an Aes Sedai.
He did not seem to feel anything of the kind. For the first time since she had
met him, he met her eyes directly, and his stare was blue ice. "When Malkier
died," he said in tones of quiet steel, "Shienar and Arafel sent men. They could
not stop the flood of Trollocs and Myrddraal, yet they came. Men rode from
Kandor, and even Saldaea. They came too late, but they came." Blue ice became
blue fire. His voice did not change, but his knuckles grew white gripping his
sword. "For nine hundred years we rode when the White Tower called, but where
was the Tower when Malkier died? If you are Aes Sedai, answer me that!"
Moiraine hesitated. The answer he wanted was Sealed to the Tower, taught to
Accepted in history lessons yet forbidden to any except initiates of the Tower.
But what was a penance alongside what she faced? "Over a hundred sisters were
ordered to Malkier," she said more calmly than she felt. By everything she had
been taught, she should ask a penance for what she had told him already. "Even
Aes Sedai cannot fly, however. They were too late." By the time the first had
arrived, the armies of Malkier were already broken by endless hordes of
Shadowspawn, the people fleeing or dead. The death of Malkier had been hard and
blood-soaked, and fast. "That was before I was born, but I regret it deeply. And
I regret that the Tower decided to keep their effort secret." Better that the
Tower be thought to have done nothing than to have it known Aes Sedai had tried
and failed. Failure was a blow to stature, and mystery an armour the Tower
needed. Aes Sedai had reasons of their own for what they did, and for what they
did not do, and those reasons were known only to Aes Sedai. "That is as much
answer as I can give. More than I should have, more than any other sister ever
will, I think. Will it suffice?"
For a time he simply looked at her, fire slowly fading to ice once more. His
eyes fell away. "Almost, I can believe," he muttered finally, without saying
what he almost believed. He gave a bitter laugh. "What help can I give you?"
Moiraine frowned. She very much wanted time alone with this man, to bring him to
heel, but that had to wait. "There is another sister in the palace. Merean
Redhill. I need to know where she goes, what she does, who she meets." He
blinked, but did not ask the obvious questions. Perhaps he knew he would get no
answers, but his silence was still pleasing.
"I have been keeping to my rooms the past few days," he said, looking at the
door again. "I do not know how much watching I can do."
In spite of herself, she sniffed. The man promised help, then looked anxiously
for his lady. Perhaps he was not what she had thought. But he was who she had.
"Not you," she told him. Her visit here would be known throughout the Aesdaishar
soon, if it was not already, and if he was noticed spying on Merean . . . That
could be disaster even if the woman was as innocent as a babe. "I thought you
might ask one of the Malkieri I understand have gathered here to follow you.
Someone with a sharp eye and a close tongue. This must be done in utter
secrecy."
"No one follows me," he said sharply. Glancing at the door once more, he
suddenly seemed weary. He did not slump, but he moved to the fireplace and
propped his sword beside it with the care of a tired man. Standing with his back
to her, he said, "I will ask Bukama and Ryne to watch her, but I cannot promise
for them. That is all I can do for you."
She stifled a vexed sound. Whether it was all he could do or all he would, she
had no leverage to force him. "Bukama," she said. "Only him." Going by how he
had behaved around her, Ryne would be too busy staring at Merean to see or hear
anything. That was if he did not confess what he was doing the moment Merean
looked at him. "And do not tell him why."
His head whipped around, but after a moment he nodded. And again he did not ask
the questions most people would have. Telling him how to get word to her, by
notes passed to her maid Suki, she hoped she was not making a grave mistake.
Back in her own rooms, she discovered just how quickly news had spread. In the
sitting room, Siuan was offering a tray of sweetmeats to a tall, full-mouthed
young woman in pale green silk, little older than a girl, with black hair that
fell well below her hips and a small blue dot painted on her forehead about
where the stone of Moiraine's kesiera hung. Siuan's face was smooth, but her
voice was tight as she made introductions. The Lady Iselle quickly showed why.
"Everyone in the palace is saying you are Aes Sedai," she said, eyeing Moiraine
doubtfully. She did not rise, much less curtsy, or even incline her head. "If
that is so, I need your assistance. I wish to go to the White Tower. My mother
wants me to marry. I would not mind Lan as my carneira if mother were not
already his, but when I marry, I think it will be one of my Warders. I will be
Green Ajah." She frowned faintly at Siuan. "Don't hover, girl. Stand over there
until you are needed." Siuan took up a stance by the fireplace, back stiff and
arms folded beneath her breasts. No real servant would have stood so — or
frowned so — but Iselle no longer noticed her. "Do sit down, Moiraine," she went
on with a smile, "and I will tell you what I need of you. If you are Aes Sedai,
of course."
Moiraine stared. Invited to take a chair in her own sitting room. This silly
child was certainly a suitable match for Lan when it came to arrogance. Her
cameira? That meant "first" in the Old Tongue, and plainly something else here.
Not what it seemed to, of course; even these Malkieri could not be that
peculiar! Sitting, she said drily, "Choosing your Ajah should at least wait
until I test you to see whether there is any point in sending you to the Tower.
A few minutes will determine whether you can learn to channel, and your
potential strength if you — "
The girl blithely broke in. "Oh, I was tested years ago. The Aes Sedai said I
would be very strong. I told her I was fifteen, but she learned the truth. I
don't see why I could not go to the Tower at twelve if I wanted. Mother was
furious. She has always said I was to be Queen of Malkier one day, but that
means marrying Lan, which I would not want even if mother weren't his carneira.
When you tell her you are taking me to the Tower, she will have to listen.
Everyone knows that Aes Sedai take any woman they want for training, and no one
can stop them." That full mouth pursed. "You are Aes Sedai, aren't you?"
Moiraine performed the rosebud exercise. "If you want to go to Tar Valon, then
go. I certainly do not have time to escort you. You will find sisters there
about whom you can have no doubts. Suki, will you show the Lady Iselle out? No
doubt she does not wish to delay in setting off before her mother catches her."
The chit was all indignation, of course, but Moiraine wanted only to see the
back of her, and Siuan very nearly pushed her out into the corridor.
"That one," Siuan said as she came back dusting her hands, "won't last a month
if she can equal Cadsuane." The Tower clung like iron bands to any woman who had
the smallest chanc
e of earning the shawl, but those who could not or would not
learn did find themselves put out, and channelling was only part of what had to
be learned.
"Sierin herself can toss her from the top of the Tower for all I care," Moiraine
snapped. "Did you learn anything?"
It seemed that Siuan had learned that the young footman knew how to kiss, a
revelation that did not even pinken her cheeks, and aside from that, nothing
whatsoever. Surprisingly, learning that Moiraine had approached Lan upset her
more than Merean's appearance.
"Skin me and salt me if you don't take idiot risks, Moiraine. A man who claims
the throne of a dead country is nine kinds of fool. He could be flapping his
tongue about you right this minute to anybody who'll bloody listen! If Merean
learns you're having her watched . . . Burn me!"
"He is many kinds of fool, Siuan, but I do not think he ever 'flaps his tongue'.
Besides, 'you cannot win if you will not risk a copper', as you always tell me
your father used to say. We have no choice but to take risks. With Merean here,
time may be running out. You must reach the Lady Ines as quickly as you can."
"I'll do what I can," Siuan muttered, and stalked out squaring her shoulders as
if for a struggle. But she was smoothing her skirt over her hips, too.
Night had long since fallen and Moiraine was trying to read by lamplight when
Siuan returned. Moiraine set her book aside; she had been staring at the same
page for the past hour. This time, Siuan did have news, delivered while digging
through the dresses and shifts Mistress Dorelmin had made.
For one thing, she had been approached on her way back to Moiraine's rooms by "a
gristly old stork" who asked if she was Suki, then told her Merean had spent
almost the entire day with Prince Brys before retiring to her apartments for the
night. No clue there to anything. More importantly, Siuan had been able to bring
up Rahien in casual conversation with Cal. The footman had not been with the
Lady Ines when the boy was born, but he did know the day, one day after the Aiel
began their retreat from Tar Valon. Moiraine and Siuan shared a long look over
that. One day after Gitara Moroso had made her Foretelling of the Dragon's
Rebirth and dropped dead from the shock of it. Dawn over the mountain, and born
during the ten days before a sudden thaw melted the snow. Gitara had
specifically mentioned the snow.
"Anyway," Siuan went on, beginning to make a bundle of clothes and stockings, "I
led Cal to believe I'd been dismissed from your service for spilling wine on
your dress, and he's offered me a bed with the Lady Ines's servants. He thinks
he might be able to get me a place with his Lady." She snorted with amusement,
then caught Moiraine's eyes and snorted again, more roughly. "It isn't his
bloody bed, Moiraine. And if it was, well, he has a gentle manner and the
prettiest brown eyes you've ever seen. One of these days, you're going to find
yourself ready to do more than dream about some man, and I hope I'm there to see
it!"
"Do not talk nonsense," Moiraine told her. The task in front of them was too
important to spare thoughts for men. In the way Siuan meant, at least. Merean
had spent all day with Brys? Without going near Lady Ines? One of Tamra's chosen
or Black Ajah, that made no sense, and it went beyond credibility to believe
Merean was not one or the other. She was missing something, and that worried
her. What she did not know could kill her. Worse, it could kill the Dragon
Reborn in his cradle.
Lan slipped through the corridors of the Aesdaishar alone, using every bit of
the skill he had learned in the Blight, avoiding the eyes of passersby. His own
serving women took Edeyn's commands ahead of his, now, as though they believed
that some part of Malkieri ways. She might have told them it was. He expected
that anyone in the Aesdaishar wearing livery would tell Edeyn where to find him.
He thought he knew where he was, now. Despite previous visits, he had got lost
twice, without a guide. He felt a fool for wearing his sword. Steel was no use
in this battle.
A flicker of movement made him flatten himself against the wall behind a statue
of a woman clad in clouds, her arms full of flowers. Just in time. Two women
came out of the crossing corridor ahead, pausing in close conversation. Iselle
and the Aes Sedai, Merean. He was as still as the stone he hid behind.
He did not like skulking, but while Edeyn was untying the knot in his daori that
had kept him penned for two days she had made it clear that she intended to
announce his marriage to Iselle soon. Bukama had been right. Edeyn used his
daori like reins, and he did not believe she would stop just because he married
her daughter. The only thing to do when faced by an opponent you could not
defeat was run, and he wanted to.
At a sharp motion from Merean, Iselle nodded eagerly and went back the way they
had come. For a moment Merean watched her go, face unreadable in Aes Sedai
serenity. Then, surprisingly, she followed, gliding in a way that made Iselle
look awkward.
Lan did not waste time wondering what Merean was up to, any more than he had in
wondering why Moiraine wanted her watched. A man could go mad trying to puzzle
out Aes Sedai. Which Moiraine really must be, or Merean would have her howling
up and down the corridors. Waiting long enough for the pair to be out of sight
again, he moved quietly to the corner and peeked. They were both gone, so he
hurried on. Aes Sedai were no concern of his today. He had to talk to Bukama.
Running would end Edeyn's schemes of marriage. If he avoided her long enough,
she would find another husband for Iselle. Running would end Edeyn's dream of
reclaiming Malkier; her support would fade like mist under a noon sun once
people learned he was gone. Running would end many dreams. The man who had
carried an infant tied to his back had a right to dreams, though. Duty was a
mountain, but it had to be carried.
Ahead lay a long flight of broad, stone-railed stairs. He turned to start down,
and suddenly he was falling. He just had time to go limp, and then he was
bounding from step to step, tumbling head over heels, landing on the tiled floor
at the bottom with a crash that drove the last remaining air from his lungs.
Spots shimmered in front of his eyes. He struggled to breathe, to push himself
up.
Servants appeared from nowhere, helping him dizzily to his feet, all exclaiming
over his luck in not killing himself in such a fall, asking whether he wanted to
see one of the Aes Sedai for Healing. Frowning up the stairway, he murmured
replies, anything in hope of making them go away. He thought he might be as
bruised as he had ever been in his life, but bruises went away, and the last
thing he wanted at that moment was a sister. Most men would have fought that
fall and been lucky to end with half their bones broken. Something had jerked
his ankles up there. Something had hit him between the shoulders. There was only
one thing it could have been, however little sense it made. An Aes Sedai had
tried to kill him.
"Lord Mandragoran!" A stocky man in t
he striped coat of a palace guard skidded
to a halt and nearly fell over trying to bow while still moving. "We've been
looking for you everywhere, my Lord!" he panted. "It's your man, Bukama! Come
quickly, my Lord! He may still be alive!"
Cursing, Lan ran behind the guard, shouting for the man to go faster, but he was
too late. Too late for the man who had carried an infant. Too late for dreams.
Guards crowding a narrow passage just off one of the practice yards squeezed
back to let Lan through. Bukama lay face down, blood pooled around his mouth,
the plain wooden hilt of a dagger rising from the dark stain on the back of his
coat. His staring eyes looked surprised. Kneeling, Lan closed those eyes and
murmured a prayer for the last embrace of the mother to welcome Bukama home.
"Who found him?" he asked, but he barely heard the jumbled replies about who and
where and what. He hoped Bukama was reborn in a world where the Golden Crane
flew on the wind, and the Seven Towers stood unbroken, and the Thousand Lakes
shone like a necklace beneath the sun. How could he have let anyone get close
enough to do this? Bukama could feel steel being unsheathed near him. Only one
thing was sure. Bukama was dead because Lan had tangled him in an Aes Sedai's
schemes.
Rising, Lan began to run. Not away from, though. Towards. And he did not care
who saw him.
The muffled crash of the door in the anteroom and outraged shouts from the
serving women lifted Moiraine from the chair where she had been waiting. For
anything but this. Embracing saidar, she started from the sitting room, but
before she reached the door, it swung open. Lan shook off the liveried women
clinging to his arms, shut the door in their faces, and put his back to it,
meeting Moiraine's startled gaze. Purpling bruises marred his face, and he moved
as if he had been beaten. From outside came silence. Whatever he intended, they
would be sure she could handle it.
Absurdly, she found herself fingering her beltknife. With the Power she could
wrap him up like a child, however large he was, and yet . . . He did not glare.
There certainly was no fire in those eyes. She wanted to step back. No fire, but
death seared cold. That black coat suited him with its cruel thorns and stark
gold blossoms.
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