The Shadow Rising twot-4

by Robert Jordan

  "From where?" She only stared at him, her face growing more and more crimson. "Aviendha, from wh —?" Dreamwalkers. Why had it never occurred to him? "From inside my dreams," he said harshly. "How long have they been spying inside my head?"

  She let out a long, heavy breath. "I was not supposed to let you know. If Bair finds out — Seana said it was too dangerous tonight. I do not understand it: I cannot enter the dream without one of them to help me. Something dangerous tonight is all I know. That is why they are taking turns at the door to this roof. They are all worried."

  "You still haven't answered my question."

  "I do not know why I am here," she muttered. "If you need protection…" She glanced at her short belt knife, touched the hilt. The ivory bracelet seemed to irritate her; she folded her arms so it was tucked into her armpit. "I could not protect you very well with a knife this small, and Bair says if I pick up a spear again without someone actually attacking me, she will have my hide for a waterskin. I do not know why I should give up sleep to protect you at all. Because of you, I was beating rugs until less than a hour ago. By moonlight!"

  "That wasn't the question. How long —?" He cut off suddenly. There was a feel in the air, a sense of wrongness. Of evil. It could be imagination, residue from his dream. It could be.

  Aviendha gasped as the flame-red sword appeared in his hands, its slightly curved blade marked with the heron. Lanfear had accused him of using only the tenth part of what he was capable of, yet most of that tenth came by guess and fumbling. He did not know even the tenth part of what he could do. But he knew the sword.

  "Stay behind me." He was just aware of her unsheathing her belt knife as he padded from the room in his stocking feet, soundless on the carpets. Oddly, the air was no cooler than when he had lain down. Perhaps those stone walls held what heat there was, for the farther out he went, the colder it grew.

  Even the gai'shain must have sought their pallets by now. The halls and chambers stood silent and empty, most dimly illuminated by the scattered lamps still burning. Here where extinguished lamps meant pitch dark at noon, some lamps were always left lit. The feeling was still vague, but it would not go away. Evil.

  He stopped suddenly, in the wide archway leading to the brown-tiled entry chamber. One silver lamp at each end of the room gave a pale light. In the middle of the floor a tall man stood with his head bowed over the woman wrapped in his black-cloaked arms, her head flung back and her white cowl fallen while he nuzzled at her throat. Chion's eyes were nearly closed, and she wore an ecstatic smile. A flush of embarrassment slid across the surface of the Void. Then the man raised his head.

  Black eyes regarded Rand, too big in a pale, gaunt-cheeked face; a puckered, red-lipped mouth opened in a parody of a smile, showing sharp teeth. Chion crumpled to the floor as the cloak unfolded, spread into wide, batlike wings. The Draghkar stepped over her, white, white hands reaching for Rand, the long, slender fingers tipped with claws. Claws and teeth were not the danger, though. It was the Draghkar's kiss that killed, and worse.

  Its crooning, hypnotic song clung tight around the Void. Those dark, leathery wings moved to enfold him as he stepped forward. One moment of startlement flashed in the huge black eyes before the Power-made sword clove the Draghkar's skull to the bridge of its nose.

  A steel blade would have bound, but the blade woven of fire pulled free easily as the creature fell. For a moment, deep in the heart of the Void, Rand examined the thing at his feet. That song. Had he not been shielded from emotion by emptiness, kept dispassionate and distant, that song would have snared his mind. The Draghkar surely believed it had when he came to it so willingly.

  Aviendha ran past him to half-kneel beside Chion and feel the gai'shain's throat. "Dead," she said, thumbing the woman's eyelids the rest of the way shut. "Perhaps better for it. Draghkar eat the soul before they consume life. A Draghkar! Here!" She glared at him from her crouch. "Trollocs at Imre Stand, and now a Draghkar here. You bring ill times to the Three-fold—" With a cry, she threw herself flat across Chion as he leveled the sword.

  A bar of solid fire shot over her from his blade to strike the chest of the Draghkar just filling the outer doorway. Bursting into flame, the Shadowspawn staggered back screaming, stumbling across the path, beating wings that dripped fire.

  "Rouse everyone," Rand said calmly. Had Chion fought? How far had her honor held her? It would have made no difference. Draghkar died more easily than Myrddraal, but they were more dangerous in their own way. "If you know how to sound the alarm, do it."

  "The gong by the door—"

  "I will do it. Wake them. There may be more than two."

  Nodding, she dashed back the way they had come, shouting, "Up spears! Wake and up spears!"

  Rand stepped outside warily, sword ready, the Power filling him, thrilling him. Sickening him. He wanted to laugh, to vomit. The night was freezing, but he was barely aware of the cold.

  The burning Draghkar was sprawled in the terrace garden, stinking of burning meat, adding the light of its low fire to the moon. A little way down the path Seana lay, long graying hair spread in a fan, staring at the sky with wide, unblinking eyes. Her belt knife lay beside her, but she had had no chance against a Draghkar.

  Even as Rand snatched the leather-padded mallet hanging beside the square bronze gong, pandemonium erupted from the canyon mouth, human shouts and Trolloc howls, the clash of steel, screams. He sounded the gong hard, a sonorous toll that echoed down the canyon; almost immediately another gong sounded, then more, and from dozens of mouths the cry, "Up spears!"

  Confused yells rose around the peddlers' wagons below. Rectangles of light appeared, doors flung open on the two boxlike wagons, gleaming white in the moonlight. Someone was shouting angrily down there — a woman; he could not tell who.

  Wings beat in the air above him. Snarling, Rand raised the fiery sword; the One Power burned in him, and fire roared from the blade. The stooping Draghkar exploded in a rain of burning chunks that fell into the darkness below.

  "Here," Rhuarc said. The clan chief's eyes were hard above his black veil; fully dressed, he carried buckler and spears. Mat stood behind him, coatless and bareheaded, shirt half tucked in, blinking uncertainly and gripping his black-hafted spear with both hands.

  Rand took the shoufa from Rhuarc, then let it drop. A bat-winged shape wheeled across the moon, then swooped low on the far side of the canyon, vanishing in the shadows. "They hunt for me. Let them see my face." The Power surged in him; the sword in his hand flared till it seemed a small sun illumined him. "They can't find me if they do not know where I am." Laughing, because they could not see the joke, he ran down toward the sound of battle.

  Pulling his spear free of a boar-snouted Trolloc's chest, Mat crouched, eyes searching the moonlit darkness near the canyon mouth for another. Burn Rand! None of the shapes he saw moving were big enough to be a Trolloc. Always dumping me into these bloody things! Low moans came from the wounded. A shadowy form he thought was Moiraine knelt beside a downed Aiel. Those balls of fire she tossed about were impressive, almost as much as that sword of Rand's, spurting bars of flame. The thing still shone so a circle of light surrounded the man. I should have stayed in my blankets is what I should have done. It's bloody cold, and this is nothing to do with me! More Aiel were beginning to appear, women in skirts come to help with the injured. Some of those women carried spears; they might not do the fighting normally, but once the battle had reached into the hold they had not stood by and watched.

  A Maiden stopped beside him, unveiling. He could not make out her face, all moonshadows. "You dance your spear well, gambler. Strange days when Trollocs come to Cold Rocks." She glanced at the shadowy shape he thought was Moiraine. "They might have forced a way in without the Aes Sedai."

  "There weren't enough for that," he said without thinking. "They were meant to pull attention here." So those Draghkar would have a free hand to reach Rand?

  "I think you are right," she said slowly. "Are you a batt
le leader among the wetlanders?"

  He wished he had kept his mouth shut. "I read a book once," he muttered, turning away. Bloody pieces of other men's bloody memories. Maybe the peddlers would be ready to leave after this.

  When he stopped by the wagons, though, neither Keille nor Kadere was anywhere to be seen. The drivers were all clumped together, hastily passing around jars of something that smelled like the good brandy they had been selling, muttering and as agitated as if the Trollocs had actually come within smelling distance of them. Isendre stood at the top of the steps to Kadere's wagon, frowning at nothing. Even with her brows furrowed she was beautiful behind that misty scarf. He was glad that at least his memories of women were his own.

  "The Trollocs are done," he told her, leaning on his spear so she would be sure to notice it. No point risking having my skull split without getting a little good out of it. No effort at all was needed to sound tired. "A hard fight, but you're safe, now."

  She stared down at him, face expressionless, eyes glittering in the moonlight like dark, polished stone. Without a word she turned and went inside, slamming the door. Hard.

  Mat expelled a long, disgusted breath and stalked away from the wagons. What did it take to impress the woman? Bed was what he wanted. Back in his blankets, and let Rand deal with Trollocs and bloody Draghkar. The man seemed to enjoy it. Laughing like that.

  Rand was coming up the canyon now, the glow of that sword like lamplight around him in the night. Aviendha appeared, running to meet him with her skirts pulled up above her knees, then stopped. Letting her skirts fall, she smoothed them and fell in beside Rand, lifting her shawl around her head. He seemed not to see her, and her face was blank as stone. They deserved each other.

  "Rand," a hurrying shadow called with Moiraine's voice, nearly as melodious as Keille's, but a cool music. Rand turned, waiting, and she slowed before she could be seen clearly, entering the light regally enough for any palace. "Matters grow more dangerous, Rand. The attack at Imre Stand could have been aimed at the Aiel — not likely, yet it could have been — but tonight the Draghkar were surely aimed at you."

  "I know." Just like that. As calm as she and even colder.

  Moiraine's lips compressed, and her hands were too still on her skirts; she was not best pleased. "Prophecy is most dangerous when you try to make it happen. Did you not learn that in Tear? The Pattern weaves itself around you, but when you try to weave it, even you cannot hold it. Force the Pattern too tight, and pressure builds. It can explode wildly in every direction. Who can say how long before it settles to focus on you again, or what will happen before it does?"

  "As clear as most of your explanations," Rand said dryly. "What do you want, Moiraine? It is late, and I am tired."

  "I want you to confide in me. Do you think you have already learned all there is to know, little more than a year out of your village?"

  "No, I haven't learned everything yet." Now he sounded amused; sometimes Mat was not sure he was still as sane as he looked. "You want me to confide in you, Moiraine? All right. Your Three Oaths won't let you lie. Say plainly that whatever I tell you, you won't try to stop me, won't hinder me in any way. Say you won't try to use me for the Tower's ends. Say it plain and straight so I know it's true."

  "I will do nothing to hinder you fulfilling your destiny. I have devoted my life to that. But I will not promise to watch while you lay your head on a chopping block."

  "Not good enough, Moiraine. Not good enough. But if I could confide in you, I'd still not do it here. The night has ears." There were people moving all around in the darkness, but none close enough to hear. "Even dreams have ears." Aviendha tugged her shawl forward to shadow her face; even an Aiel could feel the cold, apparently.

  Rhuarc stepped into the light, black veil hanging loose. "The Trollocs were only a diversion for the Draghkar, Rand al'Thor. Too few to be else. Draghkar meant for you, I think. Leafblighter does not want you to live."

  "The danger grows," Moiraine said quietly.

  The clan chief glanced at her before going on. "Moiraine Sedai is right. Since the Draghkar failed, I fear we can expect the Soulless next; what you call Gray Men. I want to put spears around you at all times. For some reason, the Maidens have volunteered for this task."

  The cold was getting to Aviendha. Shoulders hunched, she had her hands shoved into her armpits as far they would go.

  "If they wish it," Rand said. He sounded a touch uncomfortable under all that ice. Mat did not blame him; he would not have put himself in the Maidens' hands again for all the silk on Sea Folk ships.

  "They will watch better than anyone else," Rhuarc said, "having asked for the task. I do not mean to leave it to them alone, however. I will have everyone on guard. I believe it will be the Soulless next time, but that does not mean it cannot be something else. Ten thousand Trollocs instead of a few hundred."

  "What about the Shaido?" Mat wished he had not cracked his teeth when they all looked at him. Maybe they had not even realized he was there until then. Still, he might as well say it. "I know you don't like them, but if you think there's really any chance of a bigger attack, wouldn't it be better to have them in here than outside?"

  Rhuarc grunted; from him, that equaled a curse from most men. "I would not bring near a thousand Shaido inside Cold Rocks if Grassburner were coming. I could not in any case. Couladin and the Shaido folded their tents at nightfall. We are well rid of them. I sent runners to make sure they leave Taardad land without taking a few goats or sheep with them."

  That sword vanished from Rand's hand, the abrupt absence of its light like blindness. Mat squeezed his eyes shut to help them adapt, but when he opened them again, the moonlight still seemed dark.

  "Which way did they go?" Rand asked.

  "North," Rhuarc told him. "No doubt Couladin means to meet Sevanna on her way to Alcair Dal, to influence her against you. He may succeed. The only reason she laid her bridal wreath at Suladric's feet instead of his was that she meant to wed a clan chief. But I told you to expect trouble from her. Sevanna delights in causing trouble. It should not matter. If the Shaido will not follow you, they are small loss."

  "I mean to go to Alcair Dal," Rand said firmly. "Now. I will apologize to any chief who feels dishonored by coming late, but I'll not let Couladin be there any longer before me than I can manage. He won't stop at turning Sevanna against me, Rhuarc. I cannot afford to hand him a month for it."

  After a moment, Rhuarc said, "Perhaps you are right. You bring change, Rand al'Thor. At sunrise, then. I will choose out ten Red Shields for my honor, and the Maidens will provide yours."

  "I mean to be leaving when first light hits the sky, Rhuarc. With every hand that can carry a spear or draw a bow."

  "Custom—"

  "There are no customs to cover me, Rhuarc." You could have cracked rocks with Rand's voice, or put a skim of ice on wine. "I have to make new customs." He laughed roughly. Aviendha looked shocked, and even Rhuarc blinked, taken aback. Only Moiraine was unaffected, with those considering eyes. "Someone had best let the peddlers know," Rand continued. "They won't want to miss the fair, but if they don't stop those fellows drinking they will be too drunk to handle reins. What of you. Mat? Are you coming?"

  He certainly did not intend to let the peddlers get away from him, not his way out of the Waste. "Oh, I am right behind you, Rand." The worst of it was, it felt right saying that. Bloody ta'veren tugging at me! How had Perrin pulled free? Light, I wish I was with him right now. "I guess I am."

  Shouldering his spear, he strode off up the canyon. There was still time to get a little sleep at least. Behind him he could hear Rand chuckling.

  Chapter 51

  (Insect-Like Horned Helmet)

  Revelations in Tanchico

  Elayne fumbled with the two slim red-lacquered sticks, trying to set them properly in her fingers. Sursa, she reminded herself. Not sticks; sursa. A fool way to eat, whatever they're called.

  On the other side of the table in the Chamber of F
alling Blossoms, Egeanin frowned at her own sursa, one upright in each hand as if they really were sticks. Nynaeve held hers nestled in her hand the way Rendra had showed them, but so far she had managed to lift one sliver of meat and a few sliced peppers as far as her mouth; her eyes were tight with determination. A great many small white bowls covered the table, each filled with slices and tiny slivers of meat and vegetables, some in sauces dark or pale. Elayne thought it might take the rest of the day to finish this meal. She gave the honey-haired innkeeper a grateful smile when the woman leaned over her shoulder to position the sursa properly.

  "Your land is at war with Arad Doman," Egeanin said, sounding almost angry. "Why do you serve the dishes of your enemy?"

  Rendra shrugged, making a moue behind her veil; she wore the palest possible red today, and beads of the same color woven into her narrow braids made soft clicks when she moved her head. "It is the fashion, now. Four days ago the Garden of Silver Breezes began it, and now almost every patron asks for the Domani food. I think maybe it is that if we cannot conquer the Domani, at least we can conquer their food. Maybe in Bandar Eban they eat the lamb with the honey sauce and the glazed apples, yes? In four days more, perhaps it is something else. The fashion, it changes quickly now, and if someone whips up the mob against this…" She shrugged again.

  "Do you think there will be more riots?" Elayne asked. "Over what sort of food inns are serving?"

  "The streets, they are restive," Rendra said, spreading her hands fatalistically. "Who can say what will spark them again? The uproar the day before yesterday, it came from a rumor Maracru had declared for the Dragon Reborn, or maybe fallen to the Dragonsworn, or the rebels perhaps — how seems to have made little difference — but does the mob turn on the people from Maracru? No. They rampage through the streets, pulling people from the carriages, and then burn the Grand Hall of the Assembly. Perhaps the word comes that the army, it has won a battle — or lost one — and the mob rises against those who serve Domani food. Or maybe it burns warehouses on the Calpene docks. Who can say?"