A Crown of Swords twot-7

by Robert Jordan

  "What does Dyelin Taravin intend with Naean Arawn and Elenia Sarand?" Dorindha asked. "I confess I do not understand this shutting people away."

  "What she does there is hardly important," Davram said. "It is her meetings with those Aes Sedai that concern me."

  "Dyelin Taravin is a fool," Melaine muttered. "She believes the rumors about the Car'a'carn kneeling to the Amyrlin Seat. She will not brush her hair unless those Aes Sedai give her permission."

  "You mistake her," Deira said firmly. "Dyelin is strong enough to rule Andor; she proved that at Aringill. Of course she listens to the Aes Sedai — only a fool ignores Aes Sedai — but to listen is not to obey."

  The wagons that had been brought from Dumai's Wells would have to be searched again. The fat-little-man angreal had to be there somewhere. None of the sisters who escaped could have had a clue what it was. Unless, perhaps, one had stuck a souvenir of the Dragon Reborn in her pouch. No. It had to be in the wagons somewhere. With that, he was more than a match for any of the Forsaken. Without it… Death, destruction and madness.

  Suddenly what he had been hearing rushed forward. "What was that?" he demanded, turning from the ivory-inlaid table.

  Surprised faces turned toward him. Jonan straightened from where he had been slouching against the doorframe. The Maidens, squatting easily on their heels, suddenly appeared alert. They had been talking idly among themselves; even they were wary around him now.

  Fingering one of her ivory necklaces, Melaine shared a decided look between Bael and Davram, then spoke before anyone else. "There are nine Aes Sedai at an inn called The Silver Swan, in what Davram Bashere calls the New City." She said the word "inn" in an odd way, and "city" as well; she had only known them from books before coming across the Dragonwall. "He and Bael say we must leave them alone unless they do something against you. I think you have learned about waiting for Aes Sedai, Rand al'Thor."

  "My fault," Bashere sighed, "if fault there is. Though what Melaine expects to do, I can't say. Eight sisters stopped at The Silver Swan almost a month ago, just after you left. Now and then a few more come or go, but there are never more than ten at one time. They keep to themselves, cause no trouble, and ask no questions that Bael or I can learn. A few Red sisters have come into the city, as well; twice. Those at The Silver Swan all have Warders, but these never do. I'm sure they are Reds. Two or three appear, ask after men heading for the Black Tower, and after a day or so, they leave. Without learning much, I'd say. That Black Tower is as good as a fortress for holding in secrets. None of them has made trouble, and I would rather not trouble them until I know it is necessary."

  "I didn't mean that," Rand said slowly. He sat down in a chair opposite Bashere, gripping the carved arms till his knuckles hurt. Aes Sedai gathering here, Aes Sedai gathering in Cairhien. Happenstance? Lews Therin rumbled like thunder on the horizon about death and betrayal. He would have to warn Taim. Not about the Aes Sedai at The Silver Swan — Taim certainly knew already; why had he not mentioned it? — about staying away from them, keeping the Asha'man away. If Dumai's Wells was to be an end, there could be no new beginnings here. Too many things seemed to be spinning out of control. The harder he tried to gather them all in, the more there were and the faster they spun. Sooner or later, everything was going to fall, and shatter. The thought dried his throat. Thom Merrilin had taught him to juggle a little, but he had never been very good. Now he had to be very good indeed. He wished he had something to wet his throat.

  He did not realize he had spoken that last aloud until Jalani straightened from her crouch and strutted across the room to where a tall silver pitcher stood on a small table. Filling a hammered silver goblet, she brought it back to Rand with a smile, her mouth opening as she proffered it. He expected something rude, but a change came over her face. All she said was, "Car'a'carn," then went back to her place with the other Maidens, so dignified it seemed she was imitating Dorindha, or maybe Deira. Somara gestured in handtalk, and suddenly every Maiden was red-faced and biting her lips to keep from laughing. Every Maiden but Jalani, who was just red-faced.

  The wine punch tasted of plums. Rand could remember fat sweet plums from the orchards across the river when he was young, climbing the trees to pick them himself… Tilting his head back, he drained the goblet. There were plum trees in the Two Rivers, but no orchards of them, and certainly not across any river. Keep your bloody memories to yourself, he snarled at Lews Therin. The man in his head laughed at something, giggling quietly to himself.

  Bashere frowned at the Maidens, then glanced at Bael and his wives, all impassive as stone, and shook his head. He got on well with Bael, but Aiel in general mystified him. "Since no one is bringing me any drink," he said, rising, and went to pour his own. He took a long swallow that wet his heavy mustaches. "Now, that's cooling. Taim's way of enrolling men seems to sweep up every fellow who'd like to follow the Dragon Reborn. He has delivered a goodly army to me, men who lack whatever it is your Asha'man need. They all talk wide-eyed about walking though holes in the air, but none has been anywhere near the Black Tower. I'm trying out a few thoughts young Mat had."

  Rand waved that away with the empty goblet. "Tell me about Dyelin." Dyelin of House Taravin would be next in line for the throne should anything happen to Elayne, but he had told her he was having Elayne brought to Caemlyn. "If she thinks she can take the Lion Throne, I can find a farm for her, too."

  "Take the throne?" Deira said incredulously, and her husband laughed out loud.

  "I have no understanding of wetlander ways," Bael said, "but I do not think that is what she has done."

  "Far from it." Davram carried the pitcher over to pour more punch for Rand. "Some lesser lords and ladies who thought to curry favor proclaimed for her at Aringill. She moves quickly, Lady Dyelin. Within four days she had the two leaders hanged, for treason to the Daughter-Heir Elayne, and ordered another twenty flogged." He chuckled approvingly. His wife sniffed. Likely she would have had the road lined with gibbets all the way from Aringill to Caemlyn.

  "Then what was that about her ruling Andor?" Rand demanded. "And imprisoning Elenia and Naean."

  "They are the ones who tried to claim the throne," Deira said, dark eyes sparkling angrily.

  Bashere nodded. He was much calmer. "Only three days ago. When word arrived of Colavaere's coronation, and the rumors from Cairhien that you had gone to Tar Valon began to sound more real. With trade beginning again, there are so many pigeons in the air between Cairhien and Caemlyn, you could walk on their backs." Putting the pitcher back, he returned to his chair. "Naean proclaimed for the Lion Throne in the morning, Elenia before midday, and by sunset Dyelin, Pelivar and Luan had arrested them both. They announced Dyelin as Regent the next morning. In Elayne's name, until Elayne returns. Most of the Houses of Andor have declared support for Dyelin. I think some would like her to take the throne herself, but Aringill keeps even the most powerful careful of their tongues." Closing one eye, Bashere pointed at Rand. "You, they do not mention at all. Whether that is good or bad, it will take a wiser head than mine to say."

  Deira offered a cool smile, looking down that nose of hers. "Those… lickspittles… you allowed to make free of the palace have all fled the city, it seems. Fled Andor, some of them, according to rumor. You should know, they were all behind either Elenia or Naean."

  Rand carefully set his full goblet on the floor beside his chair. He had only let Lir and Arymilla and the rest remain in order to try pushing Dyelin and those who supported her into cooperation with him. They would never have left Andor to the likes of Lord Lir. With time and Elayne's return, it might yet work. But everything was whirling faster and faster, whirling away from his fingers. There were a few things he could control, though.

  "Fedwin, there, is an Asha'man," he said. "He can bring messages to me in Cairhien, if there's need." That with a glare for Melaine, who returned the blandest sort of look. Deira studied Fedwin as she might a dead rat some overeager dog had dropped on her rug. Davram and Bae
l were more considering; Fedwin tried to stand straighter under their gaze. "Don't let anyone know who he is," Rand went on. "No one. That's why he isn't wearing black. I am taking two more to Lord Semaradrid and High Lord Weiramon tonight. They'll have need when they face Sammael in the Doirlon Hills. I will be busy chewing on Cairhien for a while yet, it seems." And maybe Andor, too.

  "Does this mean you will send the spears forward at last?" Bael said. "You give the orders tonight?"

  Rand nodded, and Bashere gave a great hoot of laughter. "Now, that calls for a good wine. Or it would if it wasn't hot enough to make a man's blood thick as porridge." Laughter slid into a grimace. "Burn me, but I wish I could be there. Still, I suppose holding Caemlyn for the Dragon Reborn is no small thing."

  "You always want to be where the swords are bared, my husband." Deira sounded quite fond.

  "The fifth," Bael said. "You will allow the fifth in Illian, when Sammael has fallen?" Aiel custom allowed taking the fifth part of all that was in a place taken by force of arms. Rand had forbidden it here in Caemlyn; he would not give Elayne a city looted even that much.

  "They will have the fifth," Rand said, but it was not of Sammael or Illian that he thought. Bring Elayne quickly, Mat. It ran wild in his head, across Lews Therin's cackling. Bring her quickly, before Andor and Cairhien both erupt in my face.

  Chapter 8

  (Snakey Square)

  The Figurehead

  "We must stop here tomorrow." Egwene shifted carefully on her folding chair; it had a tendency to fold on its own, sometimes. "Lord Bryne says the army is running short of food. Our camp is certainly short of everything."

  Two stubby tallow candles burned on the wooden table in front of her. That folded, too, for easy packing, but it was sturdier than the chair. The candles in the tent that served as her study were supplemented by an oil lantern hanging from the centerpole up near the peak. The dim yellow light flickered, making faint shadows dance on patched canvas walls that were a far cry from the grandeur of the Amyrlin's study in the White Tower, but that did not upset her. Truth be known, she herself was some considerable distance short of the grandeur normally associated with the Amyrlin Seat. She knew very well that the seven-striped stole on her shoulders was the only reason any stranger would believe her Amyrlin. If they did not think it an extremely foolish joke. Odd things had happened in the White Tower's history — Siuan had told her secret details of some of them — yet surely nothing so odd as her.

  "Four or five days would be better," Sheriam mused, studying the sheaf of papers in her lap. Slightly plump, with high cheekbones and tilted green eyes, in her dark green riding dress she managed to look elegant and commanding despite her perch on one of the two precarious stools in front of the table. Exchange her narrow blue stole of the Keeper of the Chronicles for the Amyrlin's, and anyone would think she wore it by right. Sometimes she certainly seemed to believe the striped stole rested on her own shoulders. "Or perhaps longer. It would not hurt to build our stores up once more."

  Siuan, atop the other rickety, stool, shook her head slightly, but Egwene did not need the hint. "One day." She might be just eighteen and well short of a true Amyrlin's grandeur, but she was no fool. Too many of the sisters seized on any excuse for a halt — too many of the Sitters, as well — and if they stopped too long, it might be impossible to start them moving again. Sheriam opened her mouth.

  "One, daughter," Egwene said firmly. Whatever Sheriam thought, the fact was that Sheriam Bayanar was the Keeper and Egwene al'Vere the Amyrlin. If only Sheriam could be brought to realize that. And the Hall of the Tower; they were worse. She wanted to snarl or snap or maybe throw something, but after close to a month and half, she already had a lifetime's practice in keeping her face and voice smooth at far greater provocation than this. "Any longer, and we'll begin to strip the countryside bare. I won't leave people to starve. On the practical side, if we take too much from them, even paid for, they'll give us a hundred problems in return."

  "Raids on the herds and flocks and thieves at the storewagons," Siuan murmured. Studying her divided gray skirts, not looking at anyone, she seemed to be thinking aloud. "Men shooting at our guards at night, maybe setting fire to whatever they can reach. A bad business. Hungry people become desperate in a hurry." Those were the same reasons Lord Bryne had given Egwene, in very nearly the same words.

  The fiery-haired woman shot Siuan a hard look. Many sisters had a difficult time with Siuan. Her face was probably the best known in the camp, young enough to have looked proper above an Accepted's dress, or a novice's for that matter. That was a side effect of being stilled, though not many had known it; Siuan could hardly walk a step without sisters staring at her, the once Amyrlin Seat, deposed and cut off from saidar, then Healed and restored to at least some ability, when everyone knew that was impossible. Many welcomed her back warmly as a sister once more, for herself and for the miracle that held out hope against what every Aes Sedai feared beyond death, but just as many or more offered lukewarm toleration or condescension or both, blaming her for their present situation.

  Sheriam was one of those who thought Siuan should instruct the new young Amyrlin in protocol and the like, which everyone believed she hated, and keep her mouth closed unless she was called upon. She was less than she had been, no longer Amyrlin and no longer anywhere near so strong in the Power. It was not cruelty as Aes Sedai saw it. The past was past; what was now, was, and must be accepted. Anything else only brought greater pain. By and large, Aes Sedai admitted change slowly, but once they did, for most it was as if things had always been that way.

  "One day, Mother, as you say," Sheriam sighed at last, bowing her head slightly. Less in submission, Egwene was sure, than to hide a grimace over her stubbornness. She would accept the grimace if the acquiescence came with it. For the time being, she had to.

  Siuan bowed her head, too. To hide a smile. Any sister might be appointed to any post, but the social pecking order was quite rigid, and Siuan stood a long way further down than she had. That was one reason.

  The papers on Sheriam's lap were duplicated on Siuan's, and on the table in front of Egwene. Reports on everything from the number of candles and sacks of beans remaining in the camp to the state of the horses, and the same for Lord Bryne's army. The army's camp encircled the Aes Sedai's, with a ring perhaps twenty steps wide between, but in many ways they might as well have been a mile apart. Surprisingly, Lord Bryne insisted on that as much as the sisters. The Aes Sedai did not want soldiers wandering among their tents, a lot of unwashed, illiterate ruffians with light fingers often as not, and it seemed the soldiers did not want Aes Sedai wandering among them either — though, perhaps wisely, they held their reasons close. They marched toward Tar Valon to pull down a usurper to the Amyrlin Seat and raise Egwene in her place, yet few men were truly comfortable around Aes Sedai. Few enough women, either.

  As Keeper, Sheriam would have been all too happy to take these minor matters out of Egwene's hands. She had said as much, explaining how minor they were, how the Amyrlin Seat should not be burdened with day-to-day trifles. Siuan, on the other hand, said a good Amyrlin paid attention to just those, not trying to duplicate the work of dozens of sisters and clerks, yet checking on something different every day. That way she had a good idea of what was happening and what needed doing before someone came running to her with a crisis already breaking into shards. A feel for how the wind was blowing, Siuan called it. Making sure these reports reached her had required weeks, and Egwene was sure that once she let them pass to Sheriam's control, she would never again learn anything until it was long dealt with. If then.

  A silence stretched as they began reading the next paper in each stack.

  They were not alone. Chesa, seated on cushions to one side of the tent, spoke. "Too little light is bad for the eyes," she murmured almost to herself, holding up one of Egwene's silk stockings that she was darning. "You'll never catch me ruining my eyes over words in this little light." Just short of stout, with a
twinkle in her eyes and a merry smile, Egwene's maid was always trying to slip advice to the Amyrlin as though talking about herself. She could have been in Egwene's service twenty years instead of less than two months, and three times as old as Egwene instead of barely twice. Tonight, Egwene suspected that she talked to fill silences. There was a tension in the camp since Logain had escaped. A man who could channel, shielded and under close guard, yet he had slipped away like fog. Everyone walked on edge wondering how, wondering where he was, what he intended to do now. Egwene wished harder than most that she could be sure she knew where Logain Ablar was.

  Giving her papers a firm snap of her wrists, Sheriam frowned at Chesa; she did not understand why Egwene let her maid be present at these meetings, much less let her chatter away freely. It probably never occurred to her that Chesa's presence and her unexpected chatter frequently unsettled her just enough to help Egwene sidestep advice she did not want to take and postpone decisions she did not want to make, at least not the way Sheriam wanted them made. Certainly the notion had never occurred to Chesa; she smiled apologetically and returned to her darning, occasionally murmuring to herself.

  "If we continue, Mother," Sheriam said coolly, "we may finish before dawn."

  Staring at the next page, Egwene rubbed her temples. Chesa might be right about the light. She had another headache coming on. Then again, it might be the page, detailing what money was left. The stories she had read never mentioned how much coin was required to keep an army. Pinned to the sheet were notes from two of the Sitters, Romanda and Lelaine, suggesting the soldiers be paid less frequently, paid less in fact. More than suggesting, really, just as Romanda and Lelaine were more than simply two Sitters in the Hall. Other Sitters followed where they led, if not all by any means, while the only Sitter Egwene could count on was Delana, and her not far. It was rare that Lelaine and Romanda agreed on anything, and they could hardly have chosen a worse. Some of the soldiers had sworn oaths, yet most were there for their pay, and maybe the hope of loot.