Wheel Of Time - The Path Of Daggers Part 2

(Lion Rampant)

Into Andor

Elayne hoped that the journey to Caemlyn would go smoothly, and in the beginning, it seemed to do so. She thought that even as she and Aviendha and Birgitte sat boneweary and huddled in the rags that remained of their clothing, filthy with dirt and dust and the blood of the injuries they had received when the gateway exploded. In two weeks at most, she would be ready to present her claims to the Lion Throne. There on the hilltop, Nynaeve Healed their numerous hurts and spoke barely a word, certainly not berating them. Surely that was a pleasant sign, if unusual. Relief at finding them alive battled worry on her face.Lan's strength was necessary to remove the Seanchan crossbow bolt from Birgitte's thigh before she could be Healed of that wound, but although her face drained of blood and Elayne felt a stab of agony through the bond, agony that made her want to cry out, her Warder barely groaned through her gritted teeth."Tai'shar Kandor," Lan murmured, tossing the pilehead quarrel, made to punch through armor, aside on the ground. True blood of Kandor. Birgitte blinked, and he paused. "Forgive me, if I erred. I a.s.sumed from your clothes you were Kandori.""Oh, yes," Birgitte breathed. "Kandori." Her sickly grin might have been from her injuries; Nynaeve was impatiently shooing Lan out of the way so she could lay hands on her. Elayne hoped the woman knew more of Kandor than the name; when Birgitte had last been born, there had been no Kandor. She should have taken it as an omen.For the five miles to the small slateroofed manor house, Birgitte rode behind Nynaeve on the latter's stout brown mare - named Loversknot, of all things - and Elayne and Aviendha rode Lan's tall black stallion. At least, Elayne sat Mandarb's saddle with Aviendha's arms around her waist while Lan led the fieryeyed animal. Trained warhorses were as much weapons as a sword, and dangerous mounts for strange riders. Be sure of yourself, girl, Lini had always told her, but not too sure, and she did try. She should have realized events were no more in her control than Mandarb's reins.At the threestory stone house, Master Hornwell, stout and grayhaired, and Mistress Hornwell, slightly less round and slightly less gray but otherwise resembling her husband remarkably, had every last person who worked the estates, and Merilille's maid, Pol, and the greenandwhite liveried servants who had come from the Tarasin Palace as well, all bustling to find sleeping accommodations for over two hundred people, most women, who had appeared out of nowhere with dark near to falling. The work went with surprising swiftness, in spite of the estates' people stopping to gawk at an Aes Sedai's ageless face, or a Warder's s.h.i.+fting cloak making parts of him vanish, or one of the Sea Folk with all of her bright silks, her earrings and nosering and medallioned chain. Kinswomen were deciding that now it was safe to be frightened and cry no matter what Reanne and the Knitting Circle said to them; Windfinders were snarling over how far from the salt they had come, against their will as Renaile din Calon loudly claimed; and n.o.bles and crafts women who had been all too willing to flee whatever lay back in Ebou Dar, willing to carry their bundled possessions on their backs, were now balking at being shown a hayloft for a bed.All that was going on when Elayne and the others arrived with the sun red on the western horizon, a great upheaval and milling all about the house and thatchroofed outbuildings, but Alise Tenjile, smiling pleasantly and implacable as an avalanche, seemed to have everything more in hand than even the capable Hornwells. Kinswomen who wept harder for all of Reanne's attempts at comfort dried their tears at a murmur from Alise and began moving with the purposeful air of women who had been caring for themselves in a hostile world for many years. Haughty n.o.bles with marriage knives dangling into the oval cutouts in their lacetrimmed bodices and craftswomen who displayed almost as much arrogance and nearly as much bosom, if not in silk, flinched at the sight of Alise approaching, and went scurrying for the tall barns hugging their bundles and announcing loudly that they had always thought it might be amusing to sleep on straw. Even the Windfinders, many of them important and powerful women among the Atha'an Miere, m.u.f.fled their complaints when Alise came near. For that matter, Sareitha, still lacking the Aes Sedai agelessness, eyed Alise askance and touched her brownfringed shawl as if to remind herself it was there. Merilille - unflappable Merilille - watched the woman go about her work with a blend of approval and open amazement.Clambering down from her saddle at the front door of the house, Nynaeve glared toward Alise, gave her dark braid one deliberate, measured tug that the other woman was far too busy to notice, and stalked inside, stripping off her blue riding gloves and muttering to herself. Watching her go, Lan chuckled softly, then stifled his laughter immediately when Elayne dismounted. Light, but his eyes were cold! For Nynaeve's sake, she hoped the man could be saved from his fate, yet looking into those eyes, she did not believe it."Where is Ispan?" she murmured, helping Aviendha scramble down. So many of the women knew an Aes Sedai - a Black sister - was being held prisoner that the news was bound to spread through the estates like fire in dry gra.s.s, but better if the manor's folk had a little preparation."Adeleas and Vandene took her to a small woodcutter's hut about half a mile away," he replied just as quietly. "In all this, I don't think anyone noticed a woman with a sack over her head. The sisters said they would stay there with her tonight."Elayne s.h.i.+vered. The Darkfriend was to be questioned again once the sun went down, it seemed. They were in Andor, now, and that made her feel more deeply as if she had given the order for it.Soon she was in a copper bathtub, luxuriating in perfumed soap and clean skin again, laughing and splas.h.i.+ng water at Birgitte, who lolled in another tub except when she was splas.h.i.+ng back, both of them giggling over the wincing horror Aviendha could not quite conceal at sitting up to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s in water. She thought it was a very good joke on herself, though, and told a most improper story about a man getting segade spines in his bottom. Birgitte told one still more improper, about a woman getting her head caught between the slats of a fence, that made even Aviendha blush. They were funny, though. Elayne wished she knew one to tell.She and Aviendha combed and brushed one another's hair - a nightly ritual for nearsisters - and then they snuggled tiredly into the canopied bed in a small room. She and Aviendha, Birgitte and Nynaeve, and lucky there were no more. Larger rooms had cots and pallets covering the floors, including the sitting rooms, the kitchens, and most of the halls. Nynaeve muttered half the night about the indecency of making a woman sleep apart from her husband, and for the other half, her elbows seemed to wake Elayne every time she dropped off. Birgitte flatly refused to change places, and she could not ask Aviendha to endure the woman's sharp prodding, so she did not get a great deal of sleep.Elayne was still groggy when they prepared to depart the next morning, with the rising sun a molten ball of gold. The manor had few animals to spare unless she stripped the estates bare, so while she rode a black gelding named Fireheart, and Aviendha and Birgitte had new mounts, those who had been afoot when they fled the Kin's farm remained afoot. That included most of the Kinswomen themselves, the servants leading the pack animals, and the twentyodd women who plainly were beyond regretting their visit to the Kin's farm in hopes of peace and contemplation. The Warders rode ahead to scout the way across rolling hills covered in droughtstarved forest, and the rest of them stretched out in a most peculiar snake, with Nynaeve and herself and the other sisters at the head. And Aviendha, of course.It was hardly a group that could escape notice, so many women traveling with so few men for guards, not to mention twenty dark Windfinders, awkward on their horses and as bright as exotically plumaged birds, and nine Aes Sedai, six of them recognizably so to anyone who knew what to look for. Though one did ride with a leather sack over her head, of course. As if that would not attract eyes by itself. Elayne had hoped to reach Caemlyn unnoticed, but that no longer seemed possible. Still, there was no reason that anyone would suspect that the DaughterHeir, Elayne Trakand herself, was one of this group. In the beginning, she thought that the greatest difficulty they might face would be someone who opposed her claims learning of her presence, sending armed men to try taking her into custody until the succession was settled.In truth, she expected the first trouble to come from the footsore craftswomen and n.o.bles, proud women all, and none used to tramping dusty hills. Especially since Merilille's maid had her own plump mare to ride. The few farm wives among them did not seem to mind too much, but nearly half their number were women who possessed lands and manors and palaces, and most of the rest could have afforded to buy an estate if not two or three. They included two goldsmiths, three weavers who owned over four hundred looms between them, a woman whose manufactories produced a tenth of all the lacquerware Ebou Dar produced, and a banker. They walked, their possessions strapped to their backs, while their horses bore packsaddles laden with food. There was real need. Every last coin in everyone's purse had been pooled together and given into Nynaeve's tightfisted keeping, but all might not be sufficient to buy food, fodder and lodgings for so large a party all the way to Caemlyn. They did not seem to understand. They complained loudly and incessantly through the first day's march. Loudest of all was a slim lady with a thin scar on one cheek, a sternfaced woman named Malien, who was nearly bent double under the weight of a huge bundle containing a dozen or more dresses and all the changes that went with them.When they made camp that first night, with their cook fires glowing in the twilight and everyone full of beans and bread if not entirely satisfied with them, Malien gathered the n.o.blewomen around her, their silks more than travelstained. The craftswomen joined in, too, and the banker, and the farmers stood close. Before Malien could say a word, Reanne strode into the group. Her face full of smile lines, in plain brown woolens with her skirts sewn up on the left to expose bright layered petticoats, she might have been one of the farm women."If you wish to go home," she announced in that surprisingly high voice, "you may do so at any time. I regret that we must keep your horses, though. You will be paid for them as soon as can be arranged. If you choose to remain, please remember that the rules of the farm still apply." A number of the women around her gaped. Malien was not alone in opening her mouth angrily.Alise just seemed to appear at Reanne's side, fists planted on her hips. She was not smiling now. "I said the last ten to be ready would do the was.h.i.+ng up," she told them firmly. And she named them off; Jillien, a plump goldsmith; Naiselle, the cooleyed banker; and all eight of the n.o.bles. They stood staring at her until she clapped her hands and said, "Don't make me invoke the rule on failure to do your share of the ch.o.r.es."Malien, wideeyed and muttering in disbelief, was the last to dart off and begin gathering dirty bowls, but the next morning she pared her bundle down, leaving lacetrimmed silk dresses and s.h.i.+fts to be trampled on the hillside as they departed. Elayne continued to expect an explosion, but Reanne kept a firm hand on them, Alise kept a firmer, and if Malien and the others glared and muttered over the grease stains that grew on their clothes day by day, Reanne had only to speak a few words to send them to their work. Alise only had to clap her hands.If the rest of the journey could have gone as smoothly, Elayne would have been willing to join those women in their greasy labors. Long before reaching Caemlyn, she knew that for a fact.Once they reached the first narrow dusty road, little more than cart track, farms began to appear, thatched stone houses and barns clinging to the hillsides or nestled in hollows. From then on, whether the land was hilly or flat, forested or cleared, they rarely spent many hours beyond sight of a farm or a village. At each of those, while the local folk goggled at the very strange strangers, Elayne tried to learn how much support House Trakand had, and what concerned the people most. Addressing those concerns would be important in making her claim to the throne strong enough to stand, as important as the backing of other Houses. She heard a great deal, if not always what she wished to hear. Andorans claimed the right to speak their minds to the Queen herself; they were hardly shy with a young n.o.blewoman, no matter how peculiar her traveling companions.In a village called Damelien, where three mills sat beside a small river shrunken to leave their tall waterwheels dry, the squarejawed innkeeper at The Golden Sheaves allowed as how he thought Morgase had been a good queen, the best that could be, the best that ever was. "Her daughter might've been a good ruler, too, I suppose," he muttered, thumbing his chin. "Pity the Dragon Reborn killed them. I suppose he had to - the Prophecies or some such - but he had no call to dry up the rivers, now did he? How much grain did you say your horses need, my lady? It's dreadful dear, mind."A hardfaced woman, in a worn brown dress that hung on her as if she had lost weight, surveyed a field surrounded by a low stone wall, where the hot wind sent sheets of dust marching into the woods. The other farms around Buryhill looked as bad or worse. "That Dragon Reborn's got no right to do this to us, now has he? I ask you!" She spat and frowned up at Elayne in her saddle. "The throne? Oh, Dyelin's as good as any, now Morgase and her girl are dead. Some around here still speak up for Naean or Elenia, but I'm for Dyelin. Any lookout, Caemlyn's a long way off. I've got crops to worry about. If I ever make another crop.""Oh, it's true, my lady, so it is; Elayne's alive," a gnarled old carpenter told her in Forel Market. He was bald as a leather egg, his fingers twisted with age, but the work standing among the shavings and sawdust that littered his shop looked as fine as any Elayne had seen. She was the only person in the shop besides him. From the look of the village, half the residents had left. "The Dragon Reborn is having her brought to Caemlyn so he can put the Rose Crown on her head himself," he allowed. "The news is all over. 'Tisn't right, if you ask me. He's one of them blackeyed Aielmen, I hear. We ought to march on Caemlyn and drive him and all them Aiel back where they come from. Then Elayne can claim the throne her own self. If Dyelin lets her keep it, anyway."Elayne heard a great deal about Rand, rumors ranging from him swearing fealty to Elaida to him being the King of Illian, of all things. In Andor, he was blamed for everything bad that happened for the last two or three years, including stillbirths and broken legs, infestations of gra.s.shoppers, twoheaded calves, and threelegged chickens. And even people who thought her mother had ruined the country and an end to the reign of House Trakand was good riddance still believed Rand al'Thor an invader. The Dragon Reborn was supposed to fight the Dark One at Shayol Ghul, and he should be driven out of Andor. Not what she had hoped to hear, not a bit of it. But she heard it all again and again. It was not a pleasant journey at all. It was one long lesson in one of Lini's favorite sayings. It isn't the stone you see that trips you on your nose.She thought a number of things beside the n.o.bles might cause trouble, some sure to be explosions as great as the gateway. The Windfinders, smug in the bargain made with Nynaeve and herself, behaved in an irritatingly superior manner toward the Aes Sedai, especially after it came out that Merilille had let herself agree to be one of the first sisters to go the s.h.i.+ps. Yet if the sizzling there continued like the burning of an Illuminator's fusecord, the explosion never quite came. The Windfinders and the Kinswomen, in particular the Knitting Circle, seemed as certain to blow up. They cut one another dead when not sneering openly, the Kin at "Sea Folk wilders getting above themselves," the Windfinders at "cringing sandlappers kissing Aes Sedai feet." But it never went beyond lips curled or daggers caressed.Ispan certainly presented problems that Elayne was sure would grow, yet after a few days, Vandene and Adeleas let her ride unhooded if not uns.h.i.+elded, a silent figure with colored beads in her thin braids, ageless face turned down and hands still on her reins. Renaile told everyone who would listen that among the Atha'an Miere, a Darkfriend was stripped of his or her names as soon as proven guilty, then thrown over the side tied to ballast stones. Among the Kinswomen, even Reanne and Alise paled every time they saw the Tarab.o.n.e.r woman. But Ispan grew meeker and meeker, eager to please and full of ingratiating smiles for the two whitehaired sisters no matter what it was they did to her when they carried her away from the others at night. On the other hand, Adeleas and Vandene grew more and more frustrated. Adeleas told Nynaeve in Elayne's hearing that the woman spilled out volumes about old plots of the Black Ajah, those she had not been involved in much more enthusiastically than those she was, yet even when they pressed her hard - Elayne could not quite make herself ask how they pressed - and she let slip the names of Darkfriends, most were certainly dead and none was a sister. Vandene said they were beginning to fear she had taken an Oath - the capital was audible - against betraying her cohorts. They continued to isolate Ispan as much as possible and continued with their questions, but it was plain they were feeling their way blindly, now, and carefully.And there was Nynaeve, and Lan. Most definitely Nynaeve and Lan, with her near to bursting at the effort of holding her temper around him, mooning over him when they had to sleep apart - which was nearly always, the way accommodations divided up - and torn between eager and afraid when she could sneak him off to a hayloft. It was her own fault for choosing a Sea Folk wedding, in Elayne's estimation. The Sea Folk believed in hierarchy as they did in the sea, and they knew a woman and her husband might be promoted one past the other many times in their lives. Their marriage rites took that into account. Whoever had the right to command in public, must obey in private. Lan never took advantage, so Nynaeve said - "not really," whatever that was supposed to mean! She always blushed when she said it - but she kept waiting for him to do so, and he just seemed to grow more and more amused. This amus.e.m.e.nt, of course, screwed Nynaeve's temper to a fever pitch. Nynaeve did erupt, out of all the explosions Elayne had expected. She snapped at anyone and everyone who got in her way. Except at Lan; with him, she was all honey and cream. And not at Alise. She came close once or twice, but even Nynaeve could not seem to make herself snap at Alise.Elayne had hopes, not worries, about the things brought out of the Rahad along with the Bowl of the Winds. Aviendha helped her search, and so did Nynaeve once or twice, but she was entirely too slow and ginger about it and showed little skill at finding what they were searching for. They found no more angreal, yet the collection of ter'angreal grew; once all the rubbish had been thrown away, objects that used the One Power filled five entire panniers on the packhorses.Careful as Elayne was, though, her attempts to study them did not go so well. Spirit was the safest of the Five Powers to use in this - unless, of course, Spirit happened to be what triggered the thing! - yet at times she had to use other flows, as fine as she could weave. Sometimes her delicate probing did nothing, but her first touch at the thing that looked like a blacksmith's puzzle made of gla.s.s left her dizzy and unable to sleep for half the night, and a thread of Fire touching what looked like a helmet made of fluffy metal feathers gave everyone within twenty paces a blinding headache. Except for herself. And then there was the crimson rod that felt hot. Hot, in a way.Sitting on the edge of her bed at an inn called The Wild Boar, she examined the smooth rod by the light of two polished bra.s.s lamps. Wristthick and a foot long, it looked like stone, but felt firm rather than hard. She was alone; since the helmet, she had tried to do her studying away from the others. The heat of the rod made her think of Fire...Blinking, she opened her eyes and sat up in the bed. Sunlight streamed in at the window. She was in her s.h.i.+ft, and Nynaeve, fully dressed, stood frowning down at her. Aviendha and Birgitte were watching from beside the door."What happened?" Elayne demanded, and Nynaeve shook her head grimly."You don't want to know." Her lips twitched.Aviendha's face gave away nothing. Birgitte's mouth might have been a little tight, but the strongest emotion Elayne felt from her was a combination of relief and - hilarity! The woman was doing her utmost not to roll on the floor laughing!The worst of it was, no one would tell what had happened. What she had said, or done; she was sure it was that, by the quickly hidden grins she saw, from Kinswomen and Windfinders as well as sisters. But no one would tell her! After that, she decided to leave studying the ter'angreal to somewhere more comfortable than a inn. Somewhere definitely more private!Nine days after their flight from Ebou Dar, scattered clouds appeared in the sky and a sprinkling of fat raindrops splashed dust in the road. An intermittent drizzle fell the next day, and the day after, a deluge kept them huddled in the houses and stables of Forel Market. That night, the rain turned to sleet, and by morning, thick flurries of snow drifted from a clouddark sky. More than halfway to Caemlyn, Elayne began to wonder whether they could make it in two weeks from where they stood.With the snow, clothes became a worry. Elayne blamed herself for not thinking of the fact that everyone might need warm clothes before they reached their destination. Nynaeve blamed herself for not thinking of it. Merilille thought she was at fault, and Reanne thought she was. They actually stood in the main street of Forel Market that morning with snowflakes drifting down on their heads, arguing over who could claim the blame. Elayne was not sure which of them saw the absurdity first, who was the first to laugh, but all were laughing as they settled around a table in The White Swan to decide what to do. A solution turned out to be no laughing matter. Providing one warm coat or cloak for everyone would take a large bite out of their coin, if so many could be found. Jewelry could be sold or traded, of course, but no one in Forel Market seemed to be interested in necklaces or bracelets, however fine.Aviendha solved that difficulty by producing a small sack that bulged with clear, perfect gemstones, some quite large. Strangely, the same folk who had said with bare politeness that they had no use for begemmed necklaces went roundeyed at the unset stones rolling about in Aviendha's palm. Reanne said they saw one as frippery, the other as wealth, but whatever their reasons, in return for two rubies of moderate size, one large moonstone, and a small firedrop, the people of Forel Market were more than willing to provide as many thick woolens as their visitors desired, some of them hardly worn."Very generous of them," Nynaeve muttered sourly as people began rooting clothes out of their chests and attics. A steady stream marched into the inn with their arms full. "Those stones could buy the whole village!" Aviendha shrugged slightly; she would have surrendered a handful of the gems if Reanne had not intervened.Merilille shook her head. "We have what they want, but they have what we need. I'm afraid that means they set the price." Which was entirely too much like the situation with the Sea Folk. Nynaeve looked positively ill.When they were alone, in a hallway of the inn, Elayne asked Aviendha where she had gotten such a fortune in jewels, and one she seemed eager to be rid of. She expected her nearsister to say they were her takings from the Stone of Tear, or perhaps Cairhien."Rand al'Thor tricked me," Aviendha muttered sullenly. "I tried to buy my toh from him. I know that is the least honorable way," she protested, "but I could see no other. And he stood me on my head! Why is it, when you reason things out logically, a man always does something completely illogical and gains the upper hand?""Their pretty heads are so fuzzy, a woman can't expect to follow how they skitter," Elayne told her. She did not inquire what toh Aviendha had tried to buy, or how the attempt had ended with her nearsister possessing a sack full of rich gems. Talking about Rand was hard enough without where that might lead.Snow brought more than a need for warm clothing. At midday, with the snow flurries falling thicker by the minute, Renaile strode down the stairs into the common room, proclaimed that her part of the bargain had been met, and demanded not only the Bowl of the Winds, but Merilille. The Gray sister stared in consternation, and so did a great many others. The benches were filled with Kinswomen taking their turn at the midday meal, and serving men and women ran to serve this third lot of meals. Renaile did not keep her voice down, and every head in the common room swiveled toward her."You can begin your teaching, now," Renaile told the wideeyed Aes Sedai. "Up the ladder with you to my quarters." Merilille started to protest, but face suddenly cold, the Windfinder to the Mistress of the s.h.i.+ps planted fists on her hips. "When I give a command, Merilille Ceandevin," she said icily, "I expect every hand on deck to jump. Now jump!"Merilille did not precisely jump, but she did gather herself and go, with Renaile practically chivvying her up the stairs from behind. Given her promise, she had no other choice. Reanne's face was aghast. Alise and stout Sumeko, still wearing her red belt, watched thoughtfully.In the days that followed, whether laboring along a snowcovered road on their horses, walking the streets of a village, or trying to find room for everyone at a farm, Renaile kept Merilille at her heels except when she told her off to follow another Windfinder. The glow of saidar surrounded the Gray sister and her escort almost constantly, and Merilille demonstrated weaves unceasingly. The pale Cairhienin was markedly shorter than any of the dark Sea Folk women, but at first Merilille managed to stand taller by the sheer force of Aes Sedai dignity. Soon, though, she began to wear a permanently startled expression. Elayne learned that when they all had beds to sleep in, which they did not always, Merilille was sharing with Pol, her maid, and the two apprentice Windfinders, Talaan and Metarra. What that said of Merilille's status, Elayne was not sure. Clearly, the Windfinders did not put her on a level with the apprentices. They just expected her to do as she was told, when she was told, with no delays or equivocations.Reanne remained appalled at the turn of events, but Alise and Sumeko were not the only ones among the Kin to watch closely, not the only ones to nod thoughtfully. And suddenly, another problem came to Elayne's notice. The Kinswomen saw Ispan made more and more malleable in her captivity, but she was the prisoner of other Aes Sedai. The Sea Folk were not Aes Sedai, and Merilille not a prisoner, yet she was starting to jump when Renaile issued a command, or, for that matter, when Dorile, or Caire, or Caire's bloodsister Tebreille did. Each of those was Windfinder to a clan Wavemistress, and none of the others made her hop with such alacrity, but that was enough. More and more of the Kin slid from horrified gaping to thoughtful observation. Perhaps Aes Sedai were not a different flesh after all. If Aes Sedai were just women like themselves, why should they subject themselves once more to the rigors of the Tower, to Aes Sedai authority and Aes Sedai discipline? Had they not survived very well on their own, some for more years than any of the older sisters were quite ready to believe? Elayne could practically see the idea forming in their heads.When she mentioned it to Nynaeve, though, Nynaeve just muttered, "About time some of the sisters learned what it's like trying to teach a woman who thinks she knows more than her teacher. Those who have a chance at a shawl will still want it, and for the rest, I don't see why they shouldn't grow some backbone." Elayne refrained from mentioning Nynaeve's complaints about Sumeko, who had certainly grown backbone; Sumeko had criticized several of Nynaeve's Healing weaves as "clumsy," and Elayne had thought Nynaeve was going to have apoplexy on the spot. "In any case, there's no need to tell Egwene about this. If she's there. Any of it. She has enough on her plate." Without doubt, "any of it" referred to Merilille and the Windfinders.They were in their s.h.i.+fts, seated on their bed on the second floor of The New Plow, with the twistedring dream ter'angreal hanging about their necks, Elayne's on a simple leather cord, Nynaeve's alongside Lan's heavy signet ring on a narrow golden chain. Aviendha and Birgitte, still fully dressed, sat on two of their clothing chests. Standing guard, they called it, until she and Nynaeve returned from the World of Dreams. Both wore their cloaks until they could climb under the blankets. The New Plow was definitely not new; cracks spidered across the plastered walls, and unfortunate drafts crept in everywhere.The room itself was small, and the chests and stacked bundles left room for little beyond the bed and washstand. Elayne knew she had to present herself properly in Caemlyn, but sometimes she felt guilty, with her belongings on pack animals when most others had to make do with what they could carry on their backs. Nynaeve certainly never showed any regrets over her chests. They had been sixteen days on the road, the full moon outside the narrow window shone on a white blanket of snow that would make traveling tomorrow slow even if the sky remained clear, and Elayne thought another week to Caemlyn was an optimistic estimate."I have enough sense not to remind her," she told Nynaeve. "I don't want my nose snapped off again."That was a mild way of putting it. They had not been in Tel'aran'rhiod since informing Egwene, the night after leaving the estate, that the Bowl had been used. Reluctantly, they also had told her of the bargain they had been forced into with the Sea Folk, and found themselves facing the Amyrlin Seat with the striped stole on her shoulders. Elayne knew it was necessary and right - a Queen's closest friend among her subjects knew she was the Queen as well as a friend, had to know - but she had not enjoyed her friend telling them in a heated voice that they had behaved like witless loobies who might have brought ruin down on all their heads. Especially when she herself agreed. She had not liked hearing that the only reason Egwene did not set them both a penance that would curl their hair was that she could not afford to have them waste the time. Necessary and right, though; when she sat on the Lion Throne, she would still be Aes Sedai, and subject to the laws and rules and customs of Aes Sedai. Not for Andor - she would not give her land to the White Tower - but for herself. So, unpleasant as it had been, she accepted her castigation calmly. Nynaeve had writhed and stammered with embarra.s.sment, protested and all but pouted, then apologized so profusely that Elayne hardly believed it was the same woman she knew. Quite rightly, Egwene had remained the Amyrlin, cool in her displeasure even while giving pardon for their mistakes. At best, tonight could not be pleasant or comfortable if she was there.But when they dreamed themselves into the Salidar of Tel'aran'rhiod, into the room in the Little Tower that had been called the Amyrlin's Study, she was not there, and the only sign she had visited since their meeting was some barely visible words roughly scratched on a beetleriddled wall panel, as if by an idle hand that did not want to spend the effort to carve deeply.STAY IN CAEMLYNAnd a few feet away:KEEP SILENT AND BE CAREFULThose had been Egwene's final instructions to them. Go to Caemlyn, and stay there until she could puzzle out how to keep the Hall from salting all of them down and nailing them into a barrel. A reminder they had no way to erase.Embracing saidar, Elayne channeled to leave her own message, the number fifteen seemingly scratched on the heavy table that had been Egwene's writing desk. Inverting the weave and tying it off meant that only someone who ran her fingers across the numerals would realize they were not really there. Perhaps it would not take fifteen days to reach Caemlyn, but more than a week, she was certain.Nynaeve strode to the window and peered out both ways, careful not to put her head out through the open cas.e.m.e.nt. It was night out there as in the waking world, a full moon gleaming on bright snow, though the air did not feel cold. No one else should be there except them, and if anyone was, it was someone to avoid. "I hope she isn't having trouble with her plans," she muttered."She told us not to mention those even to each other, Nynaeve. 'A secret spoken finds wings.' " That had been another of Lini's many favorites.Nynaeve grimaced over her shoulder, then returned to peering down the narrow alley. "It's different for you. I tended her as a child, changed her swaddling, smacked her bottom a time or two. And now I have to leap when she snaps her fingers. It's hard."Elayne could not help herself. She snapped her fingers.Nynaeve spun so fast that she blurred, her face popeyed with horror. Her dress blurred, too, from blue riding silks to an Accepted's banded white to what she referred to as good, stout Two Rivers wool, dark and thick. When she realized Egwene was not there, had not been listening, she almost fainted with relief.When they stepped back to their bodies and woke long enough to tell the others they could come to bed, Aviendha certainly thought it a good joke, and Birgitte laughed as well. Nynaeve had her revenge, though. The next morning, she woke Elayne with an icicle. Elayne's shrieks woke everybody else in the whole village.Three days later, the first explosion came.

Chapter 21

(Dragon)

Answering the Summons

The great winter tempests called the cemaros continued to roll up out of the Sea of Storms, harsher than any in memory. Some said this year the cemaros was trying to make up for the months of delay. Lightning crackled across the skies, enough to make the darkness patchy at night. Wind lashed the land and rain flailed it, turning all but the hardest roads to rivers of mud. Sometimes the mud froze after nightfall, but sunrise always brought a thaw, even under a gray sky, and the ground became bogs once more. Rand was surprised at how much all that hampered his plans.The Asha'man he had sent for came quickly, at midmorning the next day, riding out of a gateway into a driving downpour that obscured the sun so, it might as well have been twilight. Through the hole in the air, snow fell back in Andor, fat white flakes swirling about thickly and hiding what lay behind them. Most of the men in the short column were bundled in heavy black cloaks, but the rain seemed to slip around them and their horses. It was not obvious, yet anyone who noticed would look twice, if not three times. Keeping dry required only a simple weave, so long as you did not mind flaunting what you were. But then, the blackandwhite disc worked on a crimson circle on the breast of their cloaks did that. Even halfhidden by the rain, there was a pride about them, an arrogance in the way they sat their saddles. A defiance. They gloried in what they were.Their commander, Charl Gedwyn, was a few years older than Rand, of middling height and wearing the Sword and Dragon, like Torval, on a very well cut, highcollared coat of the best black silk. His sword was mounted lushly with silver, his silverworked sword belt fastened with a silver buckle shaped in a clenched fist. Gedwyn termed himself Tsorovan'm'hael; in the Old Tongue, Storm Leader, whatever that was supposed to mean. It seemed appropriate to the weather, at least.Even so, he stood just inside the entrance to Rand's ornate green tent and scowled out at the cascading rain. A guard of mounted Companions encircled the tent, no more than thirty paces away, yet they were barely visible. They might have been statues, ignoring the torrent."How do you expect me to find anyone in this?" Gedwyn muttered, glancing back over his shoulder at Rand. A tick late, he added, "My Lord Dragon." His eyes were hard and challenging, but they always were, whether looking at a man or a fencepost. "Rochaid and I brought eight Dedicated and forty Soldiers, enough to destroy an army or cow ten kings. We might even make an Aes Sedai blink," he said wryly. "Burn me, the pair of us could do a fair job alone. Or you could. Why do you need anyone else?""I expect you to obey, Gedwyn," Rand said coldly. Storm Leader? And Manel Rochaid, Gedwyn's second, called himself Baijan'm'hael, Attack Leader. What was Taim up to, creating new ranks? The important thing was that the man made weapons. The important thing was that the weapons stayed sane long enough to be used. "And I don't expect you to waste time questioning my orders.""As you command, my Lord Dragon," Gedwyn muttered. "I'll send men out immediately." With a curt salute, fist to chest, he strode out into the storm. The deluge bent away from him, sheeting down the small s.h.i.+eld he wove around himself. Rand wondered whether the man suspected how close he had come to dying when he seized saidin without warning.You must kill him before he kills you, Lews Therin giggled. They will, you know. Dead men can't betray anyone. The voice in Rand's head turned wondering. But sometimes they don't die. Am I dead? Are you?Rand pushed the words down to a fly's buzzing, just on the edge of notice. Since his reappearance inside Rand's head, Lews Therin seldom went silent unless forced. The man seemed madder than ever most of the time, and usually angrier as well. Stronger sometimes, too. That voice invaded Rand's dreams, and when he saw himself in a dream, it was not always himself at all that he saw. It was not always Lews Therin, either, the face he had come to recognize as Lews Therin's. Sometimes it was blurred, yet vaguely familiar, and Lews Therin seemed startled by it, too. That was an indication how far the man's madness went. Or maybe his own.Not yet, Rand thought. I can't afford to go mad yet.When, then? Lews Therin whispered before Rand could mute him again.With the arrival of Gedwyn and the Asha'man, his plan to sweep the Seanchan westward got under way. Got under way, and crept forward as slowly as a man laboring along one of those mired roads. He s.h.i.+fted his own camp at once, making no effort to hide his movements. There was little point to straining for secrecy. Word traveled slowly by pigeon, and far slower by courier, once the cemaros came, yet he had no doubts he was watched, by the White Tower, by the Forsaken, by anyone who saw gain or loss in where the Dragon Reborn went and could afford to slip coin to a soldier. Maybe even by the Seanchan. If he could scout them, why not they him? But not even the Asha'man knew why he was moving.While Rand was idly watching men fold his tent onto a highwheeled cart, Weiramon appeared on one of his many horses, a prancing white gelding of the finest Tairen bloodstock. The rain had cleared, though gray clouds still veiled the noonday sun and the air felt as if you could squeeze water out of it with your hands. The Dragon Banner and the Banner of Light hung limp and sodden on their tall staffs.Tairen Defenders had replaced the Companions, and as Weiramon rode through their mounted ring, he frowned at Rodrivar Tihera, a lean fellow, dark even for a Tairen, with a short beard trimmed to a very sharp point. A very minor n.o.ble who had had to rise through his abilities, Tihera was punctilious in the extreme. The fat white plumes bobbing on his rimmed helmet added embellishment to the elaborate bow he gave Weiramon. The High Lord's frown deepened.There was no need for the Captain of the Stone to be personally in charge of Rand's bodyguard, but he frequently was, just as Marcolin often commanded the Companions himself. An often bitter rivalry had grown up between Defenders and Companions, centering on who should guard Rand. The Tairens claimed the right because he had ruled longer in Tear, the Illianers because he was, after all, King of Illian. Perhaps Weiramon had heard some of the mutters among the Defenders that it was time Tear had a king of its own, and who better than the man who had taken the Stone? Weiramon more than agreed with the need, but not with the choice of who should wear the crown. He was not the only one.The man smoothed his features as soon as he saw Rand looking, and swung down from his goldtooled saddle to offer a bow that made Tihera's seem simple. Ironspined as he was, he could puff up and strut in his sleep. Though he did grimace slightly at putting his polished boot into the mud. He wore a rain cape, to keep the mist off his fine clothes, but even that was encrusted with gold embroidery and had a collar of sapphires. For all of Rand's coat of deep green silk, with golden bees climbing the sleeves and lapels, anyone might have been forgiven for thinking the Crown of Swords belonged on the other's head, not his."My Lord Dragon," Weiramon intoned. "I cannot express how happy I am to see you guarded by Tairens, my Lord Dragon. Surely the world would weep if anything untoward happened." He was too intelligent to come out and call the Companions untrustworthy. By a hair, he was."Sooner or later it would," Rand said dryly. After a good part of it finished celebrating. "I know how hard you'd cry, Weiramon."The fellow actually preened, stroking the point of his graystreaked beard. He heard what he wanted to hear. "Yes, my Lord Dragon, you can be a.s.sured of my constancy. Which is why I'm concerned by the orders your man brought me this morning." That was Adley; many of the n.o.bles thought pretending the Asha'man were merely Rand's servants would somehow make them less dangerous. "Wise of you to send away most of the Cairhienin. And the Illianers, of course; that goes without saying. I can even understand why you limit Gueyam and the others." Weiramon's boots squelched in the mud as he stepped nearer, and his voice took on a confiding tone. "I do believe some of them - I wouldn't say plotted against you, but I think perhaps their loyalty has not always been without question. As mine is. Without question." His voice s.h.i.+fted again, to strong and confident, a man concerned only with the needs of the one he served. The one who surely would make him the first King of Tear. "Allow me to bring all of my armsmen, my Lord Dragon. With them, and the Defenders, I can a.s.sure the honor of the Lord of the Morning, and his safety."In all of the individual camps across the heath, wagons and carts were being loaded, horses saddled. Most tents were already down. The High Lady Rosana was riding north, her banner heading a column large enough to raise havoc among the bandits and at least give the Shaido pause. But not enough to plant notions in her head, especially not when half were Gueyam's and Maraconn's retainers mixed with Defenders of the Stone. Much the same applied to Spiron Narettin, riding eastward over the tall ridge with as many Companions and men sworn to others of the Council of Nine as his own liegemen, not to mention a hundred more tailing behind on foot, some of the fellows who had surrendered in the woods beyond that ridge the day before. A surprising number had chosen to follow the Dragon Reborn, but Rand did not trust them enough to leave them together. Tolmeran was just starting south with the same kind of blend, and others would be marching off as soon as they had their carts and wagons loaded. Each in a different direction, and none able to trust the men at their backs far enough for them to do more than follow the orders Rand had given. Bringing peace to Illian was an important task, yet every last lord and lady regretted being sent away from the Dragon Reborn, plainly wondering whether it meant they had slipped in his trust. Though a few might have considered why he chose to keep those he did under his eye. Rosana had certainly looked thoughtful."Your concern touches me," Rand told Weiramon, "but how many bodyguards does one man need? I'm not off to start a war." A fine point, perhaps, yet this war was well under way. It had begun at Falme, if not before. "Get your people ready."How many have died for my pride? Lews Therin moaned. How many have died for my mistakes?"May I at least ask where we are going?" Weiramon's question, not quite exasperated, came right atop the voice in Rand's head."The City," Rand snapped. He did not know how many had died for his mistakes, but none for his pride. He was sure of that.Weiramon opened his mouth, plainly confused as to whether he meant Tear or Illian, or maybe even Cairhien, but Rand gestured him away with the Dragon Scepter, a sharp stabbing motion that made the greenandwhite ta.s.sel swing. He half wished he could stab Lews Therin with it. "I don't intend to sit here all day, Weiramon! Go to your men!"Less than an hour later he took hold of the True Source and prepared to make a gateway for Traveling. He had to fight the dizziness that gripped him lately whenever he seized or loosed the Power; he did not quite sway in Tai'daishar's saddle. What with the molten filth floating on saidin, the frozen slime, touching the Source came close to emptying his stomach. Seeing double, even for only a few moments, made weaving flows difficult if not impossible, and he could have told Das.h.i.+va or Flinn or one of the others to do it, but Gedwyn and Rochaid were holding their horses' reins in front of a dozen or so blackcoated Soldiers, all who had not been out to search. Just standing there patiently. And watching Rand. Rochaid, no more than a hand shorter than Rand and maybe two years younger, was also full Asha'man, and his coat, too, was silk. A small smile played on his face, as if he knew things others did not and was amused. What did he know? About the Seanchan, surely, if not Rand's plans for them. What else? Maybe nothing, but Rand was not about to show any weakness in front of that pair. The dizziness faded quickly, the twinned sight a little more slowly, as it always did, these last few weeks, and he completed the weave, then, without waiting, dug in his heels and rode through the opening that unfolded before him.The City he had meant was Illian, though the gateway opened to the north of that city. Despite Weiramon's supposed concerns, he hardly went unprotected and alone. Nearly three thousand men rode through that tall square hole in the air, into rolling meadowland not far from the broad muddy road that led down to the Causeway of the Northern Star. Even when every lord had only been allowed a handful of armsmen - to men accustomed to leading a thousand if not thousands, a hundred or so were a handful - they added up. Tairens and Cairhienin and Illianers, Defenders of the Stone under Tihera and Companions under Marcolin, Asha'man heeling Gedwyn. The Asha'man who had come with him, anyway. Das.h.i.+va and Flinn and the rest kept their horses close behind Rand. All but Narishma. Narishma had not come back yet. The man knew where to find him, but Rand did not like it.Each kind kept to themselves as much as possible. Gueyam and Maraconn and Aracome rode with Weiramon, all eyeing Rand more than where they were going, and Gregorin Panar with three others of the Council of Nine, leaning in their saddles to speak softly and uneasily among themselves. Semaradrid, with a knot of tightfaced Cairhienin lords behind him, watched Rand almost as closely as the Tairens did. Rand had chosen those who came with him as carefully as those he sent away, not always for the reasons others might have used.Had there been any onlookers, it would have been a brave display, with all their bright banners and pennants, and small con rising from some of the Cairhienin's backs. Bright and brave and very dangerous. Some had plotted against him, and he had learned that Semaradrid's House Maravin had old alliances with House Riatin, which stood in open rebellion against him in Cairhien. Semaradrid did not deny the connection, but he had not mentioned it before Rand heard, either. The Council of Nine were just too new to him to risk leaving them all behind. And Weiramon was a fool. Left to his own devices, he might well try to gain the Lord Dragon's favor by marching an army against the Seanchan, or Murandy, or the Light alone knew who or where. Too stupid to leave behind, too powerful to shove aside, so he rode with Rand and thought himself honored. It was almost a pity he was not stupid enough to do something that would get him executed.Behind came the servants and carts - no one understood why Rand had sent all of the wagons with the others, and he was not about to explain; who owned the next pair of ears that would hear? - and then the long strings of spare mounts led by horse handlers, and straggling files of men in battered breastplates that did not quite fit or leather jerkins sewn with rusty steel discs, carrying bows or crossbows or spears, and even a few pikes; more of the fellows who had obeyed "Lord Brend's" summons and decided against going home unarmed. Their leader was the runnynosed man Rand had spoken to on the edge of the woods, Eagan Padros by name and much brighter than he looked. It was difficult for a commoner to rise very far, most places, but Rand had marked Padros out. The fellow gathered his men off to one side, but the whole lot of them milled about, elbowing one another aside for a better view southward.The Causeway of the Northern Star stretched arrowstraight through the miles of brown marsh that surrounded Illian, a wide road of hardpacked dirt broken by flat stone bridges. A wind from the south carried sea salt and a hint of tanneries. Illian was a sprawling city, easily as large as Caemlyn or Cairhien. Brightly colored roof tiles and hundreds of thrusting towers, gleaming in the sun, were just visible across that sea of gra.s.s where longlegged cranes waded and flocks of white birds flew low uttering shrill cries. Illian had never needed walls. Not that walls would have done the City any good against him.There was considerable disappointment that he did not mean to enter Illian, though no one spoke a complaint, at least not where he could hear. Still, there were plenty of glum faces and sour mutters as hasty camps began going up. Like most of the great cities, Illian had a name for exotic mystery, freehanded tapsters, and willing women. At least among men who had never been there, even when it was their own capital. Ignorance always inflated a city's reputation for such things. As it was, only Morr galloped off across the causeway. Men straightened from hammering tent pegs or setting picket lines for the horses, and followed him with jealous eyes. n.o.bles watched curiously, while trying to pretend they were not.The Asha'man with Gedwyn paid Morr no mind as they made their own camp, which consisted of a pitchblack tent for Gedwyn and Rochaid and a s.p.a.ce where damp brown gra.s.s and mud were squeezed flat and dry, for the rest to sleep wrapped in their cloaks. That was done with the Power, of course; they did everything with the Power, not even bothering to build cook fires. A few in the other camps stared at them, wideeyed, as the tent seemed to spring up of its own accord and hampers floated away from packsaddles, but most looked anywhere else at all once they realized what was going on. Two or three of the blackcoated Soldiers appeared to be talking to themselves.Flinn and the others did not join Gedwyn's lot - they had a pair of tents that went up not far from Rand's - but Das.h.i.+va wandered over to where the "Storm Leader" and the "Attack Leader" were standing at their ease, and occasionally issuing a sharp order. A few words, and he wandered back shaking his head and muttering angrily under his breath. Gedwyn and Rochaid were not a friendly pair. As well they were not.Rand took to his tent as soon as it was pitched, and sprawled fully clothed on his cot, staring at the sloped ceiling. There were bees embroidered on the inside as well, on a false roof made of silk. Hopwil brought a steaming pewter mug of mulled wine - Rand had left his servants behind - but the wine grew cold on his writing table. His mind worked feverishly. Two or three more days, and the Seanchan would have been dealt a blow that knocked them on their heels. Then it was back to Cairhien to see how negotiations with the Sea Folk had gone, to learn what Cadsuane was after - he owed her a debt, but she was after something! - maybe to put a final end to what remained of the rebellion there. Had Caraline Damodred and Darlin Sisnera slipped away in the confusion? The High Lord Darlin in his hands might finish the rebellion in Tear, as well. Andor. If Mat and Elayne were in Murandy, the way it appeared, it would be weeks more at best before Elayne could claim the Lion Throne. Once that happened, he would have to stay clear of Caemlyn. But he had to talk to Nynaeve. Could he cleanse saidin? It might work. It might destroy the world, too. Lews Therin gibbered at him in stark terror. Light, where was Narishma?A cemaros storm swept in, all the fiercer this near the sea. Rain beat his tent like a drum. Lightning flashes filled the entrance with bluewhite light, and thunder rumbled, the sound like mountains tumbling across the land.Out of that, Narishma stepped into the tent, dripping wet, dark hair plastered to his head. His orders had been to avoid notice at all cost. No flaunting for him. His sodden coat was plain brown, and his dark hair was tied back, not braided. Even without bells, near waistlength hair on a man attracted eyes. He wore a scowl, too, and under his arm he carried a cylindrical bundle tied with cord, fatter than a man's leg, like a small carpet.Springing from the cot, Rand s.n.a.t.c.hed the bundle before Narishma could proffer it. "Did anyone see you?" he demanded. "What took you so long? I expected you last night!""It took a while to figure out what I had to do," Narishma replied in a flat voice. "You didn't tell me everything. You nearly killed me."That was ridiculous. Rand had told him everything he needed to know. He was sure of it. There was no point to trusting the man as far as he had, only to have him die and ruin everything. Carefully he tucked the bundle beneath his cot. His hands trembled with the urge to strip the wrappings away, to make sure they held what Narishma had been sent for. The man would not have dared return if they did not. "Get yourself into a proper coat before you join the others," he said. "And Narishma... " Rand straightened, fixing the other man with a steady gaze. "You tell anyone about this, and I will kill you."Kill the whole world, Lews Therin laughed, a moan of derision. Of despair. I killed the world, and you can, too, if you try hard.Narishma struck himself hard on the chest with his fist. "As you command, my Lord Dragon," he said sourly.Bright and early the next morning, a thousand men of the Legion of the Dragon marched out of Illian, across the Causeway of the Northern Star, stepping to the steady beat of drums. Well, it was early, anyway. Thick gray clouds roiled across the sky, and a stiff sea breeze sharp with salt whipped cloaks and banners, muttering of another storm on the way. The Legion attracted a good bit of attention from the armsmen already in the camp, with their bluepainted Andoran helmets and their long blue coats worked on the chest with a redandgold Dragon. A blue pennant bearing the Dragon and a number marked each of the five companies. The Legionmen were different in many ways. For instance, they wore breastplates, but beneath their coats, so as not to hide the Dragons - the same reason the coats b.u.t.toned up one side - and every man carried a shortsword at his hip and a steelarmed crossbow, every one shouldered exactly the same as every other. The officers walked, each with a tall red plume on his helmet, just ahead of drum and pennant. The only horses were Morr's mousecolored gelding, at their head, and pack animals at the rear."Foot," Weiramon muttered, slapping his reins on a gauntleted hand. "Burn my soul, they're no good, foot. They'll scatter at the first charge. Before." The first of the column strode off the causeway. They had helped take Illian, and they had not scattered.Semaradrid shook his head. "No pikes," he muttered. "I have seen wellled foot hold, with pikes, but without... " He made a sound of disgust in his throat.Gregorin Panar, the third man sitting his saddle near Rand to watch the new arrivals, said nothing. Perhaps he had no prejudice against infantry - though if he did not, he would be one of only a handful of n.o.blemen Rand had met without it - but he tried hard not to frown and almost succeeded. Everyone knew by now that the men with the Dragon on their chests bore arms because they had chosen to follow Rand, chosen to follow the Dragon Reborn, for no other reason than that they wanted to. The Illianer had to be wondering where they were going that Rand wanted the Legion and the Council of Nine was not trusted to know. For that matter, Semaradrid eyed Rand sideways. Only Weiramon was too stupid to think.Rand turned Tai'daishar away. Narishma's package had been rewrapped, into a thinner bundle, and tied beneath his left stirrup leather. "Strike the camp; we're moving," he told the three n.o.bles.This time, he let Das.h.i.+va weave the gateway to take them all away. The plainfaced fellow frowned at him and mumbled to himself - Das.h.i.+va actually seemed affronted, for some reason! - and Gedwyn and Rochaid, their horses shoulderbyshoulder, watched with sardonic smiles as the silvery slash of light rotated into a hole in nothing. Watched Rand more than Das.h.i.+va. Well, let them watch. How often could he seize saidin and risk falling dizzily on his face before he really did fall? It could not be where they could see.This time, the gateway took them to a wide road carved through the low, brushy foothills of mountains to the west. The Nemarellin Mountains. Not the equals of the Mountain of Mist, and not a patch on the Spine of the World, but they rose dark and severe against the sky, sharp peaks that walled the west coast of Illian. Beyond them lay Kabal Deep, and beyond that...Men began to recognize the peaks soon enough. Gregorin Panar took one look around and nodded in sudden satisfaction. The other three Councilors and Marcolin reined close to him to talk while hors.e.m.e.n were still pouring through the gateway. Semaradrid required only a bit longer to puzzle it out, and Tihera, and they also looked as if they understood now.The Silver Road ran from the City to Lugard, and carried all of the inland trade for the west. There was a Gold Road, too, that led to Far Madding. Roads and names alike dated from before there had been an Illian. Centuries of wagon wheels, hooves and boots had beaten them hard, and the cemaros could only skim them with mud. They were among the few reliable highways in Illian for moving large groups of men in winter. Everyone knew about the Seanchan in Ebou Dar by this time, though a good many of the tales Rand had heard among the armsmen made the invaders seem Trollocs' meaner cousins. If the Seanchan intended to strike into Illian, the Silver Road was a good place to gather for defense.Semaradrid and the others thought they knew what he planned: he must have learned that the Seanchan were coming, and the Asha'man were there to destroy them when they did. Given the stories about the Seanchan, no one seemed too upset that that left little for them to do. Of course, Weiramon had to have it explained to him finally, by Tihera, and he was upset, though he tried to mask it behind a grand speech about the wisdom of the Lord Dragon and the military genius of the Lord of the Morning, along with how he, personally, would lead the first charge against these Seanchan. A pure bullgoose fool. With luck, anyone else who learned of a gathering on the Silver Road would at least not be too much brighter than Semaradrid or Gregorin. With luck, no one who mattered would learn before it was too late.Settling in to wait, Rand thought it would only be another day or so, but as the days stretched out, he began to wonder whether he might be nearly as big a fool as Weiramon.Most of the Asha'man were out searching across Illian and Tear and the Plains of Maredo for the rest of those Rand wanted. Searching through the cemaros. Gateways and Traveling were all very well, but even Asha'man took time to find who they sought when downpours hid anything fifty paces away and quagmires dragged rumor to a near halt. Searching Asha'man pa.s.sed within a mile of their quarry in ignorance, and turned only to learn the men had moved on again. Some had farther to go, seeking people not necessarily eager to be found. Days pa.s.sed before the first brought news.The High Lord Sunamon joined Weiramon, a fat man with an unctuous manner - toward Rand, at least. Smooth in his fine silk coat, always smiling, he was voluble in his declarations of loyalty, but he had plotted against Rand so long that he probably did so in his sleep. The High Lord Torean came, with his lumpy farmer's face and his vast wealth, stammering about the honor of riding once more at the Lord Dragon's side. Gold concerned Torean more than anything else, except possibly the privileges Rand had taken away from the n.o.bles in Tear. He seemed particularly dismayed to learn there were no serving girls in the camp, and not so much as a village nearby where compliant farmgirls might be found. Torean had schemed against Rand every bit as often as Sunamon. Maybe even more than Gueyam, or Maraconn, or Aracome.There were others. There was Bertome Saighan, a short, ruggedly handsome man with the front of his head shaved. He supposedly did not mourn the death of his cousin Colavaere too greatly, both because that made him the new High Seat of House Saighan and because rumor said Rand had executed her. Or murdered her. Bertome bowed and smiled, and his smile never reached his dark eyes. Some said he had been very fond of his cousin. Ailil Riatin came, a slim dignified woman with big dark eyes, not young but quite pretty, protesting that she had a Lancecaptain to lead her armsmen and no desire to take the field in person. Protesting her loyalty for the Lord Dragon, too. But her brother Toram claimed the throne Rand meant for Elayne, and it was whispered that she would do anything for Toram, anything at all. Even join with his enemies; to hamper or to spy or both, of course. Dalthanes Annallin came, and Amondrid Osiellin, and Doressin Chuliandred, lords who had supported Colavaere's seizure of the Sun Throne when they thought Rand would never return to Cairhien.Cairhienin and Tairen, they were brought in one by one, with fifty retainers, or at most a hundred. Men and women he trusted even less than he did Gregorin or Semaradrid. Most were men, not because he thought the women any less dangerous - he was not that big a fool; a woman would kill you twice as fast as a man, and usually for half the reason! - but because he could not bring himself to take any woman except the most dangerous, where he was going. Ailil could smile warmly while she calculated where to plant the knife in your ribs. Anaiyella, a willowy simpering High Lady who gave a fair imitation of a beautiful goosebrain, had returned to Tear from Cairhien and openly begun talking of herself for the asyetnonexistent throne of Tear. Perhaps she was a fool, but she had managed to gain a great deal of support, both among n.o.bles and in the streets.So he gathered them in, all the folk who had been too long out from under his eye. He could not watch all of them all the time, but he could not afford to let them forget that he did watch sometimes. He gathered them, and he waited. For two days. Gnas.h.i.+ng his teeth, he waited. Five days. Eight.Rain was beating a diminis.h.i.+ng drum on his tent when the last man he was waiting for finally arrived.Shaking a small torrent from his oiledcloth cape, Davram Bashere blew out his thick, graystreaked mustaches in disgust and tossed the cape over a barrel chair. A short man with a great hooked beak of a nose, he seemed large