He landed heavily on a slope covered with dead grass and nearly pitched head-over-heels down the hill before he caught himself. For a moment he stared back up at the hole. On this side, it hung more than a foot above the ground.
"Wife!" he shouted. "There is a drop!"
Black Eyes leaped through, veiled and spears ready, and Maidens, also. As well try to drink sand as try to keep Maidens from being among the first. The rest of the Moshaine followed at a run, algai'd'siswai and wives and children, jumping down on the fly, craftsfolk and traders and gai'shain, most pulling heavily loaded packhorses and mules, near to six thousand altogether. His sept, his people. They still would be once he went to Rhuidean; Sevanna could not keep him from becoming clan chief for much longer.
Scouts began spreading out immediately, while the sept still rushed out of the hole. Lowering his veil, Maeric shouted orders that sent a screen of algai'd'siswai toward the crests of the surrounding hills while everyone else remained concealed below. There was no telling who or what lay beyond those hills. Rich lands, the wetlander claimed, but this part did not look rich to him.
The rush of his sept became a flood of algai'd'siswai he did not really trust, men who had fled their own clans because they did not believe Rand al'Thor was truly the Car'a'carn. Maeric was not sure what he himself believed, but a man did not abandon sept and clan. These men called themselves Mera'din, the Brotherless, a fitting name, and he had two hundr—
The hole suddenly snapped into a vertical slash of silver that sliced through ten of the Brotherless. Pieces of them fell onto the slope, arms, legs. The front half of a man slid almost to Maeric's feet.
Staring at the place where the hole had been, he stabbed at the red spot with his thumb. Useless, he knew, but… Darin, his eldest son, was one of the Stone Dogs waiting as a rear guard. They would have been the last through. Suraile, his eldest daughter, had remained with the Stone Dog for whom she was thinking of giving up the spear.
His eyes met Dyrele's, as green and beautiful as the day she had laid the wreath at his feet. And threatened to cut his throat if he did not pick it up. "We can wait." he said softly. The wetlander had said three days, but maybe he was wrong. His thumb stabbed the red spot again. Dyrele nodded calmly; he hoped there would be no need to cry in one another's arms once they could be alone.
A Maiden came skittering down the slope from above, hurriedly lowering her veil, and actually breathing hard. "Maeric," Naeise said, not even waiting for him to see her, "there are spears to the east, only a few miles and running straight at us. I think they are Reyn. At least seven or eight thousand of them."
He could see other algai'd'siswai running toward him. A young Brother to the Eagle, Cairdin, slid to a stop, speaking as soon as Maeric saw him. "I see you, Maeric. There are spears no more than five miles to the north, and wetlanders on horses. Perhaps ten thousand of each. I do not think any of us broke the crest, but some of the spears have turned toward us."
Maeric knew before the grizzled Water Seeker named Laerad opened his mouth. "Spears coming over a hill three or four miles to the south. Eight thousand or more. Some of them saw one of the boys." Laerad never wasted words, and he would never say which boy, who in truth could be anyone without gray hair, to Laerad.
There was no time for wasting words, Maeric knew. "Hamal!" he shouted. No time for proper courtesy to a blacksmith, either.
The big man knew something was wrong; he scrambled up the slope, likely moving faster than he had since first picking up a hammer.
Maeric handed him the stone cube. "You must press the red spot and keep pressing it, no matter what happens, no matter how long it takes for that hole to open. That is the only way out for any of you." Hamal nodded, but Maeric did not even wait for him to say that he would. Hamal would understand. Maeric touched Dyrele's cheek, careless of how many eyes were on them. "Shade of my heart, you must prepare to put on white." Her hand strayed toward the hilt of her belt knife — she had been a Maiden when she made his wreath — but he shook his head-firmly. "You must live, wife, roofmistress, to hold together what remains." Nodding, she pressed fingers to his cheek. He was astonished; she had always been very reserved in public.
Raising his veil, Maeric shoved one spear high above his head. "Moshaine!" he roared. "We dance!"
Up the slope they followed him, men and Maidens, nearly a thousand strong counting the Brotherless. Perhaps they could be counted among the sept. Up the slope and west; that way lay the nearest and the fewest. Perhaps they might buy enough time, though he did not really believe that. He wondered whether Sevanna had known of this. Ah, the world had grown very strange since Rand al'Thor came. Some things could not change, though. Laughing, he began to sing.
"Wash the spears, while the sun climbs high.
Wash the spears, while the sun falls low.
Wash the spears; who fears to die?
Wash the spears; no one I know!"
Singing, the Moshaine Shaido ran to dance their deaths.
Frowning, Graendal watched the gateway close behind the last of the Jumai Shaido. The Jumai and a great many Wise Ones. Unlike with the others, Sammael had not simply knotted this web so it would fall apart eventually. At least, she assumed he held it to the last; the closing, right on the heels of the last brown-and-gray-clad men, was too fortuitous otherwise. Laughing, Sammael tossed away the bag, still holding a few of those useless bits of stone. Her own empty sack was long since discarded. The sun sat low behind the mountains to the west, half of a glowing red ball.
"One of these days," she said dryly, "you will be too smart for your own good. A fool box, Sammael? Suppose one of them had understood?"
"None did," he said simply, but he kept rubbing his hands together and staring at where the gateway had been. Or maybe at something beyond. He still held the Mask of Mirrors, giving him the illusion of added height. She had dropped hers as soon as the gateway closed.
"Well, you certainly managed to put a panic into them." Around them lay the evidence: a few low tents still standing, blankets, a cookpot, a rag doll, all sorts of rubbish lying where it had fallen. "Where did you send them? Somewhere ahead of al'Thor's army, I suppose?"
"Some," he said absently. "Enough." His staring introspection vanished abruptly, and his disguise as well. The scar across his face seemed especially livid. "Enough to cause trouble, particularly with their Wise Ones channeling, but not so many that anyone will suspect me. The rest are scattered from Illian to Ghealdan. As to how or why? Maybe al'Thor did it, for his own reasons, but I certainly wouldn't have wasted most of them if it was my work, now would I?" He laughed again; caught up in his own brilliance.
She adjusted the bodice of her dress to cover a start. Competing that way was remarkably silly — she had told herself that ten thousand times, and never listened once — remarkably silly, and now the dress felt as if it might fall off. Which had nothing to do with her start. He did not know Sevanna had taken every Shaido woman who could channel with her. Was it finally time to abandon him? If she threw herself on Demandred's mercy…
As if reading her thoughts, he said, "You're tied to me as tightly as my belt, Graendal." A gateway opened, revealing his private rooms in Illian. "The truth doesn't matter anymore, if it ever has. You rise with me, or fall with me. The Great Lord rewards success, and he's never cared how it was achieved."
"As you say," she told him. Demandred had no mercy. And Semirhage… "I rise or fall with you." Still, something would have to be worked out. The Great Lord rewarded success, but she would not be pulled down if Sammael failed. She opened a gateway to her palace in Arad Doman, to the long columned room where she could see her pets frolicking in the pool. "But what if al'Thor comes after you himself? What then?"
"Al'Thor isn't going after anyone," Sammael laughed. "All I have to do is wait." Still laughing, he stepped into his gateway and let it close.
The Myrddraal moved from the deeper shadows, becoming visible. In its eyes, the gateways had left a residue — three
patches of glowing mist. It could not tell one flow from another, but it could distinguish saidin from saidar by the smell. Saidin smelled like the sharp edge of a knife, the point of a thorn. Saidar smelled soft, but like something that would grow harder the harder it was pressed. No other Myrddraal could smell that difference. Shaidar Haran was like no other Myrddraal.
Picking up a discarded spear, Shaidar Haran used it to upend the bag Sammael had discarded, and then to stir the bits of stone that fell out. Much was happening outside the plan. Would these events churn chaos, or…
Angry black flames raced down the spear haft from Shaidar Haran's hand, the hand of the Hand of the Shadow. In an instant the wooden haft was charred and twisted; the spearhead dropped off. The Myrddraal let the blackened stick fall and dusted soot from its palm. If Sammael served chaos, then all was well. If not…
A sudden ache climbed the back of its neck; a faint weakness washed along its limbs. Too long away from Shayol Ghul. That tie had to be severed somehow. With a snarl, it turned to find the edge of shadow that it needed. The day was coming. It would come.
Chapter 41
(Serpent and Wheel)
A Crown of Swords
Tossing, Rand dreamed, wild dreams where he argued with Perrin and begged Mat to find Elayne, where colors flashed just beyond sight and Padan Fain leaped at him with a flashing blade, and sometimes he thought he heard a voice moaning for a dead woman in the heart of a fog, dreams where he tried to explain himself to Elayne, to Aviendha, to Min, to all three at once, and even Min looked at him with scorn.
"…not to be disturbed!" Cadsuane's voice. Part of his dreams?
The voice frightened him; in his dream he shouted for Lews Therin, and the sound echoed through a thick mist where shapes moved and people and horses died screaming, a fog where Cadsuane followed him implacably while he ran, panting. Alanna tried to soothe him, but she was afraid of Cadsuane, too; he could feel her fear as strongly as his own. His head hurt. And his side; the old scar was fire. He felt saidin. Someone held saidin. Was it him? He did not know. He struggled to wake.
"You'll kill him!" Min shouted. "I won't let you kill him!"
His eyes opened, staring up at her face. Not looking at him, she had his head wrapped in her arms and was glaring at someone away from the bed. Her eyes were red. She had been crying, but no longer. Yes, he was in his own bed, in his rooms in the Sun Palace. He could see a heavy square blackwood bedpost set with wedges of ivory. Coatless in a cream silk blouse, Min lay curled around him protectively, atop the linen sheet that covered him to the neck. Alanna was afraid; that lay shivering in the back of his head. Afraid for him. For some reason, he was sure of that.
"I think he is awake, Min," Amys said gently.
Min looked down, and her face, framed in dark ringlets, beamed with a sudden smile.
Carefully — because he felt weak — he removed her arms and sat up. His head whirled dizzily, but he forced himself not to lie back again. His bed was ringed.
To one side stood Amys, flanked by Bera and Kiruna. Amys' too-youthful features bore no expression at all, but she brushed back her long white hair and shifted her dark shawl as though tidying herself after a struggle. Outwardly the two Aes Sedai were serene, yet with determined serenity, a queen ready to fight for her throne, a country woman ready to fight for her farm. Oddly, if he had ever seen three people stand together — and not just physically — it was those three, shoulder-to-shoulder as one.
On the opposite side of the bed, Samitsu, with those silver bells in her hair, and a slender sister with thick black eyebrows and a wild look to her raven hair stood with Cadsuane, who had her fists planted on her hips. Samitsu and the raven-haired Aes Sedai wore yellow-fringed shawls and had jaws set every bit as firmly as Bera or Kiruna, yet Cadsuane's stern stare made all four appear hesitant. The two groups of women were not staring at one another, but at the men.
At the foot of the bed were Dashiva with the silver sword and red-and-gold Dragon glittering his collar, and Flinn and Narishma, all grim-faced, trying to watch the women on both sides of the bed at once. Jonan Adley stood beside them, his black coat looking singed on one sleeve. Saidin filled all four men, to overflowing it seemed. Dashiva held almost as much as Rand could have. Rand looked to Adley, who nodded slightly.
Abruptly, Rand realized that he was not wearing anything beneath the sheet that had fallen to his waist, and nothing above except a bandage wound around his middle. "How long have I been asleep?" he asked. "How is it I'm alive?" He touched the pale bandage gingerly. "Fain's dagger came from Shadar Logoth. Once I saw it kill a man in moments with a scratch. He died fast, and he died hard." Dashiva muttered a curse with Padan Fain's name in it.
Samitsu and the other Yellow exchanged startled looks, but Cadsuane merely nodded, the golden ornaments around her iron-gray bun swaying. "Yes; Shadar Logoth; that would explain several matters. You can thank Samitsu that you're alive, and Master Flinn." She did not glance toward the grizzled man with his fringe of white hair, but he grinned as though she had given him a bow; in truth, surprisingly, the Yellows did nod to him. "And Corele, here, of course," Cadsuane went on. "Each has done a part, including some things I think have not been done since the Breaking." Her voice turned grim. "Without all three; you would be dead by now. You still may die unless you let yourself be guided. You must rest, without exertion." His stomach rumbled suddenly, loudly, and she added, "We've only been able to get a little water and broth down you since you were hurt. Two days is a long time without food for a sick man."
Two days. Only two. He avoided looking at Adley. "I'm getting up," he said.
"I won't let them kill you, sheepherder," Min said with an obstinate glint in her eyes, "and I won't let you kill you, either." She put her arms around his shoulders as if to hold him where he was.
"If the Car'a'carn wishes to rise," Amys said flatly, "I will have Nandera bring in the Maidens from the corridor. Somara and Enaila will be especially happy to give him just the assistance he needs." The corners of her mouth twitched toward a smile. Once a Maiden herself, she knew close enough to everything of that situation. Neither Kiruna nor Bera smiled; they frowned at him as at an absolute fool.
"Boy," Cadsuane said dryly, "I've already seen more of your hairless bottomcheeks than I wish to, but if you want to flaunt them in front of all six of us, perhaps someone will enjoy the show. If you fall on your face, though, I may just spank you before I put you back to bed." By Samitsu's face, and Corele's, they would be happy to assist her.
Narishma and Adley stared at Cadsuane in shock, while Flinn tugged at his coat as though arguing with himself. Dashiva, though, barked a rough laugh. "If you want us to clear the women out…" The plain-faced man began preparing flows; not shields, but complex weaves of Spirit and Fire that Rand suspected would put anyone they were laid on in too much pain to think of channeling.
"No," he said quickly. Bera and Kiruna would obey a simple order to go, and if Corele and Samitsu had helped keep him alive, he owed them more than pain. But if Cadsuane thought nakedness would hold him where he was, she was in for a surprise. He was not sure the Maidens had left him any modesty at all. With a smile for Min, he unwound her arms, tossed back the sheet, and climbed out of the bed on Amys' side.
The Wise One's mouth tightened; he could almost see her considering whether to call for the Maidens. Bera gave Amys an agonized, uncertain look, while Kiruna hurriedly turned her back, her cheeks darkening. Slowly he walked to the wardrobe. Slowly because he expected he might give Cadsuane her chance if he tried to move quickly.
"Phaw!" she muttered behind him. "I vow, I should smack the stubborn boy's bottom." Someone grunted what might have been agreement, or just disapproval of what he was doing.
"Ah, but it's such a pretty bottom, now isn't it that?" someone else said in a lilting Murandian accent. That must have been Corele.
A good thing he had his head inside the wardrobe. Maybe the Maidens had not peeled away as much modesty as he thought
. Light! His face felt hot as a furnace. Hoping the motions of dressing would cover any wobbles, he climbed into his clothes hurriedly. His sword stood propped in the back of the wardrobe, sword belt wound around the dark boarhide scabbard. He touched the long hilt, then took his hand away.
Barefoot, he turned back to the others while still tying the laces of his shut. Min still sat cross-legged on the bed in her snug green silk breeches, by her expression unable to decide between approval and frustration. "I need to talk with Dashiva and the other Asha'man," he said. "Alone."
Min scrambled off the bed and ran to hug him. Not tightly; she was very careful of his bandaged side. "I've waited too long to see you awake again," she said, sliding an arm around his waist. "I need to be with you." She emphasized that just a tad; she must have had a viewing. Or maybe she just wanted to help steady his legs; that arm seemed to offer support. Either way, he nodded; he was not all that steady. Laying a hand on her shoulder, he suddenly realized that he did not want the Asha'man to know how weak he was any more than Cadsuane or Amys.
Bera and Kiruna made reluctant curtsies and started for the door, then hesitated when Amys did not move right away. "So long as you do not intend to leave these rooms," the Wise One said, not in the slightest as though speaking to her Car'a'carn.
Rand raised a naked foot. "Do I look as though I'm going anywhere?" Amys sniffed, but with a glance at Adley, she gathered up Bera and Kiruna and departed.
Cadsuane and the other two were only a moment more in going. The gray-haired Green glanced at Adley, too. It could not be much of secret that he had been gone from Cairhien for days. At the door, she paused. "Don't do anything foolish, boy." She sounded like a stern aunt cautioning a shiftless nephew, without much expectation he would listen. Samitsu and Corele followed her out, dividing their frowns between him and the Asha'man. As they vanished, Dashiva laughed, a sharp wheeze, shaking his head; he actually sounded amused.
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