Knife of Dreams twot-11

by Robert Jordan

  “You’ve seen Faile?” the young man said, excitement touching his voice.

  “She’s well? She hasn’t been harmed?” The fool seemed not to have a word she said beyond mention of his wife.

  “Well, and under my protection, Lord Perrin.” If this jumped-up country boy wanted to call himself a lord, she would tolerate it for the moment.

  “She and Alliandre, both.” The soldier glowered at Aybara, but he did not take the opportunity to speak. “You must listen to me. The Shaido will kill you-”

  “Come here and look at this,” Aybara broke in, turning to the table and drawing a large page toward him.

  “You must forgive his lack of manners, Aes Sedai,” Berelain murmured, handing her a worked silver cup of dark wine. “He is under considerable strain, as you might understand in the circumstances. I haven’t introduced myself. I am Berelain, the First of Mayene.”

  “I know. You may call me Alyse.”

  The other woman smiled as though she knew that was a false name, yet accepting it. The First of Mayene was far from unsophisticated. A pity she had to deal with the boy instead; sophisticated people who thought they could dance with Aes Sedai were easily led. Country folk could prove stubborn out of ignorance. But the fellow should know something of Aes Sedai by now. Perhaps ignoring him would give him reason to think on who and what she was.

  The wine tasted like flowers on her tongue. “This is very good,” she said with genuine gratitude. She had not tasted decent wine for weeks.

  Therava would not permit her a pleasure the Wise One denied herself. If the woman learned that she had found several barrels in Malden, she would not even have mediocre wine. And surely would be beaten as well.

  “There are other sisters in the camp, Alyse Sedai. Masuri Sokawa and Seonid Traighan, and my own advisor, Annoura Larisen. Would you like to speak to them after you finish with Perrin?”

  With feigned casualness, Galina drew up her cowl till her face was shadowed and took another swallow of wine for time to think. Annoura’s presence was understandable, given Berelain’s, but what were the other two doing there? They had been among those who fled the Tower after Siuan was deposed and Elaida raised. True, none of them would know of her involvement in kidnapping the al’Thor boy for Elaida, but still…

  “I think not,” she murmured. “Their business is theirs, and mine is mine.” She would have given a great deal to know their business, but not at the cost of being recognized. Any friend of the Dragon Reborn might have…notions…about a Red. “Help me convince Aybara, Berelain. Your Winged Guards are no match for what the Shaido will send against them.

  Whatever Ghealdanin you have with you won’t make a difference. An army will make no difference. The Shaido are too many, and they have hundreds of Wise Ones ready to use the One Power as a weapon. I have seen them do it. You may die, too, and even if you are captured, I can’t promise I can make Sevanna release you when I leave.”

  Berelain laughed as though thousands of Shaido and hundreds of Wise Ones who could channel were of no account. “Oh, have no fear they will find us. Their camp lies a good three-day ride from here, perhaps four. The terrain turns rough not far from where we are.”

  Three days, perhaps four. Galina shivered. She should have put it together before this. Three or four days of ground covered in less than an hour. Through a hole in the air created with the male half of the Power. She had been near enough for saidin to touch her. She kept her voice steady, though. “Even so, you must help me convince him not to attack. It would be disastrous, for him, for his wife, for everyone involved. Beyond that, what I am doing is important to the Tower. You have always been a strong supporter of the Tower.” Flattery, for the ruler of a single city and a few hides of land, but flattery oiled the insignificant as well as it did the mighty.

  “Perrin is stubborn, Alyse Sedai. I doubt you’ll change his mind. That isn’t easy to do once he has it set.” For some reason, the young woman smiled a smile mysterious enough to credit a sister.

  “Berelain, could you have your talk later?” Aybara said impatiently, and it was not a suggestion. He tapped the sheet of paper with a thick finger. “Alyse, would you look at this?” That was not a suggestion, either. Who did the man think he was, ordering an Aes Sedai?

  Still, moving to the table took her a little way from Neald. It brought her nearer the other one, who was studying her intently, but he was on the other side of the table. A feeble barrier, yet she could ignore him by looking at the sheet of paper under Aybara’s finger. Keeping her eyebrows from rising was difficult. The town of Malden was outlined there, complete with the aqueduct that brought water from a lake five miles away, and also a rough outline of the Shaido camp surrounding the city. The real surprise was that markings seemed to indicate the arrival of septs since the Shaido reached Malden, and the number of those meant his men had been observing the camp for some time. Another map, roughly sketched, seemed to show the city itself in some detail.

  “I see you have learned how large their camp is,” she said. “You must know rescuing her is hopeless. Even if you have a hundred of those men,” speaking of them was not easy, and she could not entirely keep the contempt from her voice, “it isn’t enough. Those Wise Ones will fight back. Hundreds of them. It would be a slaughter, thousands dead, your wife perhaps among them. I have told you, she and Alliandre are under my protection. When my business is finished, I will take them to safety.

  You have heard me say it, so by the Three Oaths you know it is true.

  Don’t make the mistake of thinking that your connection to Rand al’Thor will protect you if you interfere in what the White Tower is doing. Yes, I know who you are. Did you think your wife wouldn’t tell me? She trusts me, and if you want to keep her safe, you must trust me, too.”

  The idiot looked at her as though her words had flown over his head without touching his ears. Those eyes were truly unsettling. “Where does she sleep? Her, and everyone else who was captured with her. Show me.”

  “I cannot,” she replied levelly. “Gai’shain seldom sleep in the same place two nights running.” With that lie vanished the last chance that she could leave Faile and the others alive. Oh, she had never intended to increase the risk of her own escape by aiding them, but that could always have been explained later by some change in circumstances. She could not hazard the possibility that they might actually escape one day and uncover her direct lie, however.

  “I will get her free,” he growled, almost too softly for her to hear.

  “Whatever it takes.”

  Her thoughts raced. There seemed no way to divert him from it, but perhaps she could delay him. She had to do at least that. “Will you at least hold off your attack? I may be able to conclude my affairs in a few more days, perhaps a week.” A deadline should sharpen Faile’s efforts. Before, it would have been dangerous; a threat not carried out lost all force, and the chance had been too great that the woman might be unable to get the rod in time. Now, the chance became necessary. “If I can do that, and bring your wife and others out, there will be no reason for you to die needlessly. One week.”

  Frustration painting his face, Aybara thumped his fist on the table hard enough to make it bounce. “You can have a few days,” he growled, “maybe even a week or more, if-” He bit off whatever he had been about to say.

  Those strange eyes centered on her face. “But I can’t promise how many days,” he went on. “If I had my druthers, I’d be attacking now. I won’t leave Faile a prisoner a day longer than I have to while I wait on Aes Sedai schemes for the Shaido to bear fruit. You say she’s under your protection, but how great a protection can you really give, wearing that robe? There are signs of drunkenness in the camp. Even some of their sentries drink. Are the Wise Ones given to it as well?”

  The sudden shift nearly made her blink. “The Wise Ones drink only water, so you needn’t think you can find them all in a stupor,” she told him dryly. And quite truthfully. It always amused her when the truth
served her purposes. Not that the Wise Ones’ example was bearing much fruit.

  Drunkenness was rife among the Shaido. Every raid brought back all the wine that could be found. Dozens and dozens of small stills produced vile brews from grains, and every time the Wise Ones destroyed a still, two sprang up in its place. Letting him know that would only encourage him, though. “As for the others, I have been with armies before this and seen more drinking than I have among the Shaido. If a hundred are drunk among tens of thousands, what gain is there for you? Really, it will be better if you promise me a week. Two would be better still.”

  His eyes flashed to the map, and his right hand made a fist again, but there was no anger in his voice. “Do the Shaido go inside the town walls very often?”

  She set the winecup down on the table and drew herself up. Meeting that yellow-eyed gaze required effort, yet she managed without a falter. “I think it’s past time you showed proper respect. I am an Aes Sedai, not a servant.”

  “Do the Shaido go inside the town walls very often?” he repeated in exactly the same even tone. She wanted to grind her teeth.

  “No,” she snapped. “They’ve looted everything worth stealing and some things that aren’t.” She regretted the words as soon as they left her tongue. They had seemed safe, until she remembered men who could leap through holes in the air. “That isn’t to say they never enter. Most days, a few go in. There might be twenty or thirty at any time, more on occasion, in groups of two or three.” Did he have the wit to see what that would mean? Best to make sure he saw. “You could not secure them all. Inevitably, some will escape to warn the camp.”

  Aybara only nodded. “When you see Faile, tell her that on the day she sees fog on the ridges and hears wolves howl by daylight, she and the others must go to Lady Cairen’s fortress at the north end of the city and hide there. Tell her I love her. Tell her I’m coming for her.”

  Wolves? Was the man demented? How could he ensure that wolves would…?

  Suddenly, with those wolf’s eyes on her, she was not sure she wanted to know.

  “I will tell her,” she lied. Perhaps he only meant to use the men in black coats to grab his wife? But why wait at all, in that case? Those yellow eyes hid secrets she wished she knew. Who was he trying to meet?

  Clearly not Sevanna. She would have thanked the Light for that if she had not abandoned that foolishness long since. Who was ready to come to him right away? One man had been mentioned, but that might mean a king with an army. Or al’Thor himself? Him, she prayed never to see again.

  Her promise seemed to release something in the young man. He exhaled slowly, and a tension she had not noticed left his face. “The trouble with a blacksmith’s puzzle,” he said softly, tapping the outline of Malden, “is always getting the key piece into place. Well, that’s done.

  Or soon will be.”

  “Will you stay for supper?” Berelain asked. “The hour is near.”

  The light was dimming in the open doorway. A lean serving woman in dark wool, her white hair in a bun on the back of her head, entered and began lighting the lamps.

  “Will you promise me at least a week?” Galina demanded, but Aybara shook his head. “In that case, every hour is important.” She had never intended staying a moment longer than necessary, but she had to force her next words out. “Will you have one of your…men…take me back to as near the camp as possible?”

  “Do it, Neald,” Aybara commanded. “And at least try to be polite.” He said that!

  She drew a deep breath and pushed her cowl back. “I want you to hit me, here.” She touched her cheek. “Hard enough to bruise.”

  Finally she had said something that got through to the man. Those yellow eyes widened, and he tucked his thumbs behind his belt as though securing his hands. “I will not,” he said, sounding as though she were insane.

  The Ghealdanin’s mouth hung open, and the serving woman was staring at her, the burning taper in her hand hanging dangerously near her skirts.

  “I require it,” Galina said firmly. She would need every scrap of verisimilitude she could find with Therava. “Do it!”

  “I don’t believe he will,” Berelain said, gliding forward with her skirts gathered. “He has very country ways. If you will permit me?”

  Galina nodded impatiently. There was nothing for it, though the woman likely would not leave a very convincing… Her vision went dark, and when she could see again, she was swaying slightly. She could taste blood. Her hand went to her cheek, and she winced.

  “Too hard?” Berelain inquired anxiously.

  “No,” Galina mumbled, fighting to keep her face smooth. Had she been able to channel, she would have torn the woman’s head off! Of course, if she could have channeled, none of this would be necessary. “Now, the other cheek. And have someone fetch my horse.”

  She rode into the forest with the Murandian, to a place where several of the huge trees lay toppled and oddly slashed, sure it would be difficult for her to use his hole in the air, but when the man produced a vertical silver-blue slash that widened into a view of steeply climbing land, she did not think of tainted saidin at all as she heeled Swift through the opening. Never a thought except of Therava.

  She almost howled when she realized she was on the opposite side of the ridge from the encampment. Frantically she raced the sinking sun. And lost.

  She had been right, unfortunately. Therava did not accept excuses. She was particularly upset over the bruises. She herself never marred Galina’s face. What followed easily equaled her nightmares. And it lasted much longer. At times, when she was screaming her loudest, she almost forgot her desperate need to get the rod. But she clung to that.

  Obtain the rod, kill Faile and her friends, and she would be free.

  Egwene regained awareness slowly, and muzzy as she was, barely had the presence of mind to keep her eyes closed. Pretending still to be unconscious was all too easy. Her head lay slumped on a woman’s shoulder, and she could not have lifted it had she tried. An Aes Sedai’s shoulder; she could sense the woman’s ability. Her brain felt stuffed with wool, her thoughts were slow and veering, her limbs all but numb.

  Her wool riding dress and cloak were dry, she realized, despite the soaking she had received in the river. Well, that was easily managed with the Power. Small chance they had channeled the water from her garments for her comfort, though. She was seated, wedged in between two sisters, one of whom wore a flowery perfume, each using a hand to keep her more or less upright. They were in a coach by the way they all swayed and the clatter of a trotting team’s horseshoes on paving stones.

  Carefully, she opened her eyes to narrow slits.

  The coach’s side curtains were tied back, though the stink of rotting garbage made her think it would have been better to pull them shut.

  Garbage, rotting! How could Tar Valon have come to that? Such neglect of the city was reason enough by itself for Elaida to be removed. The windows let in enough moonlight for her to dimly make out three Aes Sedai seated facing her, in the rear of the coach. Even had she not known they could channel, their fringed shawls would have made it certain. In Tar Valon, wearing a shawl with fringe could result in unpleasantness for a woman who was not Aes Sedai. Oddly, the sister on the left appeared to be huddling against the side of the coach, away from the other two, and if they were not exactly huddling, at least they were sitting very close together, as though avoiding contact with the third Aes Sedai. Very odd.

  Abruptly it came to her that she was not shielded. Muddled she might be, but that made no sense at all. They could feel her strength, as she could theirs, and while none was weak, she thought she could overcome all five if she were quick enough. The True Source was a vast sun just beyond the edge of sight, calling to her. The first question was, did she dare try yet? In the state her head was, thought wading through knee-deep mud, whether she could actually embrace saidar was uncertain, and succeed or fail, they would know once she tried. Best to try recovering a little beforehand. The se
cond question was, how long did she dare wait? They would not let her go unshielded forever.

  Experimentally, she tried wiggling her toes inside her stout leather shoes, and was delighted when they moved obediently. Life seemed to be returning slowly to her arms and legs. She thought she might be able to raise her head now, if unsteadily. Whatever they had given her was wearing off. How long?

  Events were taken out of her hands by the dark-haired sister sitting in the middle of the rear seat, who leaned forward and slapped her so hard that she toppled onto the lap of the woman she had been leaning against.

  Her hand went to her stinging cheek on its own volition. So much for pretending unconsciousness.

  “There was no need for that, Katerine,” a raspy voice said above her as its owner lifted her upright again. She could hold her head up, just, it turned out. Katerine. That would be Katerine Alruddin, a Red. It seemed important to identify her captors for some reason, though she knew nothing of Katerine beyond her name and Ajah. The sister she had fallen onto was yellow-haired, but her moon-shadowed face belonged to a stranger. “I think you gave her too much of the forkroot,” the woman went on.

  A chill flashed through her. So that was what she had been fed! She racked her brain for everything Nynaeve had told her about that vile tea, but her thoughts were still slow. Better, though, it seemed. She was sure Nynaeve had said the effects took some time to go away completely.

  “I gave her the exact dose, Felaana,” the sister who had slapped her replied dryly, “and as you can see, it is leaving her precisely as it should. I want her able to walk by the time we reach the Tower. I certainly don’t intend to help carry her again,” she finished with a glare for the sister seated to Egwene’s left, who shook her head, beaded braids clicking faintly. That was Pritalle Nerbaijan, a Yellow who had done her best to avoid teaching novices or Accepted and made little secret of her dislike for the task when forced to it.