepter trembled in Rand’s fist. Min had seen his fury swell near to bursting for far less. She prayed for a way to avoid the explosion, and could not see one.
“It seems,” he said finally, “that the words a ta’veren drags out aren’t always the words he wants to hear.” He sounded . . . calm; Min was not about to think, sane. “You’ve done well, Merana. I handed you a dog’s dinner, but you and Rafela have done well.”
The two Aes Sedai swayed, and for a moment, Min thought they might collapse in puddles on the floor from sheer relief.
“At least we managed to keep the details from Cadsuane,” Rafela said, smoothing her skirts unsteadily. “There was no way to stop everyone learning we had made some sort of agreement, but we kept that much from her.”
“Yes,” Merana said breathlessly. “She even waylaid us on the way here. It’s difficult keeping anything from her, but we did. We didn’t think you’d want her to . . .” She trailed off at the stony look on Rand’s face.
“Cadsuane again,” he said flatly. He frowned at the carved length of spearhead in his hand, then tossed it onto a chair as if he did not trust himself with it. “She’s in the Sun Palace, is she? Min, tell the Maidens outside to carry a message to Cadsuane. She is to attend the Dragon Reborn in all haste.”
“Rand, I don’t think,” Min began uneasily, but Rand cut in. Not harshly, but quite firmly.
“Do it, please, Min. This woman is like a wolf eyeing the sheepfold. I intend to find out what she wants.”
Min took her time getting up, and dragged her feet to the doors. She was not the only one to think this a bad idea. Or at least to want to be elsewhere when the Dragon Reborn faced Cadsuane Melaidhrin. Dobraine passed her on the way to the door, making a hasty bow with barely a pause, and even Merana and Rafela were out of the room before her, though they made it appear they were not hurrying. Inside the room, they did, anyway. When Min put her head into the hallway, the two sisters had caught Dobraine and were scurrying along at little short of a trot.
Strangely, the half-dozen Maidens who had been outside when Min entered earlier had now grown in number until they lined the corridor as far as she could see in both directions, tall hard-faced women in the grays and browns and grays of the cadin’sor, shoufa wrapped around their heads with the long black veil hanging down. A good many carried their spears and bull-hide bucklers as if they expected a battle. Some were playing a finger-game called “knife, paper, stone,” and the rest were watching intently.
Not so intently that they did not see her, though. When she passed Rand’s message, handtalk flashed up and down the rows, then two lanky Maidens went trotting off. The others promptly returned to the game, playing or watching.
Scratching her head in puzzlement, Min went back in. The Maidens often made her nervous, yet they always had a word for her, sometimes respectful, as to a Wise One, sometimes joking, though their humor was odd, to say the least. Never had they ignored her like this.
Rand was in the bedchamber. That simple fact set her heart racing. He had his coat off, his snowy shirt unlaced at neck and cuffs and pulled out of his breeches. Sitting on the foot of the bed, she leaned back against one of the heavy blackwood bedposts and swung her feet up, crossing her ankles. She had not had a chance to watch Rand undress himself, and she intended to enjoy it.
Instead of continuing, though, he stood there looking at her. “What can Cadsuane possibly teach me?” he asked suddenly.
“You, and all the Asha’man,” she replied. That had been her viewing. “I don’t know what, Rand. I only know you have to learn it. All of you do.” It did not seem he intended to progress beyond letting his shirt hang down. Sighing, she went on. “You need her, Rand. You can’t afford to make her angry. You can’t afford to chase her away.” Actually, she did not think fifty Myrddraal and a thousand Trollocs could chase Cadsuane anywhere, but the point was the same.
A far-off look came into Rand’s eyes, and after a moment, he shook his head. “Why should I listen to
a madman?” he muttered almost under his breath. Light, did he really believe Lews Therin Telamon spoke in his head? “Let someone know you need them, Min, and they have a hold on you. A leash, to pull you where they want. I won’t put a halter on my own neck for any Aes Sedai. Not for anyone!” Slowly his fists unclenched. “You, I need, Min,” he said simply. “Not for your viewings. I just need you.”
Burn her, but the man could sweep her feet out from under her with a few words!
With a smile as eager as hers, he grasped the bottom of his shirt with both hands and bent to begin hauling it over his head. Lacing her fingers over her stomach, she settled back to watch.
The three Maidens who marched into the room no longer wore the shoufa that had concealed their short hair in the corridor. They were empty-handed, and no longer wore those heavy-blade belt knives, either. That was all Min had time to notice.
Rand’s head and arms were still inside the shirt, and Somara, flaxen-haired and tall even for an Aiel woman, seized the white linen and tangled it, trapping him. Almost in the same movement, she kicked him between the legs. With a strangled groan, he bent farther, staggering.
Nesair, fiery-haired and beautiful despite white scars on both sun-dark cheeks, planted a fist in his right side hard enough to make him stumble sideways.
With a cry, Min launched herself from the bed. She did not know what madness was happening here, could not even begin to guess. One of her knives came smoothly from each sleeve, and she threw herself at the Maidens, shouting, “Help! Oh, Rand! Somebody, help!” At least, that was what she tried to shout.
The third Maiden, Nandera, turned like a snake, and Min found a foot planted in her stomach. Breath rushed out of her in a wheeze. Her knives flew from numb hands, and she turned a somersault over the graying Maiden’s foot, landing on her back with a crash that drove out what little air remained in her. Trying to move, trying to breathe—trying to understand!—all she could do was lie there and watch.
The three women were quite thorough. Nesair and Nandera pounded Rand with their fists while Somara held him bent over and caught in his own shirt. Again and again and again they drove studied blows into Rand’s hard belly, into his right side. Min would have laughed hysterically, had she had any breath. They were trying to beat him to death, and they very carefully avoid hitting anywhere near the tender round scar in his left side with the half-healed slash running through it.
She knew very well how hard Rand’s body was, how strong, but no one could stand up to that. Slowly, his knees folded, and when they thumped to the floor tiles, Nandera and Nesair stood back. Each nodded, and Somara released her hold on Rand’s shirt. He fell forward on his face. She could hear him gasping, fighting groans that bubbled up despite his efforts. Kneeling, Somara pulled his shirt down almost tenderly. He lay there with his cheek on the floor, eyes bulging, struggling for breath.
Nesair bent to catch a fistful of his hair and jerk his head up. “We won the right for this,” she growled, “but every Maiden wanted to lay her hands on you. I left my clan for you, Rand al’Thor. I will not have you spit on me!”
Somara moved a hand as if to smooth hair out of his face, then snatched it back. “This is how we treat a first-brother who dishonors us, Rand al’Thor,” she said firmly. “The first time. The next, we will use straps.”
Nandera stood over Rand with fist planted on her hips and a face of stone. “You carry the honor of Far Dareis Mai, son of a Maiden,” she said grimly. “You promised to call us to dance the spears for you, and then you ran to battle and left us behind. You will not do this again.”
She stepped over him to stride out, and the other two followed. Only Somara glanced back, and if sympathy touched her blue eyes, there was none in her voice when she said, “Do not make this necessary again, son of a Maiden.”
Rand had pushed himself up to hands and knees by the time Min managed to crawl to him. “They must be mad,” she croaked. Light, but her middle hurt! “Rhuarc will—!” She did not know what Rhuarc would do. Not enough, whatever it was. “Sorilea.” Sorilea would stake them out in the sun! To start! “When we tell her—”
“We tell no one,” he said. He almost sounded as if he had his breath back, although he was still slightly pop-eyed. How could he do that? “They have the right. They’ve earned the right.”
Min recognized that tone much to well. When a man decided to be stubborn, he would sit bare in a nettle patch and deny to your face that they made his bottom sting! She was almost pleased to hear him groan as she helped him to his feet. Well, as they helped each other. If he was going to be a pure wool-headed idiot, he deserved a few bruises!
He eased himself onto the bed, lying back on the heaped pillows, and she snuggled in beside him. Not what she had been hoping for, but as much as was going to happen, she was sure.
“Not what I was hoping to use this bed for,” he muttered. She was not sure she had been supposed to hear.
She laughed. “I enjoy you holding me just as much as . . . as the other.” Strangely, he smiled at her as if he knew she was lying. Her Aunt Miren claimed that was one of the three lies any man would believe from a woman.
“If I am interrupting,” a woman’s cool voice said from the doorway, “I suppose I could return when it is more convenient.”
Min jerked away from Rand as though burned, but when he pulled her back, she settled against him again. She recognized the Aes Sedai standing in the doorway, a plump little Cairhienin with four thin stripes of color across her full bosom and white slashes in her dark skirts. Daigian Moseneillin was one of the sisters who had come with Cadsuane. And she was almost as overbearing as Cadsuane herself, in Min’s opinion.
“Who might you be when you’re at home?” Rand said lazily. “Whoever you are, didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock?” Min realized that every muscle in the arm holding her was hard as a rock, though.
The moonstone dangling onto Daigian’s forehead on a thin silver chain swung as she slowly shook her head. Plainly, she was not pleased. “Cadsuane Sedai received your request,” she said, even more coolly than before, “and asked me to convey her regrets. She very much wishes to finish the piece of needlepoint she is working on. Perhaps she might be able to see you another day. If she can find time.”
“Is that what she said?” Rand asked dangerously.
Daigian sniffed disdainfully. “I will leave you to resume . . . whatever you were doing.” Min wondered whether she could get away with slapping an Aes Sedai. Daigian eyed her frostily, as if hearing the thought, and turned to glide from the room.
Rand sat up with a muffled oath. “You tell Cadsuane she can go to the Pit of Doom!” he shouted after the retreating sister. “Tell her she can rot!”
“It won’t do, Rand,” Min sighed. This was going to be harder than she had thought. “You need Cadsuane. She doesn’t need you.”
“Doesn’t she?” he said softly, and she shivered. She had only thought his voice was dangerous before.
Rand prepared carefully, dressing in the green coat again, sending Min with messages for the Maidens to carry. At least they would still do that. His ribs ached almost as much on his right side as the wounds did on his left, and his belly felt as he had been beaten with a board. He had promised them. He seized hold of saidin alone in his bedchamber, unwilling to let even Min see him falter again. He could keep her safe, at least, somehow, but how could she feel safe if she saw him about to fall over? He had to be strong, for her sake. He had to be strong, for the world. That bundle of emotions in the back of his head that was Alanna reminded him of the cost of carelessness. Right then, Alanna was sulking. She must have pushed a Wise One too far, because if she was sitting, she was sitting gingerly.
“I still think this is lunacy, Rand al’Thor,” Min said as he placed the Crown of Swords carefully on his head. He did not want those tiny blades to draw blood again now. “Are you listening to me? Well, if you intend to go through with it, I’m going with you. You admitted you need me, and you
’ll need me more than ever for this!” She was in full fig, fists on her hips, foot tapping, eyes all but glowing.
“You’re staying here,” he told her firmly. He was still not sure what he intended to do, not fully, and he did not want her to see him stumble. He was very afraid he might stumble. He expected an argument, though.
She frowned at him, and her foot stopped tapping. The angry light in her eyes faded into worry that vanished in a twinkling. “Well, I suppose you’re old enough to cross the stableyard without your hand held, sheepherder. Besides, I am falling behind in my reading.”
Dropping into one of the tall gilded chairs, she folded her legs beneath her and picked up the book she had been reading when he came in. In moments, she seemed totally engrossed in the page before her.
Rand nodded. That was what he wanted; her here, and safe. Still, she did not have to forget him so completely.
There were six Maidens squatting in the hallway outside his door. They stared at him flat-eyed, not speaking, Nandera’s gaze the flattest of all. Though Somara and Nesair came close. He thought Nesair was Shaido; he would have to keep a hard eye on her.
The Asha’man were waiting, too—Lews Therin muttered darkly of killing in Rand’s head—all but Narishma with the Dragon on their collars as well as the Sword. Curtly, he ordered Narishma to stand guard on his apartments, and the man saluted sharply, those dark too-big eyes seeing too much, faintly accusing. Rand did not think the Maidens would take out their displeasure on Min, but he was not taking any chances. Light, he had told Narishma everything about the traps he had woven in the Stone when he sent the man to fetch Callandor. The man was imagining things. Burn him, but that had been a mad risk to take.
Only madmen never trust. Lews Therin sounded amused. And quite mad. The wounds in Rand’s side throbbed; they seemed to resonate with each other in distant pain.
“Show me where to find Cadsuane,” he commanded. Nandera rose smoothly to her feet and started off without a backward glance. He followed, and the others fell in behind him, Dashiva and Flinn, Morr and Hopwil. He gave them hasty instructions as they walked. Flinn, of all people, tried to protest, but Rand bore him down; this was no time for quailing. The grizzled onetime Guardsman was the last Rand had expected it of. Morr or Hopwil, perhaps. If no longer exactly dewy-eyed, they were still young enough to leave their razors dry as many days as wet. But not Flinn. Nandera’s soft boots made no sound; their footsteps reverberated from the high square-vaulted ceiling, chasing away everyone with the shadow of a reason for fear. His wounds pulsed.
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