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 comfortable 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 be
lt, 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 Malden
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.
“I forgot to put the book back in the proper place,” she said in a voice like crystal chimes, turning back toward the tentflap. “Sevanna will have me beaten if she sees it out of place when she wakes.”
“She’s lying,” Maighdin growled, and Dairaine darted for outside.
That was enough to convince Faile. She grabbed the woman’s cowl and hauled her back into the tent. Dairaine opened her mouth to scream, but Alliandre clapped her hand over it, and the three of them wrestled the woman to the blanket-strewn ground-cloth. It took all three. Dairaine was small, but she writhed like a snake, tried to claw at them, to bite. While the other two held the woman down, Faile produced the second knife she had secured, a quite serviceable dagger with a ridged steel hilt and a blade longer than her hand, and began slicing strips from one of the blankets.
“How did you know?” Alliandre said, struggling to contain one of Dairaine’s arms while keeping her mouth covered without being bitten. Maighdin had taken care of the woman’s legs by sitting on them and had her other arm twisted to her shoulder blades. Dairaine still managed to twist, if uselessly.
“She was frowning, but when she spoke, her face went smooth. I could just make it out. If she were really worried about being beaten, she’d have frowned harder, not stopped.” The golden-haired woman was not a very skilled lady’s maid, yet she was a very observant one.
“But what made her suspicious?”
Maighdin shrugged. “Maybe one of us looked surprised, or guilty. Though I can’t say how she could have noticed without any light.”
Soon enough they had Dairaine trussed up with her ankles and wrists tied together behind her back. She would not wriggle far like that. A wadded length torn from her shift and tied in place with another piece of blanket served for a gag that let her emit only grunts. She twisted her head to glare up at them. Faile could not see her face very well, but the woman’s expression had to be either glaring or pleading, and Dairaine only pleaded with Shaido. She used her position as one of Sevanna’s gai’shain to bully gai’shain who were not, and her tale-carrying to bully those who were. The trouble was, they could not leave her here. Someone might come at any moment to summon one of them to serve Sevanna.
“We can kill her and hide the body,” Alliandre suggested, smoothing her long hair. It had become disarrayed in the struggle.
“Where?” Maighdin said, combing her own sun-gold hair with her fingers. She did not sound a lady’s maid speaking to a queen. Prisoners were equals in their captivity or else they aided their captors. It had taken time to teach Alliandre that. “It has to be somewhere she won’t be found for at least a day. Sevanna might send men after Galina to bring us back if we’re suspected of killing one of her belongings.” She vested that word with all the scorn it would bear. “And I don’t trust Galina not to let them bring us back.” Dairaine began struggling against her bonds again and grunting harder than ever. Maybe she had decided to plead after all.
“We aren’t going to kill her,” Faile told them. She was being neither squeamish nor merciful. There simply was nowhere they could be sure a body would remain hidden long enough, not that they could reach without being seen. “I’m afraid our plans have changed a little. Wait here.”
Ducking outside, where the sky was indeed beginning to pearl, she found what had made Dairaine suspicious. Bain and Chiad were there in their plain white robes as expected, to escort them as far as the meeting place. Rolan and his friends might not be done breakfasting yet—she hoped they were not; they might do something foolish and ruin everything—and Bain and Chiad had volunteered to divert any men who tried to interfere with them. She had not been able to make herself ask how they intended to do that. Some sacrifices deserved a veil of secrecy. And all of a heart’s gratitude. Two gai’shain holding wicker baskets were not enough to rouse suspicion in the Cairhienin woman, but thirty or forty gai’shain were, crowding the narrow muddy lane through the gai’shain tents. Aravine’s plump plain face watched her from a white cowl, and Lusara’s beautiful one. Alvon was there with his son Theril in their robes of muddy tentcloth, and Alainia, a plump Amadician silversmith in dirty coarse white linen, and Dormin, a stocky Cairhienin bootmaker, and Corvila, a lean weaver from right here in Altara, and. . . . They represented not a tenth part of those who had sworn to her, but a gathering of gai’shain this large would have planted suspicion in a stone. At least when added to the three of them being dressed. Dairaine likely had heard who had been summoned to Sevanna this morning. How had they learned she was leaving today? It was too late to worry about that. If any Shaido knew, they would all have been dragged from the tent before this.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“We wanted to see you go, my Lady,” Theril said in his rough, barely intelligible accents. “We were very careful to come by ones and twos.” Lusara nodded happily, and she was not the only one.
“Well, we can say good-bye now,” Faile said firmly. No need to tell them how close they had come to ruining the escape. “Until I come back for you.” If her father would not give her an army, then Perrin would. His friendship with Rand al’Thor would provide it. Light, where was he? No! She had to be glad he had not caught up yet, had not gotten himself killed trying to sneak into the camp and rescue h
er. She had to be glad, and not think of what might be delaying him. “Now go before someone sees you here and runs to tell tales. And don’t talk to anyone about this.” Her adherents were safe enough, otherwise she would already be chained, but there were too many like Dairaine among the gai’shain, and not only among the long-held Cairhienin. Some people naturally set to licking wrists wherever they were.
They bowed or curtsied or knuckled their foreheads, just as if nobody might be poking their heads out to see, and scattered in every direction with chagrined expressions. They really had expected to watch her leave! She had no time to fritter away on exasperation. Hurrying to Bain and Chiad, she hastily explained the situation inside the tent.
They exchanged glances when she finished and put down the baskets to free fingers for Maiden handtalk. She avoided looking at their hands, since they plainly wanted privacy. Not that she could have understood much in any case. Their hands moved very fast. Flame-haired Bain with her dark blue eyes stood nearly half a hand taller than she, gray-eyed Chiad just a finger taller. They were her close friends, but they had adopted each other as first-sisters, and that created bonds closer than any friendship.
“We will take care of Dairaine Saighan,” Chiad said at last. “But it means you must go into the town alone.”
Faile sighed, but there was no helping it. Perhaps Rolan was already awake. He could be watching her that minute. He always seemed to appear out of nowhere when she needed him. Surely he would not interfere with her leaving, not when he had promised to take her when he himself left. Yet he still had hopes, so long as she wore white. Him and his kissing games! He might want to keep her in gai’shain robes a little longer. When men wanted to help, they always thought their way was the only way.
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