Knife of Dreams

by Robert Jordan

  Edesina and Teslyn seemed as frozen in place as the two wide-eyed former sul'dam—well, Bethamin was grinning, yet she appeared as amazed as Seta—but just as he began to think Joline's yelps were outnumbering her curses, Mistress Anan tried to push past the two Aes Sedai. Astonishingly, Teslyn made a peremptory gesture for her to remain where she was! Very few women, or men, argued with an Aes Sedai's commands, but Mistress Anan gave the Red sister a frosty look and squeezed between the two Aes Sedai muttering something that made both of them eye her curiously. She still had to force her way between Bethamin and Seta, and he took advantage of that to land a final flurry of hard smacks, then rolled the Green sister off his lap. His hand had begun to sting anyway. Joline landed with a thump and let out a gasped "Oh!"

  Planting herself in front of him, close enough that she interfered with Joline's hasty scramble to her feet, Mistress Anan studied him with her arms folded beneath her breasts in a way that increased the generous cleavage displayed by her plunging neckline. Despite the dress, she was not Ebou Dari, not with those hazel eyes, but she had large golden hoops in her ears, a marriage knife, the hilt marked with red and white stones for her sons and daughters, dangling from a wide silver collar around her neck, and a curved dagger thrust behind her belt. Her dark green skirts were sewn up on the left side to show red petticoats. With touches of gray in her hair, she was every inch the stately Ebou Dari innkeeper, sure of herself and accustomed to giving orders. He expected her to upbraid him—she was as good as an Aes Sedai when it came to upbraiding!—so he was surprised when she spoke, sounding very thoughtful.

  "Joline must have tried to stop you, and Teslyn and Edesina as well, but whatever they did failed. I think that means you possess a ter'angreal that can disrupt flows of the Power. I've heard of such things—Cadsuane Melaidhrin supposedly had one, or so rumor said— but I've never seen the like. I would very much like to. I won't try to take it away from you, but I would appreciate seeing it."

  "How do you know Cadsuane?" Joline demanded, attempting to brush off the seat of her skirt. The first brush of her hand brought a wince, and she gave over with a glare for Mat just to show him she still had him in mind. Tears glistened in her big brown eyes and on her cheeks, but if he had to pay for them, it was worth the price. "She said something about the test for the shawl," Edesina said.

  "She did say, 'How could you have passed the test for the shawl if you freeze at moments like this?' " Teslyn added.

  Mistress Anan's mouth tightened for a moment, but if she was discomposed, she regained her poise in a breath. "You may recall that I owned an inn," she said dryly. "Many people visited The Wandering Woman, and many of them talked, perhaps more than they should have."

  "No Aes Sedai would," Joline began, then turned hurriedly. Blaeric and Fen were starting up the steps. Borderlanders both, they were big men, and Mat quickly got to his feet, ready to use his knives if necessary. They might drub him, but not without bleeding for it.

  Surprisingly, Joline darted to the door and shut it right in Fen's face, then fastened the latch. The Saldaean made no effort to open the door, but Mat had no doubt the pair of them would be waiting when he left. When she turned around, her eyes were blazing hot, tears and all, and she seemed to have forgotten Mistress Anan for the moment. "If you ever even think of. . ." she began, shaking a finger at him.

  He stepped forward and stuck a finger of his own to her nose, so fast that she jumped back and bumped into the door. From which she rebounded with a squeak, spots of red blooming in her cheeks. He cared not a whisker whether that was anger or embarrassment. She opened her mouth, but he refused to let her get a word in edgewise.

  "Except for me, you'd be wearing a damane collar around your neck, and so would Edesina and Teslyn," he said, as much heat in his voice as there was in her eyes. "In return, you all try to bully me. You go your own way and endanger all of us. You bloody well channeled when you know there are Seanchan right across the road! They could have a damane with them, or a dozen, for all you know." He doubted there was even one, but doubt was not certainty, and in any case, he was not about to share his doubts with her, not now. "Well, I might have to put up with some of that, though you'd better know I'm getting close to my edge, but I won't put up with you hitting me. You do that again, and I vow I'll pepper your hide twice as hard and twice as hot. My word on it!"

  "And I won't try to stop him next time if you do." Mistress Anan said. "Nor I." Teslyn added, echoed after a long moment by Edesina.

  Joline looked as though she had been hit between the eyes with a hammer. Very satisfactory. As long as he could figure out how to avoid having his bones broken by Blaeric and Fen.

  "Now would someone like to tell me why you bloody decided to start channeling like it was the Last Battle? Do you have to keep holding them like that, Edesina?" He nodded at Seta and Bethamin. It was only an educated guess, but Edesina's eyes widened for a moment as if she thought his ter'angreal let him see flows of the Power as well as stop them. In any case, an instant later both women were standing normally. Bethamin calmly began drying her tears with a white linen handkerchief. Seta sat down on the nearest bed, hugging herself and shivering; she looked more shaken than Bethamin.

  None of the Aes Sedai seemed to want to answer, so Mistress Anan did it for them. "There was an argument. Joline wanted to go see these Seanchan for herself, and she wouldn't be argued out of it. Bethamin decided to discipline her, just as if she had no clue what would happen." The innkeeper shook her head in disgust. "She tried to pull Joline across her lap, with Seta helping her, and Edesina wrapped them up in flows of air. I'm assuming," she said when the Aes Sedai all looked at her sharply. "I may not be able to channel, but I do use my eyes."

  "That doesn't account for what I felt," Mat said. "There was a lot of channeling going on in here."

  Mistress Anan and the three Aes Sedai studied him speculatively, long stares that seemed to probe for the medallion. They were not going to forget about his ter'angreal, that was for sure.

  Joline took up the story. "Bethamin channeled. I've never before seen the weave she used, but for a few moments, until she lost the Source, she had sparks dancing all over the three of us. I think she may have used as much of the Power as she could draw."

  Sobs suddenly racked Bethamin. She sagged, halfway to falling to the floor. "I didn't mean to," she wept, shoulders shaking, face contorted. "I thought you were going to kill me, but I didn't mean to, I didn't." Seta began rocking back and forth, staring at her friend in horror. Or perhaps her former friend. They both knew a'dam could hold them, and maybe any sul'dam, but they might well have denied the full import. Any woman who could use an a'dam could learn to channel. Likely they had tried as hard as they could to deny that hard fact, to forget it. Actually channeling altered everything, however.

  Burn him, this was all he needed on top of everything else. "What are you going to do about it?" Only an Aes Sedai could handle this. "Now she's started, she can't just stop. I know that much."

  "Let her die," Teslyn said harshly. "We can keep her shielded until we can be rid of her, then she can die."

  "We can't do that," Edesina said, sounding shocked. Though not, apparently, at the thought of Bethamin dying. "Once we let her go, she'll be a danger to everyone around her."

  "I won't do it again," Bethamin wept, almost pleading. "I won't!"

  Pushing past Mat as if he were a coatrack, Joline confronted Bethamin, staring up at the taller woman with her fists on her hips. "You won't stop. You can't, once you begin. Oh, you may be able to go months between attempts to channel, but you will try again, and again, and every time, your danger will increase." With a sigh, she lowered her hands. "You are much too old for the novice book, but there's nothing for it. We will have to teach you. Enough to make you safe, at least."

  "Teach her?" Teslyn screeched, planting her fists on her hips. "I do say let her die! Do you have any idea how these sul'dam did treat me when they did have me prisoner?"

  "No
, since you've never gone into detail beyond moaning over how horrible it was." Joline replied dryly, then added in very firm tones. "But I will not leave any woman to die when I can stop it."

  That did not end things, of course. When a woman wanted to argue, she could keep it going if she was by herself, and they all wanted to argue. Edesina joined in on Joline's side, and so did Mistress Anan, just as if she had as much right to speak as the Aes Sedai. Of all things, Bethamin and Seta took Teslyn's part, denying any wish to learn to channel, waving their hands and arguing as loudly as anyone. Wisely, Mat took the opportunity to slip out of the wagon and pull the door shut behind him softly. No need to remind them of him. The Aes Sedai, at least, would remember soon enough. At least he could stop worrying about where the bloody a'dam were and whether the sul'dam would try using them again. That was well and truly finished, now.

  He had been right about Blaeric and Fen. They were waiting at the foot of the steps, and stormclouds were not in it for their faces. Without any doubt, they knew exactly what had happened to Joline. But not who was to blame, it turned out.

  "What went on in there, Cauthon?" Blaeric demanded, his blue eyes sharp enough to poke holes. Slightly the taller of the two, he had shaved his Shienaran topknot and was not best pleased by the growth of short hair covering his scalp. "Were you involved?" Fen asked coldly.

  "How could I have been?" Mat replied, trotting down the steps as if he had not a care in the world. "She's Aes Sedai, in case you hadn't noticed. If you want to know what happened, I suggest you ask her. I'm not woolheaded enough to talk about it, I'll tell you that. Only, I wouldn't ask her right now. They're all still arguing in there. I took the chance to slip out while my hide was still intact."

  Not the best choice of words, perhaps. The two Warders' faces grew darker still, impossible as that seemed. But they let him go on his way without having to resort to his knives. There was that. Neither seemed very eager to enter the wagon, either. Instead, they settled on the wagon's steps to wait, more fools they. He doubted Joline would be very forthcoming with them, but she might well take out some of her temper on them because they knew. Had he been them, he would have found tasks to keep him clear of that wagon for . . . oh, say, a month or two. That might help. Some. Women had long memories for some things. He was going to need to watch over his shoulder for Joline himself from now on. But it had still been worth it.

  With Seanchan camped across the road and Aes Sedai arguing and women channeling as if they had never heard of the Seanchan and the dice spinning in his head, not even winning two games of stones from Tuon that night could make him feel anything but wary. He went to sleep—on the floor, since it was Domon's turn to use the second bed; Egeanin always got the other—with the dice bouncing off the insides of his skull, but he was sure that tomorrow had to be better than today. Well, he had never claimed to always be right. He just wished he was not quite so wrong so often.

  CHAPTER 8 Dragons' Eggs

  Luca had the showfolk breaking camp, taking down the big canvas wall and packing everything into the wagons, while the sky was still dark the next morning. It was the clatter and banging of it, the shouting, that woke Mat, groggy and stiff from sleeping on the floor. As much as he could sleep, for the bloody dice. Those things gave a man dreams that slaughtered sleep. Luca was rushing about in his shirtsleeves with a lantern, giving orders and likely impeding matters as much as speeding them, but Petra, wide enough to seem squat though he was not all that much shorter than Mat, paused in hitching the four-horse team to his and Clarine's wagon to explain. With the waning moon low on the horizon and half-hidden by trees, a lantern on the driver's seat gave all the light they had, a flickering pool of yellow that was repeated a hundred times and more through the camp. Clarine was off walking the dogs, since they would be spending most of the day inside the wagon.

  "Yesterday. . . ." The strongman shook his head and patted the nearest animal, patiently waiting for the last straps to be buckled, as if the horse had showed signs of nerves. Maybe he felt edgy himself. The night was only cool, not really cold, yet he was bundled up in a dark coat and had on a knitted cap. His wife worried about him falling sick from drafts or the cold, and took care that he would not. "Well, we're strangers everywhere, you see, and a lot of people think they can take advantage of strangers. But if we let one man get away with it, ten more will try, if not a hundred. Sometimes the local magistrate, or what passes for one, will uphold the law for us, too, but only sometimes. Because we're strangers, and tomorrow or the next day, we'll be gone, and anyway, everybody knows strangers are usually up to no good. So we have to stand up for ourselves, fight for what's ours if need be. Once you do that, though, it's time to move along. Same now as when there were only a few dozen of us with Luca, counting the horse handlers, though in those days, we'd have been gone as soon as those soldiers left. In those days, there weren't so many coins to be lost by leaving in a hurry," he said dryly, and shook his head, perhaps for Luca's greed or perhaps for how large the show had grown, before going on.

  "Those three Seanchan have friends, or at least companions who won't like their own being faced down. That Standardbearer did it, but you can be sure they'll lay it to us, because they think they can hit at us, and they can't at her. Maybe their officers will uphold the law, or their rules or whatever, like she did, but we can't be sure of that. What is certain sure, though, is that those fellows will cause trouble if we stay another day. No point to staying when it means fights with soldiers, and maybe people hurt so they can't perform, and sure trouble with the law one way or another." It was the longest speech Mat had ever heard from Petra, and the man cleared his throat as though embarrassed by saying so much. "Well," he muttered, bending back to the harness, "Luca will want to be on the road soon. You'll want to be seeing to your own horses."

  Mat wanted no such thing. The most wonderful thing about having coin was not what you could buy, but that you could pay others to do the work. As soon as he realized the show was preparing to move, he had rousted the four Redarms from the tent they shared with Chel Vanin to hitch the teams for his wagon and Tuon's, do as he instructed with the razor and saddle Pips. The stout horsethief—he had not stolen a horse since Mat had known him, but that was what he was— had roused himself long enough to say that he would get up when the others returned, then rolled over in his blankets and was snoring again before Harnan and the others had their boots half on. Vanin's skills were such that no one voiced any complaint beyond the usual grumbling about the hour, and all but Harnan would have grumbled if allowed to sleep till noon. When those skills were needed, he would repay them tenfold, and they knew it, even Fergin. The skinny Redarm was none too bright except when it came to soldiering, but he was plenty smart enough there. Well, smart enough.

  The show left Jurador before the sun broke the horizon, a long snake of wagons rolling along the wide road through the darkness with Luca's lurid monstrosity pulled by six horses at its head. Tuon's wagon came just behind with Gorderan driving, almost wide-shouldered enough to seem a strongman himself, and Tuon and Selucia, well-cloaked and hooded, squeezed in on either side of him. The storage wagons and animal cages and spare horses brought up the tail. Sentries at the Seanchan camp watched them depart, silent armored figures in the night marching the camp's perimeter. Not that the camp itself was quiet. Shadowy forms stood in rigid lines among the tents while loud voices bellowed the rollcall at a steady pace and others answered. Mat all but held his breath until those regular shouts faded away behind him. Discipline was a wonderful thing. For other men, anyway.

  He rode Pips alongside the Aes Sedai wagon, near the middle of the long line, flinching a little every time the foxhead went cool against his chest, which it began to do before they had gone much more than a mile. It seemed that Joline was wasting no time. Fergin, handling the reins, chattered away about horses and women with Metwyn. Both were as happy as pigs in clover, but then, neither had any idea what was going on inside the wagon. At least the medallion
only turned cool, and barely that. They were using small amounts of the Power. Still, he disliked being so near any channeling at all. In his experience, Aes Sedai carried trouble in their belt pouches and seldom were shy about scattering it, never mind who might be in the way. No, with the dice bouncing inside his head, he could have done without Aes Sedai within ten miles.

  He would have ridden up beside Tuon, for the chance to talk with her, no matter that Selucia and Gorderan would hear every word, but you never wanted a woman thinking you were too eager. Do that, and she either took advantage or else skittered away like a water drop on a hot greased griddle. Tuon found enough ways to take advantage already, and he had too little time for very much in the way of chasing. Sooner or later she would speak the words that completed the marriage ceremony, sure as water was wet, but that only made it more urgent for him to find out what she was like, which had hardly been easy so far. That little woman made a blacksmith's puzzle seem simple. But how could a man be married to a woman if he did not know her? Worse, he had to make her see him as something more than Toy. Marriage to a woman with no respect for him would be like wearing a shirt of black-wasp nettles day and night. Worse still, he had to make her care for him, or he would find himself forced to hide from his own wife to keep her from making him da'covale! And to cap it off, he had to do all of that in whatever time remained before he had to send her back to Ebou Dar. A fine stew, and doubtless a tasty meal for some hero out of legend, a little something to occupy his idle time before he rushed off to perform some great deed, only Mat bloody Cauthon was no bloody hero. He still had it to do, though, and no time or room for missteps.