The Great Hunt (74 page)

For an instant Rand balanced on the ball of one foot, sword held reversed in both hands over his head, then shifted smoothly to the other foot. “Lan says it’s good for developing balance.” It was not easy keeping his balance. In the void it often seemed he could maintain his equilibrium atop a rolling boulder, but he did not dare assume the void. He wanted to too much to trust himself.

“What you practice too often, you use without thinking. You will put your sword in the other man with that, if you’re quick, but not before he has his through your ribs. You are practically inviting him. I don’t think I could see a man face me so open and not put my sword in him, even knowing he might strike home at me if I did.”

“It’s only for balance, Ingtar.” Rand wavered on one foot, and had to put the other down to keep from falling. He slammed the blade into its scabbard and picked up the gray cloak that had been his disguise. It was moth-eaten, and ragged around the bottom, but lined with thick fleece, and the wind was picking up, cold and out of the west. “I wish they’d come back.”

As if his wish had been a signal, Uno spoke up with quiet urgency. “Bloody horsemen coming, my Lord.” Scabbards rattled as men who did not already have their blades out bared them. Some leaped into their saddles, snatching up lances.

The tension faded as Hurin led the others into the clearing at a trot, and came again as he spoke. “We found the trail, Lord Ingtar.”

“We followed it almost to Falme,” Mat said as he dismounted. A flush in his pale cheeks seemed a mocking of health; the skin was tight over his skull. The Shienarans gathered around, as excited as he was. “It’s just Fain, but there isn’t anywhere else he could be going. He must have the dagger.”

“We found Whitecloaks, too,” Perrin said, swinging down from his saddle. “Hundreds of them.”

“Whitecloaks?” Ingtar exclaimed, frowning. “Here? Well, if they do not trouble us, we will not trouble them. Perhaps if the Seanchan are occupied with them, it will help us reach the Horn.” His eyes fell on Verin, still seated by the fire. “I suppose you will tell me I should have listened to you, Aes Sedai. The man did go to Falme.”

“The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills,” Verin said placidly. “With
ta’veren
, what happens is what was meant to happen. It may be the Pattern demanded these extra days. The Pattern puts everything in its place precisely, and when we try to alter it, especially if
ta’veren
are involved, the weaving changes to put us back into the Pattern as we were meant to be.” There was an uneasy silence that she did not seem to notice; she sketched on idly with the stick. “Now, however, I think perhaps we should make plans. The Pattern has brought us to Falme at last. The Horn of Valere has been taken to Falme.”

Ingtar squatted across the fire from her. “When enough people say the same thing, I tend to believe it, and the local people say the Seanchan do not seem to care who comes or goes in Falme. I will take Hurin and a few others into the town. Once he follows Fain’s trail to the Horn . . . well, then we shall see what we shall see.”

With her foot, Verin scrubbed out a wheel she had drawn in the dirt. In its place she drew two short lines that touched at one end. “Ingtar and Hurin. And Mat, as he can sense the dagger if he comes close enough. You do want to go, don’t you, Mat?”

Mat appeared torn, but he gave a jerky nod. “I have to, don’t I? I have to find that dagger.”

A third line made a bird track. Verin looked sideways at Rand.

“I’ll go,” he said. “That is why I came.” An odd light appeared in the Aes Sedai’s eyes, a knowing glimmer that made him uneasy. “To help Mat find the dagger,” he said sharply, “and Ingtar find the Horn.”
And Fain
, he added to himself.
I have to find Fain if it isn’t already too late.

Verin scratched a fourth line, turning the bird track to a lopsided star. “And who else?” she said softly. She held the stick poised.

“Me,” Perrin said, a hair before Loial chimed in with, “I think I would like to go, too,” and Uno and the other Shienarans all began clamoring to join.

“Perrin spoke first,” Verin said, as if that settled it. She added a fifth line and drew a circle around all five. The hair on Rand’s neck stirred; it was the same wheel she had rubbed out in the first place. “Five ride forth,” she murmured.

“I really would like to see Falme,” Loial said. “I’ve never seen the Aryth Ocean. Besides, I can carry the chest, if the Horn is still in it.”

“You’d better include me at least, my Lord,” Uno said. “You and Lord Rand will need another sword at your backs if those bloody Seanchan try to stop you.” The rest of the soldiers rumbled the same sentiment.

“Do not be silly,” Verin said sharply. Her stare silenced them all. “All of you cannot go. No matter how uncaring the Seanchan are about strangers, they will surely take notice of twenty soldiers, and you look like nothing else even without armor. And one or two of you will make no difference. Five is few enough to enter without attracting attention, and it is fitting that three of them should be the three
ta’veren
among us. No, Loial, you must stay behind, too. There are no Ogier on Toman Head. You would attract as many eyes as all the rest put together.”

“What about you?” Rand asked.

Verin shook her head. “You forget the
damane.
” Her mouth twisted around the word in distaste. “The only way I could help you would be if I channeled the Power, and that would be no help at all if I brought those down on you. Even if they were not close enough to see, one might well feel a woman—or a man, for that matter—channeling, if care was not taken to keep the Power channeled small.” She did not look at Rand; to him, she seemed ostentatious in not doing so, and Mat and Perrin were suddenly intent on their own feet.

“A man,” Ingtar snorted. “Verin Sedai, why add problems? We have enough already without supposing men channeling. But it would be well if you were there. If we have need of you—”

“No, you five must go alone.” Her foot scrubbed across the wheel drawn in the dirt, partially obliterating it. She studied each of them in turn, intent and frowning. “Five will ride forth.”

For a moment it seemed that Ingtar would ask again, but meeting her level gaze, he shrugged and turned to Hurin. “How long to reach Falme?”

The sniffer scratched his head. “If we left now and rode through the night, we could be there by sunrise tomorrow morning.”

“Then that is what we will do. I’ll waste no more time. All of you saddle your horses. Uno, I want you to bring the others along behind us, but keep out of sight, and do not let anyone. . . .”

Rand peered at the sketched wheel as Ingtar went on with his instructions. It was a broken wheel, now, with only four spokes. For some reason that made him shiver. He realized Verin was watching him, dark eyes bright and intent like a bird’s. It took an effort to pull his gaze away and begin getting his things together.

You’re letting fancies take you
, he told himself irritably.
She can’t do anything if she isn’t there.

CHAPTER
45

Blademaster

T
he rising sun pushed its crimson edge above the horizon and sent long shadows down the cobblestone streets of Falme toward the harbor. A sea breeze bent the smoke of breakfast cook fires inland from the chimneys. Only the early risers were already out of doors, their breath making steam in the morning cold. Compared to the crowds that would fill the streets in another hour, the town seemed nearly empty.

Sitting on an upended barrel in front of a still-closed ironmonger’s shop, Nynaeve warmed her hands under her arms and surveyed her army. Min sat on a doorstep across the way, swathed in her Seanchan cloak and eating a wrinkled plum, and Elayne in her fleece coat huddled at the edge of an alley just down the street from her. A large sack, pilfered from the docks, lay neatly folded beside Min.
My army,
Nynaeve thought grimly.
But there isn’t anybody else.

She caught sight of a
sul’dam
and a
damane
climbing the street, a yellow-haired woman wearing the bracelet and a dark woman the collar, both yawning sleepily. The few Falmen sharing the street with them averted their eyes and gave them a wide berth. As far as she could see down toward the harbor, there was not another Seanchan. She did not turn her head the other way. Instead, she stretched and shrugged as if working cold shoulders before settling back as she had been.

Min tossed her half-eaten plum aside, glanced casually up the street, and leaned back on the doorpost. The way was clear there, too, or she would have put her hands on her knees. Min had started rubbing her hands nervously, and Nynaeve realized that Elayne was now bouncing eagerly on her toes.

If they give us away, I’ll thump both their heads.
But she knew if they were discovered, it would be the Seanchan who would say what happened to all three of them. She was all too aware that she had no real notion of whether what she planned would work or not. It could easily be her own failure that would give them away. Once again she resolved that if anything went wrong, she would somehow pull attention to herself while Min and Elayne escaped. She had told them to run if anything went wrong, and let them think she would run, too. What she would do then, she did not know.
Except I won’t let them take me alive. Please, Light, not that.

Sul’dam
and
damane
came up the street until they were bracketed by the three waiting women. A dozen Falmen walked wide of the linked pair.

Nynaeve gathered all of her anger. Leashed Ones and Leash Holders. They had put their filthy collar on Egwene’s neck, and they would put it on hers, and Elayne’s, if they could. She had made Min tell her how
sul’dam
enforced their will. She was sure Min had kept some back, the worst, but what she told was enough to heat Nynaeve to white-hot fury. In an instant a white blossom on a black, thorny branch had opened to light, to
saidar
, and the One Power filled her. She knew there was a glow around her, for those who could see it. The pale-skinned
sul’dam
gave a start, and the dark
damane
’s mouth fell open, but Nynaeve gave them no chance. It was only a trickle of the Power that she channeled, but she cracked it, a whip snapping a dust mote out of the air.

The silver collar sprang open and clattered to the cobblestones. Nynaeve heaved a sigh of relief even as she leaped to her feet.

The
sul’dam
stared at the fallen collar as if at a poisonous snake. The
damane
put a shaking hand to her throat, but before the woman in the lightning-marked dress had time to move, the
damane
turned and punched her in the face; the
sul’dam
’s knees buckled, and she almost fell.

“Good for you!” Elayne shouted. She was already running forward, too, and so was Min.

Before any of them reached the two women, the
damane
took one startled look around, then ran as hard as she could.

“We won’t hurt you!” Elayne called after her. “We are friends!”

“Be quiet!” Nynaeve hissed. She produced a handful of rags from her pocket and ruthlessly stuffed them into the gaping mouth of the still-staggering
sul’dam.
Min hastily shook out the sack in a cloud of dust and plunged it over the
sul’dam
’s head, shrouding the woman to the waist. “We are already attracting too much attention.”

It was true, and yet not entirely true. The four of them stood in a rapidly emptying street, but the people who had decided to be elsewhere were avoiding looking at them. Nynaeve had been counting on that—people doing their best to ignore anything that had to do with Seanchan—to gain them a few moments. They would talk eventually, but in whispers; it might take hours for the Seanchan to learn anything had happened.

The hooded woman began to struggle, making rag-muffled shouts from the sack, but Nynaeve and Min threw their arms around her and wrestled her toward a nearby alley. The leash and collar trailed across the cobblestones behind them, clinking.

“Pick it up,” Nynaeve snapped at Elayne. “It won’t bite you!”

Elayne took a deep breath, then gathered the silver metal gingerly, as if she feared it very well might. Nynaeve felt some sympathy, but not much; everything rested on each of them doing as they had planned.

The
sul’dam
kicked and tried to throw herself free, but between them, Nynaeve and Min forced her along, down the alley into another, slightly wider passage behind houses, to yet another alley and at last into a rough wooden shed that had apparently once housed two horses, by the stalls. Few could afford to keep horses since the Seanchan came, and in a day of Nynaeve’s watching, no one had gone near it. The interior had a musty dustiness that spoke of abandonment. As soon as they were inside, Elayne dropped the silver leash and wiped her hands on some straw.

Nynaeve channeled another trickle, and the bracelet fell to the dirt floor. The
sul’dam
squalled and hurled herself about.

“Ready?” Nynaeve asked. The other two nodded, and they yanked the sacking off their prisoner.

The
sul’dam
wheezed, blue eyes teary from dust, but her red face was red as much from anger as from the sack. She darted for the door, but they caught her in the first step. She was not weak, yet they were three, and when they were done the
sul’dam
was stripped to her shift and lying in one of the stalls, bound hand and foot with stout cord, with another piece of cord to keep her from forcing the gag out.

Soothing a puffy lip, Min eyed the lightning-paneled dress and soft boots they had laid out. “It might fit you, Nynaeve. It won’t fit Elayne or me.” Elayne was picking straw out of her hair.

“I can see that. You were never a choice anyway, not really. They know you too well.” Nynaeve hurriedly removed her own clothes. She tossed them aside and donned the
sul’dam
’s dress. Min helped with the buttons.

Nynaeve wiggled her toes in the boots; they were a little tight. The dress was tight, too, across the bosom, and loose elsewhere. The hem hung almost to the ground, lower than
sul’dam
wore them, but the fit would have been even worse on any of the others. Snatching up the bracelet, she took a deep breath and closed it around her left wrist. The ends merged, and it seemed solid. It did not feel like anything except a bracelet. She had been afraid that it would.

“Get the dress, Elayne.” They had dyed a pair of dresses—one of hers and one of Elayne’s—to the gray
damane
were, or as close as they could manage, and hidden them here. Elayne did not move except to stare at the open collar and lick her lips. “Elayne, you have to wear it. Too many of them have seen Min for her to do it. I would have worn it, if this dress had fit you instead.” She thought she would have gone mad if she had had to wear the collar; that was why she could not make her voice sharp with Elayne now.

“I know.” Elayne sighed. “I just wish I knew more of what it does to you.” She drew her red-gold hair out of the way. “Min, help me, please.” Min began undoing the buttons down the back of her dress.

Nynaeve managed to pick up the silver collar without flinching. “There is one way to find out.” With only a moment of hesitation, she bent and snapped it around the neck of the
sul’dam. She deserves it if anyone does
, she told herself firmly. “She might be able to tell us something useful, anyway.” The blue-eyed woman glanced at the leash trailing from her neck to Nynaeve’s wrist, then glared up at her contemptuously.

“It doesn’t work that way,” Min said, but Nynaeve barely heard.

She was . . . aware . . . of the other woman, aware of what she was feeling, cord digging into her ankles and into her wrists behind her back, the rank fish taste of the rags in her mouth, straw pricking her through the thin cloth of her shift. It was not as if she, Nynaeve, felt these things, but in her head was a lump of sensations that she knew belonged to the
sul’dam.

She swallowed, trying to ignore them—they would not go away—and addressed the bound woman. “I won’t hurt you if you answer my questions truthfully. We aren’t Seanchan. But if you lie to me. . . .” She lifted the leash threateningly.

The woman’s shoulders shook, and her mouth curled around the gag in a sneer. It took Nynaeve a moment to realize the
sul’dam
was laughing.

Her mouth tightened, but then a thought came to her. That bundle of sensation inside her head seemed to be everything physical that the other woman felt. Experimentally, she tried adding to it.

Eyes suddenly bulging out of her head, the
sul’dam
gave a cry that the gag only partially stopped. Fanning her hands behind her as if trying to ward off something, she humped through the straw in a vain effort to escape.

Nynaeve gaped, and hastily rid herself of the extra feelings she had added. The
sul’dam
sagged, weeping.

“What. . . . What did you . . . do to her?” Elayne asked faintly. Min only stared, her mouth hanging open.

Nynaeve answered gruffly. “The same thing Sheriam did to you when you threw a cup at Marith.”
Light, but this is a filthy thing.

Elayne gulped loudly. “Oh.”

“But an
a’dam
isn’t supposed to work that way,” Min said. “They always claimed it won’t work on any woman who cannot channel.”

“I do not care how it is supposed to work, so long as it does.” Nynaeve seized the silver metal leash right where it joined the collar, and pulled the woman up enough to look her in the eyes. Frightened eyes, she saw. “You listen to me, and listen well. I want answers, and if I don’t get them, I’ll make you think I have had the hide off you.” Stark terror rolled across the woman’s face, and Nynaeve’s stomach heaved as she suddenly realized the
sul’dam
had taken her literally.
If she thinks I can, it’s because she knows. That is what these leashes are for.
She took firm hold of herself to stop from clawing the bracelet off her wrist. Instead, she hardened her face. “Are you ready to answer me? Or do you need more convincing?”

The frantic head-shaking was answer enough. When Nynaeve removed the gag, the woman only paused to swallow once before babbling, “I will not report you. I swear it. Only take this from my neck. I have gold. Take it. I swear, I will never tell anyone.”

“Be quiet,” Nynaeve snapped, and the woman shut her mouth immediately. “What is your name?”

“Seta. Please. I will answer you, but please take—it—off! If anyone sees it on me. . . .” Seta’s eyes rolled down to stare at the leash, then squeezed shut. “Please?” she whispered.

Nynaeve realized something. She could never make Elayne wear that collar.

“Best we get on with it,” Elayne said firmly. She was down to her shift, too, now. “Give me a moment to put this other dress on, and—”

“Put your own clothes back on,” Nynaeve said.

“Someone has to pretend to be a
damane,
” Elayne said, “or we will never reach Egwene. That dress fits you, and it cannot be Min. That leaves me.”

“I said put your clothes on. We have somebody to be our Leashed One.” Nynaeve tugged at the leash that held Seta, and the
sul’dam
gasped.

“No! No, please! If anyone sees me—” She cut off at Nynaeve’s cold stare.

“As far as I am concerned, you are worse than a murderer, worse than a Darkfriend. I can’t think of anything worse than you. The fact that I have to wear this thing on my wrist, to be the same as you for even an hour, sickens me. So if you think there is anything I’ll balk at doing to you, think again. You don’t want to be seen? Good. Neither do we. No one really looks at a
damane,
though. As long as you keep your head down the way a Leashed One is supposed to, no one will even notice you. But you had better do the best you can to make sure the rest of us aren’t noticed, either. If we are, you surely will be seen, and if that is not enough to hold you, I promise you I’ll make you curse the first kiss your mother ever gave your father. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes,” Seta said faintly. “I swear it.”

Nynaeve had to remove the bracelet in order for them to slide Elayne’s gray-dyed dress down the leash and over Seta’s head. It did not fit the woman well, being loose at the bosom and tight across the hips, but Nynaeve’s would have been as bad, and too short besides. Nynaeve hoped people really did not look at
damane.
She put the bracelet back on reluctantly.