Towers of midnight wot-13

by Robert Jordan

  The First studied her. "Very well," she said. "So be it. Be proud of yourself, Faile. It is… rare that I take myself off a prize I have long desired."

  "You haven't said how we could get rid of the rumors."

  "There may be a method," Berelain said. "But it will be distasteful." Faile raised an eyebrow.

  "We will need to be seen as friends," Berelain explained. "Fighting, being at odds, this will fuel the rumors. But if we are seen spending time with one another, it will disarm them. That, mixed with a formal renunciation on my part of the rumors, will likely be enough."

  Faile sat down in the chair she had been using earlier. Friends? She detested this woman.

  "It would have to be a believable act," Berelain said, rising and walking over to the serving stand at the corner of the tent. She poured herself some chilled wine. "Only that would work."

  "You'll find another man, as well," Faile said. "Someone you can give your attentions to, for a time at least. To prove that you are not interested in Perrin."

  Berelain raised the cup. "Yes," she said. "I suspect that would help too. Can you put on such an act, Faile ni Bashere t'Aybara?"

  You believed I was ready to kill you over this, didn't you, Faile thought, "I promise it."

  Berelain paused, winecup halfway to her lips. Then she smiled, and drank. "We shall see, then," she said, lowering the cup, "what comes of this."

  CHAPTER 19

  Talk of Dragons

  Mat tugged on a sturdy brown coat. The buttons were brass, but other than that, it was free of ornamentation. Made of a thick wool, it had a few holes from arrows that really should have killed him. One of the holes had a bloodstain around it, but that had mostly been washed out. It was a nice coat. He would have paid good coin for a coat like this one, when he lived back in the Two Rivers.

  He rubbed his face, looking in the mirror of his new tent. He had shaved off that bloody beard, finally. How did Perrin manage that bloody itching? The man must have sandpaper for skin. Well, Mat would find another way to disguise himself, when needed.

  He had nicked himself a few times while shaving. But it was not as if he had forgotten how to take care of himself. He did not need a manservant to do what he could manage on his own. Nodding to himself, he pulled on his hat and grabbed his ashandarei from the corner of the tent; the ravens on the blade seemed to perch excitedly in anticipation of battles to come. "Bloody right you do," Mat said, resting the ashandarei on his shoulder as he walked out or the tent. He grabbed his pack and slung it over his other shoulder, Starting tonight, he would be spending nights in the city.

  He strode through camp, nodding to a group of passing Redarms. He had doubled the watch. He was worried about the gholam, but also about the many military camps in the area. Half were mercenaries, half were the retainers of this minor lord or that, coming to pay respects to the Queen suspiciously arriving after the righting was done.

  No doubt each and every one was professing his heartfelt allegiance to Elayne, explaining that his men supported her all along. Their words probably fell a little flat, since Mat had it on good authority from three separate drunks in taverns that Elayne had used Traveling extensively in recruiting her defense. It was easier to feign a delayed arrival when you were responding to a written message.

  "Mat! Mat!"

  Mat stopped on the pathway outside his tent as Olver came racing up The boy had taken to wearing a red band around his arm, much as the Redarms did, but he still wore his brown trousers and coat. He was carrying his rolled-up cloth for Snakes and Foxes under one arm and a pack slung over the other.

  Setalle stood in the near distance, along with Lussin and Edder, two Redarms that Mat had assigned to watch over her and the boy. They'd be departing for the city soon.

  "Mat," Olver said, panting. "You're leaving?"

  "I don't have time to play with you now, Olver," Mat said, lowering his ashandarei to the crook of his arm. "I have to go meet with a Queen."

  "I know," Olver said. "I figured that since we're both going to town, we could ride together and plan. I have some ideas about how to defeat the snakes and the foxes! We're going to show them, Mat. Burn me, but we bloody will!"

  "Who taught you that language?"

  "Mat," he said. "This is important! We have to plan! We haven't talked about what we're going to do."

  Silently, Mat cursed himself for discussing the quest to rescue Moiraine where Olver could hear. The boy was not going to take it well when he was left behind.

  "I need to think about what I'm going to say to the Queen," Mat said, rubbing his chin. "But I guess you're right, planning is important. Why don't you go tell Noal about your ideas?"

  "I already did," Olver said. "And Thom too. And Talmanes."

  Talmanes? He was not going with them into the Tower! Light, how much had Olver been spreading the news around?

  "Olver," Mat said, squatting down to be on eye level with the boy, "you need to keep quieter. We don't want too many people knowing what we're doing."

  "I didn't tell nobody we don't trust, Mat," Olver said. "Don't worry, Most were Redarms."

  Great, Mat thought. What would the soldiers think of their commander planning to go off and fight a bunch of creatures from children's stories? Hopefully they would see Olver's comments as the fancies of a young boy.

  "Just be careful," Mat said. "I'll come stop by your inn tomorrow, and can play a game then and talk about it. All right?"

  Olver nodded. "All right, Mat. But… blood and bloody ashes!" He turned and walked away.

  "And stop swearing!" Mat called after him, then shook his head. Bloody soldiers would have Olver corrupted by the time he was twelve.

  Mat continued on his way, leaning his spear on his shoulder again. He found Thom and Talmanes mounted at the front of the camp along with a force of fifty Redarms. Thom wore an extravagant wine-red coat and trousers, gold work at the arms, with a shirt bearing white lace at the cuffs and a silken cravat tied at the neck. The buttons were of gleaming gold. His mustaches had been trimmed and neatly combed. The entire outfit was new, including the black cloak, its inner lining of gold.

  Mat froze in place. How had the man so perfectly transformed from an old scamp of a gleeman into a royal courtier? Light!

  "I see from your reaction that the presentation is effective," Thom said.

  "Blood and bloody ashes!" Mat exclaimed. "What happened? Did you take ill from a bad sausage at breakfast?"

  Thom whipped his cloak back, revealing that he had his harp out and at his side. He looked like a court-bard! "I figured that if—after all of these years—I was going to make an appearance in Caemlyn, I should look the part."

  "No wonder you've been singing for coin every day," Mat said. "The people in those taverns have way too much money."

  Talmanes raised an eyebrow—as good as a grin, from that man. At times, he seemed so dour as to make thunderclouds feel cheerful. He also wore a fine outfit, his of deep cobalt and silver. Mat felt at his cuffs. He could have used some lace. If Lopin had been here, he would have set out the proper outfit without Mat even asking. A little lace was good for a man. Made him look presentable.

  "Is that what you're wearing to visit the Queen, Mat?" Talmanes asked. "Of course it is." The words left his mouth before he had a chance to think about them. "It's a good coat." He walked over to take Pips' reins, "Good for sparring in, maybe," Talmanes said.

  "Elayne is the Queen of Andor now, Mat," Thom said. "And queens are a particular lot. You should show her respect."

  "I am showing her bloody respect," Mat said, handing his spear to one of the soldiers, then climbing into the saddle. He took the spear back, then turned Pips so he could regard Thom. "This is a good enough coat for a farmer."

  "You're not a farmer anymore, Mat," Talmanes said.

  "I am too," Mat said stubbornly.

  "But Musenge called you—" Thom began.

  "He was mistaken," Mat said. "Just because a man marries someone doesn't mean he s
uddenly becomes bloody nobility."

  Thom and Talmanes exchanged a look.

  "Mat," Thom said. "That's actually exactly how it works. It's pretty much one of the only ways to become nobility."

  "That's the way we do it here, maybe," Mat said. "But Tuon is from Seanchan. Who knows what they do there? We all know how strange they can be. We can't know anything until we talk to her."

  Thom frowned. "I'm certain, from things she said, that—"

  "We can't know anything until we talk to Tuon," Mat repeated, louder this time. "Until then, I'm Mat. None of this Prince of Whatever nonsense."

  Thom looked confused, but Talmanes' lips turned ever so slightly up at the side. Burn that man. Mat was inclined to think his solemn nature was all an act. Was he secretly laughing inside?

  "Well, Mat," Talmanes said, "you never have made any sense, so why should we expect you to now? Onward, then, to meet the Queen of Andor. Certain you don't want to roll in the mud first?"

  "I'll be fine," Mat said dryly, pulling his hat down as a soldier tied his pack to the back of his saddle.

  He kicked Pips into motion, and the procession began the now-familiar ride to Caemlyn. Mat spent most of the time going over his plan in his head. He had Aludra's papers tucked into a leather folder, and they included her demands. Every bellfounder in Caemlyn, large quantities or bronze and iron, and powders worth thousands of crowns. And she claimed that was the minimum of what she needed.

  How under the Light was Mat going to get bloody Elayne Trakand to give him all that? He would have to do a lot of smiling. But Elayne had proven resistant to his smiles before, and Queens were not like ordinary folk. Most women, they would smile back or they would scowl at you, so you knew where you stood. Elayne seemed the type to smile at you, then toss you in prison all the same.

  For once, it would be nice if his luck could see him off somewhere enjoy pipe and a game of dice, with a pretty serving girl on his knee and no beyond his next throw. Instead, he was married to a Seanchan High Blood and was off to beg the Queen of Andor for her help. How did he get these situations? Sometimes he thought that the Creator must be like Talmanes. Straight of face, but secretly having a grand time laughing at Mat.

  His procession passed numerous camps on the open plains around Caemlyn. All mercenaries were required to stay at least a league away, but the forces of the lords could camp closer. That put Mat in a rough place. There was always tension between sell-swords and loyal armsmen, and with the mercenaries so far from Caemlyn, fights were common. The Band was right in the middle of it.

  He did some quick figuring based on the trails of campfire smoke he saw twisting into the air. There were at least ten thousand mercenaries in the area. Did Elayne know what a bubbling kettle she was brewing here? Too much heat, and the whole bloody thing would boil over!

  Mat's procession drew attention. He had one of the men flying the banner of the Band of the Red Hand, and his men were developing a reputation. By Mat's count, they were the largest single group—mercenary or lord's force—outside Caemlyn's walls. They were as organized and disciplined as a regular army, and were under the leadership of a personal friend of the Dragon Reborn. His men could not help bragging about that, though Mat would much rather that they had kept quiet.

  They passed groups of men waiting by the side of the road, curious to catch a glimpse of "Lord Mat." He kept his eyes forward. If they had expected some fop in a rich coat, then they would be disappointed! Though perhaps he could have chosen a better coat. This one was stiff, and the collar itched.

  Of course, more than a few seemed to think Talmanes was "Lord Mat" from the way they pointed, probably because of how he was dressed. Bloody ashes!

  This conversation with Elayne was going to be tough. But Mat had a hidden card, one he hoped would be enough to get her to look past the expense of Aludra's proposal. Though he was more afraid she would see what he was doing and want to take part in it. And when a woman "wanted to be part" of something, that meant she wanted to be in charge.

  They approached the gate in Caemlyn's white-gray walls, passing the growing outer city. The soldiers waved him on. Mat gave them a tip of the hat, and Thom gave a flourishing wave to the small crowd gathered here. They cheered. Great. Just bloody great.

  The march through the New City was uneventful save for more crowds watching. Would someone recognize his face from those drawings? Mat wanted to get off the main thoroughfares, but Caemlyn's narrow streets were a twisting mess. A force of fifty horsemen was too large to move through those streets.

  They eventually passed through the brilliant white walls of the Inner City, where the roads were wider, the Ogier-built buildings less cramped, and the population thinner. Here, they passed more groups of armed men, including Guardsmen in white and red. Mat could make their camp out ahead, covering the gray paving stones of the courtyard with their tents and horselines.

  The Caemlyn palace was like another little city within the city inside the city. It had a low fortified wall, and while its peaks and spires rose into the air, it had more of the look of a war bunker than the Sun Palace did. Odd, how he had never noticed that when he was younger. If Caemlyn fell this palace could hold on its own. They needed more barracks, though, within that wall. This camping out in the courtyard was ridiculous.

  Mat took Talmanes, Thom and a force of ten Redarms as an escort. A tall man in a burnished breastplate, three golden knots on the shoulder of his cloak, waited at the palace entrance. He was a young man, but the way he stood—relaxed, yet poised, hand on the pommel of his sword—indicated he was a practiced soldier. Too bad he had such a pretty face. A life in the military would probably end up wrecking that.

  The man nodded to Mat, Thom and Talmanes. "Lord Cauthon?" he asked Mat.

  "Just Mat."

  The man raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. "My name is Charlz Guybon. I'll lead you to Her Majesty."

  She had sent Guybon himself to escort Mat. He was high-ranking, second-in-command of the armies. That was unexpected. Was Elayne afraid of him, or was she was honoring him? Maybe Guybon had wanted to see Mat for himself. She would not honor Mat, not after making him wait so long to get an audience! A fine greeting for an old friend. His suspicions were confirmed when Guybon did not lead them to the Grand Hall, but down to a quiet area of the Palace.

  "I've heard much about you, Master Cauthon," Guybon said. He seemed like one of those stiff soldiers. Solid, but maybe a little too solid. Like a bow without enough spring to it.

  "From who?" Mat asked. "Elayne?"

  "Mostly rumors around the city. People like to talk about you."

  They do? Mat thought. "I didn't do half of what they say," he grumbled, "and the other half wasn't my bloody fault." Guybon laughed. "What of the story of you hanging from a tree for nine days?"

  "Didn't happen," Mat said, resisting the urge to tug at the scarf around his neck. Nine days? Where did that come from? He had not even hung for nine bloody minutes! Nine seconds had been too long.

  "They also say," Guybon continued, "that you never lose at dice or at love, and that your spear never misses its target."

  "Wish those second two were true. Burn me, but I wish they were."

  "But you do always win at dice?"

  "Near enough," Mat said, tugging down the brim of his hat. "But don't spread that one, or I'll never find a game."

  "They say you slew one of the Forsaken," Guybon noted.

  "Not true," Mat said. Where had that one come from?

  "And the stories of you dueling the King of the Aiel invaders in a battle of honor? Did you really win the Dragon Reborn the loyalty of the Aiel?"

  "Bloody ashes," Mat said. "I killed Couladin, but it didn't happen in any kind of duel! I ran into him on the battlefield, and one of us had to die. It wasn't bloody well going to be me."

  "Interesting," Guybon said. "I thought that one might be true. At least, it's one of the few that could have happened. Unlike…" He trailed off.

  "What?" Ma
t said. They passed an intersection of halls where servants grouped, watching him and the other pass and whispering among themselves.

  Guybon looked hesitant. "I'm sure you've heard."

  "Doubtful." Burn him! What was next? Had the members of the Band been spreading these rumors? Even they did not know about some of those things!

  "Well, there's this rumor that says you stepped into death's domain to challenge him and demand answers to your questions," Guybon said, looking more embarrassed. "And that he gave you that spear you hold and foretold to you your own death."

  Mat felt a chill. That one was close enough to the truth to be frightening. Silly, I know," Guybon said.

  "Sure," Mat said. "Silly." He tried to laugh, but it came out as a cough. Guybon regarded him curiously.

  Light, Mat realized, he thinks I'm dodging the question! "Only rumors, of course," Mat said quickly. Too quickly, maybe. Blood and bloody ashes!

  Guybon nodded, looking thoughtful.

  Mat wanted to change the topic, but he did not trust himself to open his bloody mouth. He could see that more and more palace servants had stopped to watch the procession. He felt like cursing some more at that but then noticed that many of them seemed focused on Thom.

  Thom had been court-bard right here in Caemlyn. He did not talk about it, but Mat knew he had suffered a falling-out with the Queen. Thom had been in virtual exile ever since, coming to Caemlyn only when pressed.

  Morgase was dead now, so this was Thom returning from his exile it seemed. That was probably why he had dressed so finely. Mat looked down at his coat again. Burn me, I should have worn something nicer.

  Guybon led them to a carved wooden door, bearing the roaring Lion of Andor. He knocked softly, received the call to enter, then gestured Mat toward the door. "The Queen will receive you in her sitting room."

  "Thom, you're with me," Mat said. "Talmanes, you watch the soldiers." The nobleman looked crestfallen, but Elayne was undoubtedly going to embarrass Mat, and he did not want Talmanes there to see. "I'll introduce you later," Mat promised. Bloody noblemen. They thought every second thing was an affront to their honor. Mat would have been happy to wait outside!