“If it pleases the Highest Daughter,” General Galgan said, stepping forward again. “I believe General Yulan’s plan has much merit. It is not without potential for great loss, but we will never have another such opportunity. If brought to bear in our conflict, those marath’damane could disable us. And if we could gain access to this weapon of theirs, or even their ability to travel great distances. . . . Well, I believe that the risk of every to’raken in our army is worth the gains.”
“If it pleases the Highest Daughter,” General Yulan continued. “Our plan calls for the use of twenty squads of the Fists of Heaven—two hundred troops total—and fifty linked sul’dam. We think that, perhaps, a small group of Bloodknives would be appropriate as well.”
Bloodknives, the most elite members of the Fist of Heaven, itself an exclusive group. Yulan and Galgan were dedicated to this action! One never committed Bloodknives unless one was very serious, for they did not return from their missions. Their duty was to stay behind after the Fists withdrew and cause damage—as much damage as possible—to the enemy. If they could place some of them in Tar Valon, with orders to kill as many marath’damane as possible. . . .
“The Dragon Reborn will not react well to this raid,” Tuon said to Galgan. “Is he not connected to these marath’damane?”
“By some reports,” Galgan said. “Others say he is opposed to them. Still others say they are his pawns. Our poor intelligence in this area lowers my eyes, Highest Daughter. I have not been able to sort the lies from the truths. Until we have better information, we must assume the worst, that this raid will anger him greatly.”
“And you still think it worthwhile?”
“Yes,” Galgan said without hesitation. “If these marath’damane are connected to the Dragon Reborn, then we have greater reason to strike now, before he can use them against us. Perhaps the raid will enrage him—but it will also weaken him, which will place you in a better position for negotiating with him.”
Tuon nodded thoughtfully. Undoubtedly, this was the difficult decision of the omen. But her choice seemed very obvious. Not a difficult decision at all. All of the marath’damane in Tar Valon must be collared, and this was an excellent way to weaken resistance to the Ever Victorious Army with a single, powerful blow.
But the omen spoke of a difficult decision. She gestured to Selucia. “Are there any in the room who disapprove of this plan?” the Voice asked. “Any who would offer objection to what General Yulan and his men have advanced?”
The Blood in the room regarded one another. Beslan might have stirred, but he remained silent. The Altarans had not made any objections to their marath’damane being collared; it seemed they had little trust for those who could channel. Th
ey had not been as prudent as Amadicia in outlawing these Aes Sedai, but neither were they welcoming. Beslan would not object to a strike against the White Tower.
She sat back, waiting . . . For what? Perhaps this wasn’t the decision the omen had referred to. She opened her mouth to give the order to go forward with the raid, but at that moment the opening of the doors made her pause.
The Deathwatch Guards who guarded the door stepped aside a moment later, admitting a so’jhin who served in the hallway. The strong-armed man, Ma’combe, bowed himself low to the ground, the black braid over his right shoulder dropping to the side and hitting the tiled floor. “May it please the Daughter of the Nine Moons, Lieutenant-General Tylee Khirgan would like an audience.”
Galgan looked shocked.
“What is it?” Tuon asked him.
“I had not realized that she had returned, Highest Daughter,” he said. “I suggest in humility that she be given leave to speak. She is one of my finest officers.”
“She may enter,” Selucia Voiced.
A male da’covale in a white robe entered, preceding a woman in armor, her helm under her arm. Dark of skin, with short black hair worn in tight curls against her scalp, she was tall and lean. Her hair was sprinkled with white at the temples. The overlapping plates of her armor were striped with red, yellow and blue lacquer, and creaked as she walked. She was only of the low Blood—recently raised by General Galgan’s order—but she had been informed of this via raken. She wore her hair barely shaved a finger’s width up the sides of her head.
Tylee’s eyes were red with fatigue. Judging by the scent of sweat and the stink of horse she gave off, she had come straight to Tuon upon arriving in the city. She was followed into the room by several younger soldiers, also exhausted, one bearing a large brown sack. Upon reaching the supplication space—a red square of cloth—all went down on their knees. The common soldiers proceeded to touch foreheads to the floor, and Tylee jerked as if to follow, but stopped herself. She was not yet accustomed to being one of the Blood.
“It is obvious that you are tired, warrior,” Selucia Voiced. Tuon leaned forward. “It is presumed that you have news of great import?”
Tylee rose to one knee, then gestured to the side. One of her soldiers rose to his knees and lifted up his brown sack. It was stained on the bottom with a dark, crusted liquid. Blood.
“If it pleases the Highest Daughter,” Tylee said, voice betraying exhaustion. She nodded to her man, and he opened his sack, dumping things onto the floor. The heads of several animals. A boar, a wolf, and . . . a hawk? Tuon felt a chill. That hawk’s head was as large as a person’s. Perhaps larger. But they were not . . . right. The heads were horribly deformed.
She could swear that the hawk’s head, which rolled so that she could see the face clearly, had human eyes. And . . . the other heads had . . . human features as well. Tuon suppressed a shiver. What foul omen was this?
“What is the meaning of this?” Galgan demanded.
“I presume that the Highest Daughter knows of my military venture against the Aiel,” Tylee said, still on one knee. Tylee had captured damane during that engagement, though Tuon didn’t know much more than that. General Galgan had been awaiting her return with some curiosity to receive the full story.
“In my venture,” Tylee continued, “I was joined by men of various nationalities, none of whom had sworn the oaths. I will give a full report on them when there is time.” She hesitated, then glanced at the heads. “These . . . creatures . . . attacked my company during our return ride, ten leagues from Ebou Dar. We took heavy casualties. We brought several full bodies as well as these heads. They walked on two feet, like men, but had much the appearance of animals.” She hesitated again. “I believe them to be what some on this side of the ocean speak of as Trollocs. I believe them to be coming here.”
Chaos. The Blood began to argue about the implausibility of it. General Galgan immediately ordered his officers to organize patrols and send runners to warn of a potential attack on the city. The sul’dam at the side of the room hurried forward to inspect the heads while the Deathwatch Guards quietly surrounded Tuon, to give an extra layer of defense, watching everyone—Blood, servants, and soldiers—with equal care.
Tuon felt she should be shocked. But, oddly, she wasn’t. So Matrim was not mistaken about this, she signed covertly to Selucia. And she had assumed Trollocs to be nothing more than superstition. She glanced at the heads again. Revolting.
Selucia seemed troubled. Are there other things he said that we discounted, I wonder?
Tuon hesitated. We shall have to ask him. I should very much like to have him back. She froze; she hadn’t meant to admit so much. She found her own emotions curious, however. She had felt safe with him, ridiculous though it seemed. And she wished he were with her now.