"A beautiful battle is one you don't have to fight," Mat said, more sharply than he intended. He did not like battles. You could get holes poked in you in a battle. He just kept getting caught in them, that was all. Most of that dancing around had been trying to slip away. But there would be no slipping away tonight, or for many days to come. "Our part of it is important, Teslyn."
What was keeping Aludra, burn her? The attack at the supply camp must be under way already, just strong enough that the soldiers defending it would think they could hold until help arrived, strong enough to make them sure they needed help. The others would be full strength from the start, to overwhelm the defenders before they knew what was on them.
"I mean to bloody the Seanchan, bloody them so hard and fast and often that they're reacting to what we're doing instead of making their own plans." As soon as the words left his tongue he wished he had phrased that another way.
Tuon leaned close to Selucia, and the taller woman put her scarf-covered head down to exchange whispers. It was too dark for their bloody finger-talk, but he could not hear a word they were saying. He could imagine. She had promised not to betray him, and that had to cover trying to betray his plans, yet she must wish she had that promise back. He should have left her with Reimon or one of the others. That would have been safer than letting her stay with him. He could have if he had tied her up, her and Selucia both. And probably Setalle as well. That bloody woman still took Tuon's side every time.
Mandevwin's bay stamped a hoof, and he patted the animal's neck with a gauntleted hand. "You cannot deny there is battle luck, when you find a weakness in your enemy's lines that you never expected, that should not be there, when you find him arrayed to defend against attack from the north only you are coming from the south. Battle luck rides on your shoulder, my Lord. I have seen it."
Mat grunted and resettled his hat on his head irritably. For every time a banner got lost and blundered into a bloody chink in the enemy's defenses, there were ten when it just was not bloody where you expected when you bloody well needed it. That was the truth of battle luck.
"One green nightflower," a man called from above. "Two! Both green!" Scrapings told of him climbing down hurriedly.
Mat heaved a small sigh of relief. The raken was away and headed west. He had counted on that—the nearest large body of soldiers loyal to the Seanchan lay west—and even cheated by riding as far west as he dared. Just because you were sure your opponent would react in a certain way did not mean he would. Reimon would be overrunning the supply camp any minute, smothering the defenders with ten times their number and securing much-needed provisions.
"Go, Vanin," he said, and the fat man dug his heels in, sending his dun off into the night at a canter. He could not outpace the raken, but so long as he brought word in time. . . . "Time to move, Mandevwin."
A lean fellow dropped the last distance from a lower limb, carefully cradling a looking glass that he handed up to the Cairhienin.
"Get mounted, Londraed," Mandevwin said, stuffing the looking glass into the cylindrical leather case tied to his saddle. "Conal, form the men by fours."
A short ride took them to a narrow hard-packed road, winding through low hills, that Mat had avoided earlier. There were few farms and fewer villages in this area, but he did not want to spread rumors of large parties of armed men. Not until he wanted them to spread, anyway. Now he needed speed, and rumor could not outrun him in tonight's business.
Most of the farmhouses they trotted by were dark shapes in the moonlight, lamps and candles already extinguished. The thud of hooves and the creak of saddle leather were the only sounds aside from the occasional thin, reedy cry of some night bird or an owl's hooting, but two thousand or so horses made a fair amount of noise. They passed through a small village where only a handful of thatch-roofed houses and the tiny stone inn showed any light, but people stuck their heads out of doors and windows to gape. Doubtless they thought they were seeing soldiers loyal to the Seanchan. There seemed to be few of any other kind remaining in most of Altara. Somebody raised a cheer, but he was a lone voice.
Mat rode alongside Mandevwin with Tuon and the other women behind, and now and then he looked over his shoulder. Not to make sure she was still there. Strange as it was, he had no doubt she would keep her word not to escape, even now. And not to make sure she was keeping up. The razor had an easy stride, and she rode well. Pips could not have outrun Akein had he tried.
No, he just liked looking at her, even by moonlight. Maybe especially by moonlight. He had tried kissing her again the night before, and she had punched him in the side so hard that at first he thought she had broken one of his shortribs. But she had kissed him just before they started out this evening. Only once, and said not to be greedy when he attempted a second. The woman melted in his arms while he was kissing her, and turned to ice the moment she stepped back. What was he to make of her? A large owl passed overhead, wings flapping silently. Would she see some omen in that? Probably.
He should not be spending so much time thinking about her, not tonight. In truth, he was depending on luck to some extent. The three thousand lancers Vanin had found, mostly Altarans with a few Seanchan, might or might not be those Master Roidelle had marked on his map, though they had not been too far from where he placed them, but there was no telling for sure in which direction they had moved since. Northeast, almost certainly, toward the Malvide Narrows, and the Molvaine Gap beyond. It seemed that except for the last stretch, the Seanchan had taken to avoiding the Lugard Road for moving soldiers, doubtless to conceal their numbers and destinations in the country roads. Certain was not absolutely sure, however. If they had not moved too far, this was the road they would use to reach that supply camp. If. But if they had ridden farther than he expected, they might use another road. No danger there; just a wasted night. Their commander might decide to cut straight across the hills, too. That could prove nasty if he decided to join this road at the wrong point.
About four miles beyond the village, they came to a place where two gently sloping hills flanked the road, and he called a halt. Master Roidelle's own maps were fine, but those he had from other men were the work of masters, too. Roidelle acquired only the best. Mat recognized this spot as if he had seen it before.
Mandevwin wheeled his horse around. "Admar, Eyndel, take your men up the north slope. Madwin, Dongal, the south slope. One man in four to hold horses."
"Hobble the horses,” Mat said, "and put the feedbags on to stop whinnying." They were facing lancers. If it all turned sour and they tried to run, those lancers would ride them down like they were hunting wild pigs. A crossbow was no good from horseback, especially if you were trying to get away. They had to win here.
The Cairhienin stared at him, any expression hidden by the face-bars of his helmet, but he did not hesitate. "Hobble the horses and put on their nosebags," he ordered. "Every man on the line."
"Tell off some to keep watch north and south," Mat told him. "Battle luck can run against you as easily as in your favor." Mandevwin nodded and gave the order.
The crossbowmen divided and rode up the thinly treed slopes, their dark coats and dull green armor fading into the shadows. Burnished armor was all very well for parades, but it could reflect moonlight as well as sunlight. According to Talmanes, the hard part had been convincing the lancers to give up their bright breastplates and the nobles their silvering and gilding. The foot had seen sense straight off.
For a time there was the rustle of men and horses moving across the mulch, moving through brush, but finally silence fell. From the road, Mat could not have told there was anyone on either slope. Now he just had to wait.
Tuon and Selucia kept him company, and so did Teslyn. A gusting breeze had sprung up from the west that tugged at cloaks, but of course, Aes Sedai could ignore such things, though Teslyn held hers shut. Selucia let the gusts take her cloak where it would, oddly, but Tuon took to holding hers closed with one hand.
"You might be more comfortab
le among the trees," he told her. "They'll cut the wind.''
For a moment, she shook with silent laughter. "I'm enjoying watching you take your ease on your hilltop," she drawled.
Mat blinked. Hilltop? He was sitting Pips in the middle of the bloody road with flaming gusts cutting through his coat like winter was coming back. What was she talking about, hilltop?
"Have a care with Joline," Teslyn said, suddenly and unexpectedly. "She be . . . childish ... in some ways, and you do fascinate her the way a shiny new toy do fascinate a child. She will bond you if she can decide how to convince you to agree. Perhaps even if you do no realize you be agreeing.''
He opened his mouth to say there was no bloody flaming chance of that, but Tuon spoke first.
"She cannot have him," she said sharply. Drawing a breath, she went on in amused tones. "Toy belongs to me. Until I am through playing with him. But even then, I won't give him to a marath'damane. You understand me, Tessi? You tell Rosi that. That's the name I intended to give her. You can tell her that, too."
The sharp gusts might not have affected Teslyn, but she shivered at hearing her damane name. Aes Sedai serenity vanished as rage contorted her face. "What I do understand—!"
"Give over!" Mat cut in. "Both of you. I'm in no mood to listen to the pair of you trying to jab each other with needles." Teslyn stared at him, indignation plain even by moonlight.
"Why, Toy," Tuon said brightly, "you're being masterful again." She leaned over to Selucia and whispered something that made the bosomy woman give a loud guffaw.
Hunching his shoulders and pulling his cloak around him, he leaned on the high pommel of his saddle and watched the night for Vanin. Women! He would give up all of his luck—well, half—if he could understand women.
"What do you think you can achieve with raids and ambushes?" Teslyn said, again not for the first time. "The Seanchan will only send enough soldiers to hunt you down." She and Joline had kept trying to stick their noses into his planning, and so had Edesina to a lesser extent, until he chased them away. Aes Sedai thought they knew everything, and while Joline at least did know something of war, he had not needed advice. Aes Sedai advice sounded an awful lot like telling you what to do. This time, he decided to answer her.
"I'm counting on them sending more soldiers, Teslyn," he said, still watching for Vanin. "The whole army they have in the Molvaine Gap, in fact. Enough of it, anyway. They're more likely to use that than any other. Everything Thom and Juilin picked up says their big push is aimed at Illian. I think the army in the Gap is to guard against anything coming at them out of Murandy or Andor. But they're the stopper in the jar for us. I mean to pull that stopper out so we can pass through."
After several minutes of silence, he looked over his shoulder. The three women were just sitting their horses and watching him. He wished he had enough light to make out their expressions. Why were they bloody staring? He settled back to looking for Vanin, yet it seemed he could feel their eyes on his back.
Perhaps two hours by the shifting of the fat crescent moon went by, with the wind slowly picking up strength. It was enough to take the night beyond cool into cold. Periodically he tried to make the women take shelter among the trees, but they resisted stubbornly. He had to remain, to catch Vanin without having to shout—the lancers would be close behind the man; perhaps very close if their commander was a fool—but they did not. He suspected that Teslyn refused because Tuon and Selucia did. That made no sense, but there it was. As for why Tuon refused, he could not have said unless it was because she liked to listen to him arguing himself hoarse. Eventually the wind brought the sound of a running horse, and he sat up straight in his saddle. Vanin's dun cantered out of the night, the bulky man as always an improbable sight in a saddle.
Vanin drew rein and spat through a gap in his teeth. "They're a mile or so behind me, but there's maybe a thousand more than there was this morning. Whoever's in charge knows his business. They're pushing hard without blowing their horses."
"If you be outnumbered two to one," Teslyn said, "perhaps you will reconsider—"
"I don't intend to give them a stand-up fight," Mat broke in. "And I can't afford to leave four thousand lancers loose to make trouble for me. Let's join Mandevwin."
The kneeling crossbowmen on the slope of the northern hill made no sound when he rode through their line with the women and Vanin, just shuffled aside to let them through. He would have preferred at least two ranks, but he needed to cover a wide front. The sparse trees did cut the wind, but not by much, and most of the men were huddled in their cloaks. Still, every crossbow he could see was drawn, with a bolt in place. Mandevwin had seen Vanin arrive and knew what it meant.
The Cairhienin was pacing just behind the line until Mat appeared and swung down from Pips. Mandevwin was relieved to hear that he no longer needed to keep a watch to his rear. He merely nodded thoughtfully at hearing of a thousand more lancers than expected and sent a man racing off to bring the watchers down from the crest to take their places in the line. If Mat Cauthon took it in stride, so would he. Mat had forgotten that about the Band. They trusted him absolutely. Once, that had almost made him break out in a rash. Tonight, he was glad of it.
An owl hooted twice, somewhere behind him, and Tuon sighed. "Is there an omen in that?" he asked, just for something to say.
"I'm glad you are finally taking an interest, Toy. Perhaps I will be able to educate you yet." Her eyes were liquid in the moonlight. "An owl hooting twice means someone will die soon." Well, that put a bloody end to conversation.
Soon enough, the Seanchan appeared, four abreast and leading their horses at a trot, lances in hand. Vanin had been right about their commander knowing his job. Cantered for a time then led at a trot, horses could cover a lot of ground quickly. Fools tried to gallop long distances and ended with dead or crippled horses.
Only the first forty or so wore the segmented armor and strange helmets of Seanchan. A pity, that. He had no idea how the Seanchan would feel about casualties to their Altaran allies. Losses to their own would catch notice, though.
When the middle of the column was right in front of him, a deep voice on the road suddenly shouted, "Banner! Halt!" Those two words carried the familiar slurred drawl of the Seanchan. The men in segmented armor stopped sharply. The others straggled to a halt.
Mat drew breath. Now that had to be ta'veren work. They could hardly have been better placed if he had given the order himself. He rested a hand on Teslyn's shoulder. She flinched slightly, but he needed to get her attention quietly.
"Banner!" the deep voice shouted. "Mount!" Below, soldiers moved to obey.
"Now," Mat said quietly.
The foxhead went cold on his chest, and suddenly a ball of red light was floating high above the road, bathing the soldiers below in an unearthly glow.
They had only a heartbeat to gape. Along the line below Mat, a thousand crossbow strings gave what sounded like one loud snap, and a thousand bolts streaked into the formation, punching through breastplates at that short range, knocking men from their feet, sending horses rearing and screaming, just as a thousand more struck from the other side. Not every shot struck squarely, but that hardly mattered with a heavy crossbow. Men went down with shattered legs, with legs ripped half off. Men clutched at the stumps of ruined arms trying to stem the flow of blood. Men screamed as loudly as the horses.
He watched a crossbowman nearby as the fellow bent to fasten the paired hooks of the bulky, boxlike crank, hanging from a strap at the front of his belt, to his crossbow string. As the man straightened, the cord streamed out of the crank, but once he was erect, he set the crank on the butt of the upended crossbow, moved a small lever on the side of the box, and began to work the handles. Three quick turns with a rough whirring sound, and the string caught on the latch.
“Into the trees!" the deep voice shouted. "Close with them before they can reload! Move!"
Some tried to mount, to ride into the attack, and others dropped reins and lances
to draw swords. None made it as far as the trees. Two thousand more bolts slashed into them, cutting men down, punching through men to kill men behind or topple horses. On the hillside, men began working their cranks furiously, but there was no need. On the road, a horse kicked feebly here and there. The only men moving were frantically trying to use whatever they had to hand for tourniquets to keep from bleeding to death. The wind brought the sound of running horses. Some might have riders. There were no more shouts from the deep voice.
"Mandevwin," Mat shouted, "we're done here. Mount the men. We have places to be."
"You must stay to offer aid," Teslyn said firmly. "The rules of war do demand it."
"This is a new kind of war," he told her harshly. Light, it was silent on the road, but he could still hear the screaming. "They'll have to wait for their own to give them aid."
Tuon murmured something half under her breath. He thought it was, "A lion can have no mercy," but that was ridiculous.
Gathering his men, he led them down the north side of the hill. There was no need to let the survivors see how many they were. In a few hours they would join up with the men from the other hill, and in a few hours more, with Carlomin. Before sunrise they were going to hit the Seanchan again. He intended to make them run to pull that bloody stopper for him.
CHAPTER 28 In Maiden
Just before first light, Faile was fastening the wide belt of golden links around her waist for the last time when Dairaine entered the small, already crowded peaked tent where they all slept. Outside, the sky would be starting to turn gray, but inside, it might still have been night. Faile's eyes had adapted to the darkness, though. The slender little woman with black hair that spilled to her waist in waves was frowning around her yawns. She had stood just below the High Seat of her House in Cairhien, but she had been wakened in the night because Sevanna could not sleep and wanted to be read to. Sevanna enjoyed Dairaine's voice, and likely the tales she carried of supposed misdeeds among Sevanna's gai'shain. The Cairhienin woman was never chosen out as one of those who had failed to please. Her hands went to her golden collar, then hesitated when she took in Faile, Alliandre and Maighdin, already dressed and on their feet.
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