Darlin gave her a fond smile, but his voice was apologetic. “I’ve tried three times, but Estanda is greedy, it seems. I saw no point in continuing to supply my enemies. Your enemies.”
Rand nodded. At least the man was not ignoring the situation in the city. “There are two boys who live outside the walls. Doni and Com. I don’t know any more name than that. About age ten. Once the rebels are settled and you can leave the Stone, I would appreciate it if you found them and kept an eye on them.” Min made a sound in her throat, and the bond carried sadness so bleak it almost overwhelmed the burst of love that came with it. So. It must have been death she saw. But she had been wrong about Moiraine. Maybe this viewing could be changed by a ta’veren.
No, Lews Therin growled. Her viewing* must not change. We have to die! Rand ignored him.
Darlin appeared puzzled by the request, but he acceded, as what else was he to do when the Dragon Reborn made it?
Rand was about to bring up the purpose of his visit when Bera Harkin, another of the Aes Sedai he had sent to Tear to deal with the rebels, entered the room frowning over her shoulder as if the Maidens had made some difficulty for her. They might well have. The Aiel considered the Aes Sedai sworn to him to be Wise Ones’ apprentices, and Maidens took every opportunity to remind apprentices that they were not Wise Ones yet. She was a stocky woman, with brown hair cut close around a square face, and despite her green silks, lacking Aes Sedai agelessness she would have looked a farmwife. A farmwife who ruled her house and farm with a firm hand, though, and would tell a king not to track mud into her kitchen. She was Green Ajah, after all, with every scrap of Green Ajah pride and haughtiness. She frowned at Alivia. too, with all the disdain of Aes Sedai for wilder, and that faded only to coolness when she caught sight of Rand.
“Well, I must say I shouldn’t be surprised to see you, considering what’s happened this morning.” she said. Unpinning her simple silver cloak brooch, she fastened it to her belt pouch and folded the cloak over her arm. “Though it might have been the news that the others are no more than a day west of the Erinin.”
“The others? Rand said quietly. Quietly and steely hard.
Bera did not seem impressed. She went on arranging the folds of her cloak. “The other High Lords and Ladies, of course. Sunamon, Tolmeran, all of them. Apparently they’re traveling hot-foot for Tear as fast their armsmen’s horses can move.”
Rand leaped up so fast that his sword bound for a moment on the chair arm. Only a moment because the gilded wood, weakened by his earlier blow, split with a loud crack, and the arm dropped to the carpet. He never so much as glanced at it. The fools! The Seanchan at the border with Altara, and they were coming back to Tear? “Doesn’t anybody remember how to obey?” he thundered. “I want messengers sent to them immediately! They’re to return to Illian faster than they left or I’ll have the lot of them hanged!”
“Two,” Cadsuane said. What in the Light was she counting? “A bit of advice, boy. Ask her what happened this morning. I smell good news.”
Bera gave a little start at realizing Cadsuane was in the room. Eyeing her sideways, and cautiously, she stopped fiddling with her cloak. “We’ve reached agreement.” she said as if the question had been asked. “Tedosian and Simaan were wavering, as usual, but Hearne was nearly as adamant as Estanda.” She shook her head. “I think Tedosian and Simaan might have come around sooner, but some fellows with strange accents have been promising them gold and men.”
“Seanchan,” Nynaeve said. Alivia opened her mouth, then closed it without speaking.
“They might be,” Bera allowed. “They keep clear of us and look at us like we were mad dogs that might bite any moment. That sounds like what little I’ve heard of Seanchan. In any case, less than an hour gone, Estanda suddenly began asking whether the Lord Dragon would restore her title and lands, and they all collapsed right behind her. The agreement is this. Darlin is accepted as Steward in Tear for the Dragon Reborn, all laws you made remain unchanged, and they pay for feeding the city for one year as a fine for rebellion. In return, they receive full restoration, Darlin is crowned King of Tear, and they swear fealty to him. Merana and Rafela are preparing the documents for signatures and seals.”
“King?” Darlin said incredulously. Caraline swayed over to take his arm.
“Restoration?” Rand growled, hurling his goblet aside in a spray of wine. The bond carried caution, a warning from Min, but he was too angry to pay heed. The sickness twisting his insides twisted his rage. too. “Blood and bloody ashes! I stripped them of lands and titles for rebelling against me. They can stay commoners and swear fealty to me!”
“Three,” Cadsuane said, and Rand’s skin popped out in goose bumps an instant before something struck him across the bottom like a hard-swung switch. Bera’s lips parted in shock, and the cloak slid off her arm to the floor. Nynaeve laughed. She smothered it quickly, but she laughed! “Don’t make me have to keep reminding you about manners. boy.” Cadsuane went on. “Alanna told me the terms you offered before she left-Darlin as Steward, your laws kept, everything else on the table-and it seems they’ve been met. You can do as you wish, of course, but another piece of advice. When the terms you offer are accepted, hold to them.”
Else no one will trust you, Lews Therin said, sounding entirely sane. For the moment.
Rand glared at Cadsuane, fists clenched hard, on the brink of weaving something that would singe her. He could feel a welt on his bottom, and would feel it more in the saddle. It seemed to pulse, and his anger pulsed with it. She peered back calmly over her wine. Was there a hint of challenge in her gaze, of daring him to channel? The woman spent every moment in his presence challenging him! The trouble was, her advice was good. He had given Alanna those terms. He had expected them to bargain harder, gain more, but they had gotten what he actually asked for. More. He had not thought of fines.
“It seems your fortunes have risen, King Darlin,” he said. One of the serving women curtsied and handed Rand another goblet full of wine. Her face was as calm as any Aes Sedai’s. You might have thought men arguing with sisters was a matter of every day with her.
“All hail King Darlin,” Weiramon intoned, sounding half strangled, and after a moment Anaiyella echoed him. as breathless as if she had run a mile. Once, she had talked of herself for a crown in Tear.
“But why would they want me as King?” Darlin said, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Or anyone. There’ve been no kings in the Stone since Moreina died, a thousand years ago. Or did you demand that, Bera Sedai?”
Bera straightened from picking up her cloak and began shaking it out. “It was their… ’demand’ would be too strong… their suggestion. Any of them would have leapt at the chance of a throne, especially Estanda.” Anaiyella made a choking sound. “But of course, they knew there was no hope of that. This way, they can swear to you instead of to the Dragon Reborn, making it slightly less distasteful.”
“And if you are king,” Caraline put in, “it means that Steward in Tear for the Lord Dragon becomes a lesser title.” She laughed throatily. “They may even tack on three or four more noble sounding titles to try pushing it down to obscurity.” Bera pursed her lips as though she had been about to bring up that very point.
“And would you marry a king, Caraline?” Darlin asked. “I’ll accept the crown, if you will. Though I’ll have to have a crown made.”
Min cleared her throat. “I can tell you how it should look, if you like.”
Caraline laughed again and released Darlin’s arm, swaying away from him. “I will have to see you in it before I could answer that. Have Min’s crown made, and if it makes you look pretty…” She smiled. “Then perhaps I will consider it.”
“I wish you both the best,” Rand said curtly, “but there are more important matters to go into right now.” Min gave him a sharp look, disapproval flooding the bond. Nynaeve gave him a sharp look. What was that about? “You will accept that crown, Darlin, and as soon as those documents are signed, I wan
t you to arrest those Seanchan, then gather every man in Tear who knows one end of sword or halberd from the other. I’ll arrange for Asha’man to take you to Arad Doman.”
“And me, my Lord Dragon?” Weiramon asked avidly. He all but quivered with eagerness, managing to strut while standing still. “If there is fighting to be done, I can serve you better there than languishing in Cairhien.’
Rand studied the man. And Anaiyella. Weiramon was a bungling idiot, and he trusted neither, but he could not see what harm they could do with no more than a handful of followers. “Very well. You two may accompany the High Lord… that is, King Darlin.” Anaiyella gulped as though she for one would rather return to Cairhien.
“But what am I supposed to do in Arad Doman?’’ Darlin wanted to know. “The little I’ve heard of that land, it’s a madhouse.” Lews Therin laughed wildly in Rand’s head.
“Tarmon Gai’don is coming soon,” Rand said. The Light send not too soon. “You are going to Arad Doman to get ready for Tarmon Gai’don.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
To Make an Anchor Weep
Despite the pitching induced by the long blue rollers, Harine din Togara sat very straight alongside her sister, just ahead of their parasol bearers and the steersman at his long tiller. Shalon seemed intent on studying the twelve men and women working the oars. Or perhaps she was deep in thought. There was plenty to think on of late, not least this meeting Harine had been summoned to, but she let her thoughts drift blindly. Composing herself. Every time the First Twelve of the Atha’an Miere met since she had attained Illian, she had needed to compose herself before attending. When she reached Tear and found Zaida’s Blue Gull still anchored in the river, she had been sure the woman was in Caemlyn yet, or at least trailing far behind her own wake. A painful mistake, that. Though in truth, very little would have been altered had Zaida been weeks behind. Not for Harine, at least. No. No thoughts of Zaida.
The sun stood only a fist above the horizon in the east, and several vessels of the shorebound were making for the long breakwater that guarded Illian’s harbor. One carried three masts and a semblance of a high-rig. all the major sails square, yet he was squat and ill-handled, wallowing through the low rolling seas in fountains of spray rather than slicing them. Most were small and low-rigged, their triangular sails nearly all high-boomed. Some seemed quick enough, but since the shorebound seldom sailed beyond sight of land and usually anchored at night for fear of shoals, their quickness availed them little. Cargo that required true speed went to Atha’an Miere ships. At a premium price, to be sure. It was a small portion of what Atha’an Miere carried, in part because of the price, in part because few things actually required their speed. Besides, cargo hire guaranteed some profit, but when the Cargomaster traded on his own for the ship, all of the profit went to vessel and clan.
As far as the eye could see to east and west along the coastline, Atha’an Miere ships lay at anchor, rakers and skimmers, soarers and darters, most surrounded by bumboats so cluttered they looked like drunken shore festivals. Rowed out from the city, the bumboats offered for sale everything from dried fruit to quartered beeves and sheep, from iron nails and iron stock to swords and daggers, from gaudy trinkets of Illian that might catch a deckhand’s eye to gold and gems. Though the gold was usually a thin plate that wore off in a few months to show the brass beneath and the gems colored glass. They brought rats, too. if not for sale. Anchored so long, every ship was plagued by rats, now. Rats and spoilage made sure there was always a market for the peddlers.
Bumboats also surrounded the massive Seanchan-built vessels, dozens upon dozens of them, that had been used in the Escape. That was what it was being called, now, the great Escape from Ebou Dar. Say the Escape, and no one asked what escape you meant. Great bluff-bowed things they were, twice the beam of a raker and more, some, suitable for battering through heavy seas perhaps, but strangely rigged and with odd ribbed sails too stiff for proper setting. Men and women were swarming over those masts and yards now, altering the rigging to something more usable. No one wanted the craft, but the shipyards would require years to replace all of the vessels lost at Ebou Dar. And the expense! Overly beamy or not, those ships would see many years of use. No Sailmistress had any desire to sink into debt, borrowing from the clan coffers, when most if not all of her own gold was being salvaged by the Seanchan in Ebou Dar, not unless she had no other choice. Some, unlucky enough to have neither their own ships nor one of the Seanchan’s, did have no other choice.
Harine’s twelve passed the heavy wall of the breakwater, thick with dark slime and long hairy weed that the breakers crashing against the gray stone failed to dislodge, and the broad, gray-green harbor of Illian opened up before her, ringed with deep expanses of marsh, just turning from winter brown to green in patches, where long-legged birds waded. A line of mist drifted across the boat on a gentle breeze, dampening her hair before it passed on up the harbor. Small fishing boats were pulling their nets along the edges of the marsh, a dozen sorts of gull and tern wheeling overhead to steal what they could. The city did not interest her beyond the long stone docks, lined with trading craft, but the harbor… That broad, nearly circular expanse of water was the greatest anchorage known, and filled with shipping and river craft, most waiting their turn at the docks. It truly was filled, by hundreds of vessels in every shape and size, and not all of those ships belonged to the shorebound. There were only rakers here, those slender three-masters that could race porpoises. Rakers and three of the ungainly Seanchan monstrosities. They were the vessels of Wavemistresses and of Sailmistresses who formed the First Twelve of each clan, those that could be fitted into the harbor before there was no more room. Even Lilian’s anchorage had its limits, and the Council of Nine, not to mention this Steward in Illian for the Dragon Reborn, would have made trouble had the Atha’an Miere begun crowding their trade.
Abruptly a strong, icy wind came up out of the north. No. it did not come up; it just suddenly was there full strength, whipping the harbor to choppy whitecaps and carrying a smell of pines and something… earthy. She knew little of trees, but much of timbers used in building ships. Though she did not think there were many pines anywhere near to Illian. Then she noticed the mist line. While ships rocked and pitched under that southerly blast, the mist continued its slow drift northward. Keeping her hands on her knees required effort. She wanted very much to wipe the dampness out of her hair. She had thought after Shadar Logoth that nothing ever would shake her again, but she had seen too many… oddities… of late, oddities that spoke of the world twisting.
As abruptly as it had come, the wind was gone. Murmurs rose, the stroke faltered, and the number four port oar caught a crab, splashing water into the boat. The crew knew winds did not behave that way.
“Steady there,” Harine said firmly. “Steady!”
“Give way together, you shorebound ragpickers,” her deckmistress shouted from the bow. Lean and leathery, Jadein had leather lungs as well. “Do I need to call the stroke for you?” The twin insults tightened some faces in anger, others in chagrin, but the oars began moving smoothly again.
Shalon was studying the mist, now. Asking what she saw, what she thought, would have to wait. Harine was not sure she wanted the answer heard by any of her crew. They had seen enough to have them frightened already.
The steersman turned the twelve toward one of the bulky Seanchan ships, where any bumboat that ventured near was being chased away before the peddler could get out two words. It was one of the largest of them, with a towering sterncastle that had three levels. Three! And the thing actually had a pair of balconies across the stern! She would not care to see what a following sea driven by a cemaros or one of the Aryth Ocean’s soheens would do to those. Other twelves and a few eights waited their turn to sidle up to the vessel in the order of precedence of their passengers.
Jadein stood up in the bow and bellowed, “Shodein!” Her voice carried well, and a twelve that was approaching the ship circled away. The others
continued their waiting.
Harine did not stand until the crew had backed oars, and drawn them in on the starboard, bringing the twelve to a smooth halt right where Jadein could catch a dangling line and hold the small craft alongside the larger. Shalon sighed.
“Courage, sister,” Harine told her. “We have survived Shadar Lo-goth, though the Light help me, I am unsure what we survived.” She barked a laugh. “More than that, we survived Cadsuane Melaidhrin, and I doubt anyone else here could do that.”
Shalon smiled weakly, but at least she smiled.
Harine scrambled up the rope ladder as easily as she could have twenty years before and was piped aboard by the deckmaster, a squat fellow with a fresh scar running under the leather patch that covered where his right eye had been. Many had taken wounds in the Escape. Many had died. Even the deck of this ship felt strange beneath her bare feet, the planking laid in an odd pattern. The side was manned properly, however, twelve bare-chested men to her left, twelve women in bright linen blouses to her right, all bowing till they were looking straight down at the deck. She waited for Shalon and the parasol bearers to join her before starting forward. The vessel’s Sailmistress and Windfinder, at the end of the rows, bowed less deeply while touching hearts, lips and foreheads. Both wore waist-long white mourning stoles that all but hid their many necklaces, as did she and Shalon.
“The welcome of my ship to you, Wavemistress,” the Sailmistress said, sniffing her scent box, “and the grace of the Light be upon you until you leave his decks. The others await you in the great cabin.”
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