The Eye of the World (The Wheel of Time 1) - Page 106

Thom’s eyebrows shot up in what Rand was sure was unfeigned surprise. “A white-haired gleeman? Well, I’m hardly the only gleeman in the world with a little age on him. I assure you, I don’t know this fellow, and he can have no reason to be looking for me.”

“That’s as may be,” Bartim said glumly. “He didn’t say it in so many words, but I got the impression as he would be very displeased with anyone as tried to help these people, or tried to hide them from him. Anyway, I’ll tell you what I told him. I haven’t seen any of them, nor heard tell of them, and that’s the truth. Not any of them,” he finished pointedly. Abruptly he slapped Thom’s money down on the table. “Just finish your wine and go. All right? All right?” And he trundled away as fast as he could, looking over his shoulder.

“A Fade,” Mat breathed when the innkeeper was gone. “I should have known they’d be looking for us here.”

“And he’ll be back,” Thom said, leaning across the table and lowering his voice. “I say we sneak back to the boat and take Captain Domon up on his offer. The hunt will center on the road to Caemlyn while we’re on our way to Illian, a thousand miles from where the Myrddraal expect us.”

“No,” Rand said firmly. “We wait for Moiraine and the others in Whitebridge, or we go on to Caemlyn. One or the other, Thom. That’s what we decided.”

“That’s crazed, boy. Things have changed. You listen to me. No matter what this innkeeper says, when a Myrddraal stares at him, he’ll tell all about us

down to what we had to drink and how much dust we had on our boots.” Rand shivered, remembering the Fade’s eyeless stare. “As for Caemlyn. . . . You think the Halfmen don’t know you want to get to Tar Valon? It’s a good time to be on a boat headed south.”

“No, Thom.” Rand had to force the words out, thinking of being a thousand miles from where the Fades were looking, but he took a deep breath and managed to firm his voice. “No.”

“Think, boy. Illian! There isn’t a grander city on the face of the earth. And the Great Hunt of the Horn! There hasn’t been a Hunt of the Horn in near four hundred years. A whole new cycle of stories waiting to be made. Just think. You never dreamed of anything like it. By the time the Myrddraal figure out where you’ve gone to, you’ll be old and gray and so tired of watching your grandchildren you won’t care if they do find you.”

Rand’s face took on a stubborn set. “How many times do I have to say no? They’ll find us wherever we go. There’d be Fades waiting in Illian, too. And how do we escape the dreams? I want to know what’s happening to me, Thom, and why. I’m going to Tar Valon. With Moiraine if I can; without her if I have to. Alone, if I have to. I need to know.”

“But Illian, boy! And a safe way out, downriver while they’re looking for you in another direction. Blood and ashes, a dream can’t hurt you.”

Rand kept silent. A dream can’t hurt? Do dream thorns draw real blood? He almost wished he had told Thom about that dream, too. Do you dare tell anybody? Ba’alzamon is in your dreams, but what’s between dreaming and waking, now? Who do you dare to tell that the Dark One is touching you?

Thom seemed to understand. The gleeman’s face softened. “Even those dreams, lad. They are still just dreams, aren’t they? For the Light’s sake, Mat, talk to him. I know you don’t want to go to Tar Valon, at least.”

Mat’s face reddened, half embarrassment and half anger. He avoided looking at Rand and scowled at Thom instead. “Why are you going to all this fuss and bother? You want to go back to the boat? Go back to the boat. We’ll take care of ourselves.”

The gleeman’s thin shoulders shook with silent laughter, but his voice was anger tight. “You think you know enough about Myrddraal to escape by yourself, do you? You’re ready to walk into Tar Valon alone and hand yourself over to the Amyrlin Seat? Can you even tell one Ajah from another? The Light burn me, boy, if you think you can even get to Tar Valon alone, you tell me to go.”

“Go,” Mat growled, sliding a hand under his cloak. Rand realized with a shock that he was gripping the dagger from Shadar Logoth, maybe even ready to use it.

Raucous laughter broke out on the other side of the low wall dividing the room, and a scornful voice spoke up loudly.

“Trollocs? Put on a gleeman’s cloak, man! You’re drunk! Trollocs! Borderland fables!”

The words doused anger like a pot of cold water. Even Mat half turned to the wall, eyes widening.

Rand stood just enough to see over the wall, then ducked back down again with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Floran Gelb sat on the other side of the wall, at the table in the back with the two men who had been there when they came in. They were laughing at him, but they were listening. Bartim was wiping a table that badly needed it, not looking at Gelb and the two men, but he was listening, too, scrubbing one spot over and over with his towel and leaning toward them until he seemed almost ready to fall over.

“Gelb,” Rand whispered as he dropped back into his chair, and the others tensed. Thom swiftly studied their side of the room.

On the other side of the wall the second man’s voice chimed in. “No, no, there used to be Trollocs. But they killed them all in the Trolloc Wars.”

“Borderland fables!” the first man repeated.

“It’s true, I tell you,” Gelb protested loudly. “I’ve been in the Borderlands. I’ve seen Trollocs, and these were Trollocs as sure as I’m sitting here. Those three claimed the Trollocs were chasing them, but I know better. That’s why I wouldn’t stay on the Spray. I’ve had my suspicions about Bayle Domon for some time, but those three are Darkfriends for sure. I tell you. . . .” Laughter and coarse jokes drowned out the rest of what Gelb had to say.

How long, Rand wondered, before the innkeeper heard a description of “those three”? If he had not already. If he did not just leap to the three strangers he had already seen. The only door from their half of the common room would take them right past Gelb’s table.

“Maybe the boat isn’t such a bad idea,” Mat muttered, but Thom shook his head.

“Not anymore.” The gleeman spoke softly and fast. He pulled out the leather purse Captain Domon had given him and hastily divided the money into three piles. “That story will be all through the town in an hour, whether anybody believes it or not, and the Halfman could hear any time. Domon isn’t sailing until tomorrow morning. At best he’ll have Trollocs chasing him all the way to Illian. Well, he’s half expecting it for some reason, but that won’t do us any good. There’s nothing for it but to run, and run hard.”

Mat quickly stuffed the coins Thom shoved in front of him into his pocket. Rand picked his pile up more slowly. The coin Moiraine had given him was not among them. Domon had given an equal weight of silver, but Rand, for some reason he could not fathom, wished he had the Aes Sedai’s coin instead. Stuffing the money in his pocket, he looked a question at the gleeman.

“In case we’re separated,” Thom explained. “We probably won’t be, but if it does happen . . . well, you two will make out all right by yourselves. You’re good lads. Just keep clear of Aes Sedai, for your lives.”

“I thought you were staying with us,” Rand said.

Tags: Robert Jordan The Wheel of Time Fantasy
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