“And how many will that leave?”
“The Forsaken are not here,” Aviendha snapped. “And neither are the Maidens of the Spear. Where are they? What have you done, Rand al’Thor?”
“Me? There were twenty right here when I came to bed last night, and I haven’t seen one since.”
“Perhaps it is because Mat . . .” Asmodean began, and stopped when Mat looked at him, a tight-mouthed blend of pain and readiness to hit something.
“Do not be fools,” Aviendha said in a firm voice. “Far Dareis Mai would not claim toh against Mat Cauthon for this. She tried to kill him, and he killed her. Even her near-sisters would not, if she had had any. And no one would claim toh against Rand al’Thor for what another did unless he ordered it done. You have done something, Rand al’Thor, something great and dark, or they would be here.”
“I’ve done nothing,” he told her sharply. “And I don’t intend to stand here discussing it. Are you dressed for the ride south, Mat?”
Mat shoved a hand into his coatpocket, fingering something. He usually kept his dice and dicecup in there. “Caemlyn. I’m tired of them sneaking up on me. I want to sneak up on one of them for a change. I just hope I get the bloody pat on the head instead of the bloody flower,” he added with a grimace.
Rand did not ask him what he meant. Another ta’veren. Two together to twist chance perhaps. No way to tell how, or even if, but . . . “It seems like we’ll be together a little longer.” Mat looked more resigned than anything else.
Before they had gone far down the tapestry-lined corridor, Moiraine and Egwene met them, gliding along together as if the day held no more ahead than a walk in one of the gardens. Egwene, cool-eyed and calm, golden Great Serpent on her finger, really could have been Aes Sedai despite her Aiel clothes and shawl and the folded scarf around her temples, while Moiraine . . . Gold threads caught the light, faintly streaking Moiraine’s gown of shimmering blue silk. The small blue stone on her forehead, hanging from its gold chain fastened in her waves of dark hair, shone as brightly as the large gold-set sapphires around her neck. Hardly suitable garb for what they intended, yet in his red coat, Rand could not comment.
Perhaps it was being here, where House Damodred had once held the Sun Throne, but Moiraine’s graceful carriage was more regal than he remembered ever seeing it. Not even the presence of “Jasin Natael” could spoil that queenly serenity with surprise, but amazingly, she gave Mat a warm smile. “So you are going, too, Mat. Learn to trust the Pattern. Do not waste your life attempting to change what cannot be changed.” From Mat’s face, he might have been considering changing his mind about being there at all, but the Aes Sedai turned from him without a trace of worry. “These are for you, Rand.”
“More letters?” he said. One bore his name in an elegant hand that he recognized immediately. “From you, Moiraine?” The other carried Thom Merrilin’s name. Both had been sealed with blue wax, apparently with her Great Serpent ring, impressed with the image of the snake biting its own tail. “Why write me a letter? And sealed. You’ve never been afraid to say whatever you wanted to say to my face. If I ever forgot it, Aviendha has been reminding me that I’m only flesh and blo
od.”
“You have changed from the boy I first saw outside the Winespring Inn.” Her voice was a soft silver chiming. “You are hardly the same at all. I pray you have changed enough.”
Egwene murmured something low. Rand thought it was, “I pray you have not changed too much.” She was frowning at the letters as if she, too, wondered what was in them. So was Aviendha.
Moiraine went on more brightly, even briskly. “Seals ensure privacy. That contains things I wish you to think on; not now; when you have time for thinking. As for Thom’s letter, I know no safer hands than yours in which to place it. Give it to him when you see him again. Now, there is something you must see at the docks.”
“The docks?” Rand said. “Moiraine, this morning of all mornings, I’ve no time for—”
But she was already moving down the corridor as if sure he would follow. “I have had horses readied. Even one for you, Mat, just in case.” Egwene hesitated only a moment, then followed.
Rand opened his mouth to call Moiraine back. She had sworn to obey. Whatever she had to show him, he could see it another day.
“What could an hour hurt?” Mat muttered. Perhaps he was reconsidering.
“It would not be amiss for you to be seen this morning,” Asmodean said. “Rahvin might just know of it as soon as it happens. If he has any suspicions—if he has any spies who may have listened at keyholes—it might allay them for today.”
Rand looked at Aviendha. “Do you also counsel delay?”
“I counsel that you listen to Moiraine Sedai. Only fools ignore Aes Sedai.”
“What could be at the docks more important than Rahvin?” he growled, then shook his head. There was a saying in the Two Rivers, not that anybody said it where women could hear. “The Creator made women to please the eye and trouble the mind.” Aes Sedai were certainly no different in one respect. “One hour.”
The sun was not yet high enough to lift the city wall’s long shadow from the stone quay where Kadere’s wagons were lined up, but he still mopped his face with a large handkerchief. It was only partly the heat that made him sweat. Great gray curtain walls stretching into the river at either end of the row of docks made the quay seem a dim box, with him caught in it. There were nothing but broad, round-bowed grain barges docked here, and the same anchored in the river waiting their turn to unload. He had considered slipping onto one when it cast off, but it meant abandoning most of what he still possessed. Yet had he thought the slow passage downriver would take him anywhere except to his death, he would have. Lanfear had not returned to his dreams, but he had the burns on his chest to remind him of her commands. Just the thought of disobeying one of the Chosen made him shiver, even with sweat rolling down his face.
If only he knew who to trust; to the extent it was possible to trust any of his fellow Darkfriends. The last of his drivers who had sworn the oaths had vanished two days ago, very likely on one of the grain barges. He still did not know which Aiel woman had slipped that note under his wagon door—“You are not alone among strangers. A way has been chosen”— though he had several possibilities in mind. The docks held almost as many Aiel as they did workmen, come to stare at the river; he had seen a few of those faces more often than seemed reasonable, and some had looked at him consideringly. A few Cairhienin had as well, and a Tairen lord. That meant nothing by itself, of course, but if he could find a few men to work with . . .
A mounted party appeared in one of the gateways, Moiraine and Rand al’Thor leading the way with the Aes Sedai’s Warder as they threaded though the carts hauling grainsacks away. A wave of cheers rode with them.
“All glory to the Lord Dragon!” and “Hail the Lord Dragon!” and now and again “Glory to Lord Matrim! Glory to the Red Hand!”
For once the Aes Sedai turned down toward the tail end of the line of wagons without so much as a glance at Kadere. He was just as glad. Even if she had not been Aes Sedai, even if she had not looked at him as if she knew every black corner of his mind, he would as soon not have looked too closely at some of the things she had filled his wagons with. Yesterday evening she had made him strip the canvas off that oddly twisted redstone doorframe in the wagon just behind his. She seemed to take a perverse delight in making him help her himself with whatever she wanted to study. He would have covered the thing up again if he could bear to go near it, or could make any of his drivers do so. None with him now had seen Herid fall half through it in Rhuidean and half disappear—Herid had been the first to run away once they cleared the Jangai; the man had not been entirely right in the head after the Warder hauled him back—but they could look at it, see the way the corners did not meet properly, how you could not follow it around with your eyes without blinking and growing dizzy.
Kadere ignored the first three riders as much as the Aes Sedai had ignored him, and Mat Cauthon almost as much. The man was wearing his hat; he had never been able to find a replacement. The Aiel wench, Aviendha, rode up behind the young Aes Sedai’s saddle, both with their skirts pushed up to show their legs. If he needed any confirmation that the Aiel woman was bedding al’Thor, he only had to see the way she looked at him; a woman who had taken a man to her bed always looked at him with that light of ownership in her eyes after. More importantly, Natael was with them. This was the first time Kadere had been this close to him since crossing the Spine of the Wall. Natael, who stood high in the Darkfriends. If he could get past the Maidens to reach Natael . . .
Suddenly Kadere blinked. Where were the Maidens? Al’Thor always had an escort of spear-wielding women. Frowning, he realized he could not see a single Maiden among the Aiel on the quay or the docks.