The talk among the men revealed their worries. They should have understood that worry served no useful function. None could know the weaving of the Wheel.
Byar's captives turned out to be a group of people with a surprisingly large number of heavily laden carts, perhaps a hundred or more. The people clustered together around their carts, regarding the Children with hostility. Galad frowned, doing a quick inspection.
"That's quite a caravan," Bornhald said softly at his side. "Merchants?"
"No," Galad said softly. "That's travel furniture—notice the pegs on the sides, so they can be carried in pieces. Sacks of barley for horses. Those are farrier's tools wrapped in canvas at the back of that cart to the right. See the hammers peeking out?"
"Light!" Bornhald whispered. He saw it too. These were the camp followers of an army of substantial size. But where were the soldiers?
"Be ready to separate them," Galad told Bornhald, dismounting. He walked up to the lead cart. The man driving it had a thick figure and a ruddy face, with hair that had been arranged in a very poor attempt at hiding his increasing baldness. He nervously worked a brown felt hat in his hands, a pair of gloves tucked into the belt of his stout jacket. Galad could see no weapons on him.
Beside the cart stood two others, much younger. One was a bulky, muscular type with the look of a fighter—but not a soldier—who could be some trouble. A pretty woman clutched his arm, biting her lower lip.
The man in the cart gave a start upon seeing Galad. Ah, Galad thought, so he knows enough to recognize Morgase's stepson.
"So, travelers," Galad said carefully. "My man says you told him that you are merchants?"
"Yes, good Lord," said the driver.
"I know little of this area. Are you familiar with it?"
"Not much, sir," the driver said, wringing that hat in his hands. "We are actually far from home ourselves. I am Basel Gill, of Caemlyn. I have come south seeking business with a merchant in Ebou Dar. But these Sean-chan invaders have left me unable to do my trade."
He seemed very nervous. At least he hadn't lied about where he was from. "And what was this merchant's name?" Galad asked.
"Why, Falin Deborsha, my Lord," Gill said. "Are you familiar with Ebou Dar?"
"I have been there," Galad said calmly. "This is quite a caravan you have. Interesting collection of wares."
"We have heard that there are armies mobilizing here in the south, my Lord. I purchased many of these supplies from a mercenary troop who was disbanding, and thought I could sell them down here. Perhaps your own army has need of camp furniture? We have tents, mobile smithy equipment, everything that soldiers could use."
Clever, Galad thought. Galad might have accepted the lie, but the "merchant" had too many cooks, washwomen, and farriers with him, and not nearly enough guards for so valuable a caravan.
"I see," Galad said. "Well, it happens that I do have need of supplies. Particularly food."
"Alas, my Lord," the man said. "Our food cannot be spared. Anything else I will sell, but the food I have promised by messenger to someone in Lugard."
"I will pay more."
"I made a promise, my good Lord," the man said. "I could not break it, regardless of the price."
"I see." Galad waved to Bornhald. The soldier gave commands, and Children in white tabards moved forward, weapons out.
"What . . . what are you doing?" Gill asked.
"Separating your people," Galad said. "We'll talk to each of them alone and see if their stories match. I worry that you might have been . . . un-forthcoming with us. After all, what it seems like to me is that you are the camp followers of a large army. If that is the case, then I would very much like to know whose army it is, not to mention where it is."
Gill's forehead started to sweat as Galad's soldiers efficiently separated the captives. Galad waited for a time watching Gill. Eventually Bornhald and Byar came jogging up to him, hands on their swords.
"My Lord Captain Commander," Bornhald said urgently.
Galad turned away from Gill. "Yes?"
"We may have a situation here," Bornhald said. His face was flushed with anger. Beside him, Byar's eyes were wide, almost frenzied. "Some of the prisoners have talked. It's as you feared. A large army is nearby. They've skirmished with Aiel—those fellows over there in the white robes are actually Aiel themselves."
"And?"
Byar spat to the side. "Have you ever heard of a man called Perrin Goldeneyes?"
"No. Should I have?"
"Yes," Bornhald said. "He killed my father."
CHAPTER
5
Writings
Gawyn hastened down the hallways of the White Tower, booted feet thumping on a deep blue rug atop crimson and white floor tiles. Mirrored stand-lamps reflected light, each like a sentry along the way.
Sleete walked quickly beside him. Despite the lamps' illumination, Sleete's face seemed half-shrouded in shadow. Perhaps it was the two-day stubble on his jaw—an oddity for a Warder—or the long hair, clean but unshorn. Or maybe it was his features. Uneven, like an unfinished drawing, with sharp lines, a cleft in his chin, a hook to his once-broken nose, cheekbones that jutted out.
He had the lithe motions of a Warder, but with a more primal feel than most. Rather than the huntsman moving through the woods, he was the silent, shadow-bound predator that prey never saw until the teeth were flashing.
They reached an intersection where several of Chubain's guards stood watch down one of the halls. They had swords at their sides and wore white tabards emblazoned with the Flame of Tar Valon. One held up a hand.
"I'm allowed in," Gawyn said. "The Amyrlin—"
"The sisters aren't done yet," the guard replied, hostile.
Gawyn ground his teeth, but there was nothing to be done about it. He and Sleete stepped back and waited until—finally—three Aes Sedai Walked out of a guarded room. They looked troubled. They strode away, followed by a pair of soldiers carrying something wrapped in a white cloth. The body.
Finally, the two guards reluctantly stepped aside and let Gawyn and Sleete pass. They hurried down the hallway and entered a small reading room. Gawyn hesitated beside the door, glancing back down the hallway. He could see some Accepted peeking around a corner, whispering.
This murder made four sisters killed. Egwene had her hands full trying to keep the Ajahs from turning back to their mistrust of one another. She'd warned everyone to be alert, and told sisters not to go about alone. The Black Ajah knew the White Tower well, their members having lived here for years. With gateways, they could slip into the hallways and commit murder.
At least, that was the official explanation for the deaths. Gawyn wasn't so certain. He ducked into the room, Sleete following.
Chubain himself was there. The handsome man glanced at Gawyn, lips turning down. "Lord Trakand."
"Captain," Gawyn replied, surveying the room. It was about three paces square, with a single desk set against the far wall and an unlit coal-burning brazier. A bronze stand-lamp burned in the corner, and a circular rug nearly filled nearly the entire floor. That rug was stained with a dark liquid beneath the desk.
"Do you really think you'll find anything the sisters did not, Trakand?" Chubain asked, folding his arms.
"I'm looking for different things," Gawyn said, going forward. He knelt down to inspect the rug.
Chubain sniffed, then walked into the hallway. The Tower Guard would watch over the area until servants had come to clean it. Gawyn had a few minutes.
Sleete stepped up to one of the guards just inside the doorway. They weren't as antagonistic toward him as they tended to be toward Gawyn. He still hadn't figured out why they were like that with him.
"She was alone?" Sleete asked the man in his gravelly voice.
"Yes," the guard said, shaking his head. "Shouldn't have ignored the Amyrlin's advice."
"Who was she?"
"Kateri Nepvue, of the White Ajah. A sister for twenty years."
Gawyn grunted
as he continued to crawl across the floor, inspecting the rug. Four sisters from four different Ajahs. Two had supported Egwene, one had supported Elaida, and one had been neutral, only recently returned. All had been killed on different levels of the Tower during different times of day.
It certainly did seem like the work of the Black Ajah. They weren't looking for specific targets, just conven« ,*nt ones. But it felt wrong to him. Why not Travel into the sisters' quarters at night and kill them in their sleep? Why did nobody sense channeling from the places where the women were killed?
Sleete inspected the door and lock with a careful eye. When Egwene had told Gawyn he could visit the scenes of the murders if he wished, he'd asked if he could bring Sleete with him. In Gawyn's previous interactions with the Warder, Sleete had proven himself to be not only meticulous, but discreet.
Gawyn continued looking. Egwene was nervous about something, he was certain. She wasn't being completely forthcoming about these murders. He found no slits in the carpet or tiles, no cuts in the furniture of the cramped room.
Egwene claimed the murderers were coming in by gateway, but he'd found no evidence of that. True, he didn't know much about gateways yet, and people could reportedly make them hang above the ground so they didn't cut anything. But why would the Black Ajah care about that? Besides, this room was so tiny, it seemed to him it would have been very hard to get in without leaving some trace.
"Gawyn, come here," Sleete said. The shorter man was still kneeling beside the doorway.
Gawyn joined him. Sleete threw the deadbolt a few times in its lock. "This door might have been forced," he said softly. "See the scrape here on the deadbolt? You can pop open this kind of lock by sliding a thin pick in and pushing it on the deadbolt, then putting pressure on the handle. It can be done very quietly."
"Why would the Black Ajah need to force a door?" Gawyn asked.
"Maybe they Traveled into the hallway, then walked until they saw Hght under a doorway," Sleete said.
"Why not then make a gateway to the other side?"
"Channeling could have alerted the woman inside," Sleete said.
"That's true," Gawyn said. He looked toward the bloody patch. The desk was set so that the occupant's back would be to the doorway. That arrangement made Gawyn's shoulder blades itch. Who would put a desk like that? An Aes Sedai who thought she was completely safe, and who Wanted to be sitting away from the distractions outside. Aes Sedai, for all
of their cunning, sometimes seemed to have remarkably underdeveloped senses of self-preservation.
Or maybe they just didn't think like soldiers. Their Warders dealt with that sort of thought. "Did she have a Warder?"
"No," Sleete said. "I've met her before. She didn't have one." He hesitated. "None of the sisters murdered had Warders."
Gawyn gave Sleete a raised eyebrow.
"Makes sense," Sleete said. "Whoever is doing the killing didn't want to alert Warders."
"But why kill with a knife?" Gawyn said. All four had been killed that way. "The Black Ajah doesn't have to obey the Three Oaths. They could have used the Power to kill. Much more direct, much easier."
"But that would also risk alerting the victim or those around," Sleete noted.
Another good point. But still, something about these killings didn't seem to add up.
Or maybe he was just stretching at nothing, struggling to find something he could do to help. A part of him thought that if he could aid Egwene with this, maybe she would soften toward him. Perhaps forgive him for rescuing her from the Tower during the Seanchan attack.
Chubain entered a moment later. "I trust Your Lordship has had sufficient time," he said stiffly. "The staff is here to clean."
Insufferable man! Gawyn thought. Does he have to be so dismissive toward me? I should—
No. Gawyn forced himself to keep his temper. Once, that hadn't been nearly so hard.
Why was Chubain so hostile toward him? Gawyn found himself wondering how his mother would have handled such a man as this. Gawyn didn't often think of her, as doing so brought his mind back to al'Thor. That murderer had been allowed to walk away from the White Tower itself! Egwene had held him in her hand, and had released him.
True, al'Thor was the Dragon Reborn. But in his heart, Gawyn wanted to meet al'Thor with sword in hand and ram steel through him, Dragon Reborn or not.
Al'Thor would rip you apart with the One Power, he told himself. You're being foolish, Gawyn Trakand. His hatred of al'Thor continued to smolder anyway.
One of Chubain's guards came up, speaking, pointing at the door. Chubain looked annoyed they hadn't found the forced lock. The Tower Guard was not a policing force—the sisters had no need of that, and were more effective at this kind ot investigation anyway. But Gawyn could tell that Chubain wished he could stop the murders. Protecting the Tower, and its occupants, was part of his duty.
So he and Gawyn worked for the same cause. But Chubain acted as if this were a personal contest between them. Though his side did, essentially, meet defeat by Bryne's side in the Tower division, Gawyn thought. And as far as he knows, I'm one of Bryne's favored men.
Gawyn wasn't a Warder, yet he was a friend of the Amyrlin. He dined with Bryne. How would that look to Chubain, particularly now that Gawyn had been given power to look in on the murders?
Light! Gawyn thought as Chubain shot him a hostile glace. He thinks I'm trying to take his position. He thinks I want to be High Captain of the Tower Guard!
The concept was laughable. Gawyn could have been First Prince of the Sword—should have been First Prince of the Sword—leader of Andor's armies and protector of the Queen. He was son to Morgase Trakand, one of the most influential and powerful rulers Andor had ever known. He had no desire for this man's position.
That wouldn't be how it looked to Chubain. Disgraced by the destructive Seanchan attack, he must feel that his position was in danger.
"Captain," Gawyn said, "may I speak with you in private?"
Chubain looked at Gawyn suspiciously, then nodded toward the hallway. The two of them retreated. Nervous Tower servants waited outside, ready to clean the blood away.
Chubain folded his arms and inspected Gawyn. "What is it you wish of me, my Lord?"
He often emphasized the rank. Calm, Gawyn thought. He still felt the shame of how he'd bullied his way into Bryne's camp. He was better than that. Living with the Younglings, enduring the confusion and then the shame of the events surrounding the Tower's breaking, had changed him. He couldn't continue down that path.
"Captain," Gawyn said, "I appreciate you letting me inspect the room."
"I didn't have much choice."
"I realize that. But you have my thanks nonetheless. It's important to me that the Amyrlin see me helping. If I find something the sisters miss, it could mean a great deal for me."
"Yes," Chubain said, eyes narrowing. "I suspect it could."
"Maybe she'll finally have me as her Warder."
Chubain blinked. "Her . . . Warder?"
"Yes. Once, it seemed certain that she would take me, but now . . . well,
if I can help you with this investigation, perhaps it will cool her anger at me." He raised a hand, gripping Chubain's shoulder. "I will remember your aid. You call me Lord, but my title is all but meaningless to me now. All I want is to be Egwene's Warder, to protect her."
Chubain wrinkled his brow. Then he nodded and seemed to relax. "I heard you talking. You're looking for marks of gateways. Why?"
"I don't think this is the work of the Black Ajah," Gawyn said. "I think it might be a Gray Man, or some other kind of assassin. A Darkfriend among the palace staff, perhaps? I mean, look at how the women are killed. Knives."
Chubain nodded. "There were some signs of a struggle too. The sisters doing the investigation mentioned that. The books swept from the table. They thought it was done by the woman flailing as she died."
"Curious," Gawyn said. "If I were a Black sister, I'd use the One Power, regardless of the fact
that others might sense it. Women channel all the time in the Tower; this wouldn't be suspicious. I'd immobilize my victim with weaves, kill her with the Power, then escape before anyone thought oddly of it. No struggle."
"Perhaps," Chubain said. "But the Amyrlin seems confident that this is the work of Black sisters."
"I'll talk to her and see why," Gawyn said. "For now, perhaps you should suggest to those doing the investigation that it would be wise to interview the palace servants? Give this reasoning?"
"Yes ... I think I might do that." The man nodded, seeming less threatened.
The two stepped aside, Chubain waving the servants to enter for their cleaning. Sleete came out, looking thoughtful. He held something up, pinched between his fingers. "Black silk," he said. "There's no way of knowing if it came from the attacker."
Chubain took the fibers. "Odd."
"A Black sister wouldn't seem likely to proclaim herself by wearing black," Gawyn said. "A more ordinary assassin, though, might need the dark colors to hide."
Chubain wrapped the fibers in a handkerchief and pocketed them. "I'll take these to Seaine Sedai." He looked impressed.
Gawyn nodded to Sleete, and the two of them retreated.
"The White Tower is abuzz these days with returning sisters and new Warders," Sleete said softly. "How would anyone—no matter how stealthy— travel the upper levels wearing black without drawing attention?"
"Gray Men are supposed to be able to avoid notice," Gawyn said. "I think this is more proof. I mean, it seems odd that nobody has actually seen rhese Black sisters. We're making a lot of assumptions."
Sleete nodded, eyeing a trio of novices who had gathered to gawk at the guards. They saw Sleete looking and chittered to one another before scampering away.
"Egwene knows more than she's saying," Gawyn said. "I'll talk to her."
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