Trying not to hurry, she walked in his direction, leaving Siuan still gobbling. A pretty, black-haired serving man, whose bulky woolen breeches could not quite hide neatly turned calves, offered Siuan a steaming silver cup from a tray. Other servants were moving about with other silver trays. Refreshment was being offered, if a bit late. It was much too late for the kiss of peace. She did not hear what Siuan said as she snatched a cup, but from the way the fellow jerked and started bobbing bows, he had received sharp shards of her temper at the least. Egwene sighed.
Talmanes stood with arms folded, observing the goings-on with an amused smile that did not reach his eyes. He seemed poised to explode into motion, but his eyes were tired. At her approach, he made a respectful leg, but there was a wry touch to his voice when he said, “You changed a border today.” He gathered his cloak against the icy breeze. “It has always been . . . fluid . . . between Andor and Murandy, no matter what maps say, but Andor has never come south in such numbers before. Except for the Aiel War, and the Whitecloak War, anyway, but they were only passing through, then. Once they have been here a month, new maps will show a new line. Look at the Murandians scramble, fawning over Pelivar and his companions as much as they do the sisters. They are hoping to make new friends for the new day.”
To Egwene, trying to conceal her careful watch on those who might be watching her, it seemed that all of the nobles, Murandian and Andoran, were intent on the Sitters, crowding around them. In any case, she had slightly more important matters in mind than borders. To her, if not to the nobles. Except for brief moments, none of the Sitters were visible beyond the tops of their heads. Only Halima and Siuan seemed to notice her, and a babble like that of a flock of excited geese filled the air. She lowered her voice, and chose her words carefully.
“Friends are always important, Talmanes. You’ve been a good friend to Mat, and I think to me. I hope that hasn’t changed. I hope you’ve not told anyone what you shouldn’t.” Light, she was anxious, or she would not have been so direct. Next, she would come right out and ask what he and Pelivar had been talking about!
Luckily, he did not laugh at her for a blunt-tongued village woman. Though he might have been thinking it. He studied her seriously before speaking. In a soft voice. He also knew caution. “Not all men gossip. Tell me, when you sent Mat south, did you know what you would do here today?”
“How could I know that two months ago? No, Aes Sedai aren’t omniscient, Talmanes.” She had hoped for something that would put her in the place she was, had planned for it, but she had not known, not back then. She also hoped he did not gossip. Some men did not.
Romanda started toward her with a firm stride and a frozen face, but Arathelle intercepted her, catching the Yellow Sitter’s arm and refusing to be put off despite Romanda’s astonishment.
“Will you at least tell me where Mat is?” Talmanes asked. “On his way to Caemlyn with the Daughter-Heir? Why are you surprised? A serving woman will speak to a soldier when fetching water from the same stream. Even when he is a horrible Dragonsworn,” he added dryly.
Light! Men really were . . . inconvenient . . . at times. The best of them found ways to say exactly the wrong thing at the wrong moment, to ask the wrong question. Not to mention inveigling serving women into prattle. So much easier if she could just lie, but he had given her plenty of room within the Oaths. Half the truth would suffice, and keep him from haring off to Ebou Dar. Maybe less than half.
Over in the far corner of the pavilion, Siuan stood conversing with a tall young redhead with curled mustaches who was eyeing her as dubiously as Segan had. Nobles usually knew the look of Aes Sedai. But he held only a part of Siuan’s attention. Her gaze constantly flickered toward Egwene. It seemed to shout, loud as conscience. Easier. Expedient. What it was to be Aes Sedai. She had not known about today, only hoped! Egwene expelled an irritated breath. Burn the woman!
“He was in Ebou Dar, the last I heard,” she muttered. “But he must be hurrying north as fast as he can by now. He still thinks he has to save me, Talmanes, and Matrim Cauthon wouldn’t miss the chance to be on the spot so he can say I told you so.”
Talmanes did not look at all surprised. “I thought it might be so,” he sighed. “I have . . . felt . . . something, for weeks now. Others in the Band have, too. Not urgent, but always there. As if he needed me. As if I should look south, anyway. It can be peculiar, following a ta’veren.”
“I suppose it can,” she agreed, hoping none of her incredulity showed. It was strange enough to think of Mat the wastrel as leader of the Band of the Red Hand, much less as ta’veren, but surely a ta’veren had to be present, nearby at least, to have any effect.
“Mat was wrong about you needing rescue. You never had any intention of coming to me for help, did you?”
He still spoke softly, but she looked around hurriedly anyway. Siuan was still watching them. And so was Halima. Paitr stood much too close to her, puffing and preening and stroking his mustaches — from the way he stared down her dress, he had not mistaken her for a sister, that was certain! — but she was giving him only half her mind, darting sidelong glances in Egwene’s direction while she smiled up at him warmly. Everyone else appeared occupied, and no one stood close enough to hear.
“The Amyrlin Seat could hardly go running for sanctuary, now could she? But there have been times it’s been a comfort knowing you were there,” she admitted. Reluctantly. The Amyrlin Seat was hardly supposed to need a bolt-hole, but it could do no harm so long as none of the Sitters knew. “You have been a friend, Talmanes. I hope that continues. I truly do.”
“You have been more . . . open . . . with me than I expected,” he said slowly, “so I will tell you something.” His face did not change — to any watcher, he must have seemed as casual as before — but his voice dropped to a whisper. “I have had approaches from King Roedran about the Band. It seems he has hopes of being Murandy’s first real king. He wants to hire us. I would not have considered it, normally, but there is never enough coin, and with this . . . this feel of Mat needing us . . . It might be better if we remain in Murandy. Clear as good glass, you are where you want to be and have everything in hand.”
He fell silent as a young serving woman curtsied to offer mulled wine. She wore finely embroidered green wool and a cloak plush with spotted rabbit. Other servants from the camp were helping out now, as well, no doubt for something to do besides stand and shiver. The young woman’s ro
und face was decidedly pinched from the cold.
Talmanes waved her off and pulled his cloak back around him, but Egwene took a silver cup to gain a moment for thought. Truly there was little need for the Band any longer. Despite all the muttering, the sisters took their presence as a matter of course now, Dragonsworn or not; they no longer feared an attack, and there had been no real need to use the Band’s presence to prod them into moving since leaving Salidar. The only true purpose Shen an Calhar served now was to draw recruits into Bryne’s army, men who thought two armies meant a battle and wanted to be on the side with the greatest numbers. She had no need of them, but Talmanes had acted as a friend. And she was Amyrlin. Sometimes friendship and responsibility pushed in the same direction.
As the serving woman moved off, Egwene laid a hand on Talmanes’ arm. “You must not do that. Even the Band can’t conquer all of Murandy by itself, and every hand will be against you. You know very well the one thing that makes Murandians stand together is foreigners on their soil. Follow us to Tar Valon, Talmanes. Mat will come there; I have no doubt of that.” Mat would not really believe she was the Amyrlin until he saw her wearing the stole in the White Tower.
“Roedran is no fool,” he said placidly. “All he wants us to do is sit and wait, a foreign army — without Aes Sedai — and nobody knowing what it is up to. He should not have much trouble uniting the nobles against us. Then, so he says, we quietly slip across the border. He thinks he can hold on to them afterward.”
She could not stop a touch of heat entering her voice. “And what is to stop him betraying you? If the threat goes away without a fight, his dream of a united Murandy might, too.” The fool man seemed amused!
“I am not a fool either. Roedran cannot be ready before spring. This lot would never have stirred from their manors if the Andorans had not come south, and they were on the march before the snows began. Before then, Mat will find us. If he is coming north, he must hear of us. Roedran will have to be satisfied with whatever he has managed by then. So if Mat does intend to go to Tar Valon, I may see you there yet.”
Egwene made a vexed sound. It was a remarkable plan, the sort of thing Siuan might devise, and hardly a scheme she thought Roedran Almaric do Arreloa a’Naloy could carry off. The fellow was said to be so dissolute he made Mat look wholesome. But then, it was hardly a scheme she would have believed Roedran could think up. The only certainty was that Talmanes had made up his mind.
“I want your word, Talmanes, that you won’t let Roedran pull you into a war.” Responsibility. The narrow stole around her neck seemed to weigh ten times more than her cloak. “If he moves sooner than you think, you will leave whether or not Mat has joined you.”
“I wish I could promise, but it is not possible,” he protested. “I expect the first raid against my foragers three days at most after I start moving away from Lord Bryne’s army. Every lordling and farmer will think he can pick up a few horses in the night, give me a pinprick, and run off to hide.”
“I’m not talking about defending yourself, and you know it,” she said firmly. “Your word, Talmanes. Or I will not allow your agreement with Roedran.” The only way to stop it was to betray it, but she would not leave a war in her wake, a war she had started by bringing Talmanes here.
Staring at her as if for the first time, he finally bent his head. Strangely, that seemed more formal than his bow had. “It will be as you say, Mother. Tell me, are you sure you are not ta’veren, too?”
“I am the Amyrlin Seat,” she replied. “That is quite enough for anyone.” She touched his arm again. “The Light shine on you, Talmanes.” His smile nearly touched his eyes this time.