The Wheel of Time, page 460
“I have heard rumors,” Galad went on slowly, “that he is Shienaran. You cannot have been witless enough to get yourself mixed up with him.” There was too much question in that for her taste by far.
“Neither of them is the Prophet, Galad,” she said wryly. “I’ve known them both for some little time, and I can assure you of that. Uno, Ragan, unless you intend to prune your toenails, put those things up. Well?” They hesitated before doing as they were told, Uno grumping under his breath and glaring, but they did it finally. Men usually responded to a firm voice. Most did. Sometimes, anyway.
“I hardly thought they were, Nynaeve.” Galad’s tone, even more arid than hers, made her bristle, but when he went on, he sounded annoyed rather than superior. And worried. Which made her bristle even more, of course. He all but gave her palpitations, and he had the nerve to be worried. “I do not know what you and Elayne have fallen into here, and I do not care, so long as I can extract you from it before you are hurt. Trade is slow on the river, but a suitable boat of some sort should call in the next few days. Let me know where I can find you, and I will secure you passage to somewhere in Altara. From there, you can make your way to Caemlyn.”
She gaped in spite of herself. “You mean to find us a ship?”
“It is all I can do, now.” He sounded apologetic, and shook his head as if arguing with himself. “I cannot escort you to safety; my duty is here.”
“We wouldn’t want to take you from your duty,” she said, a touch breathless. If he wanted to misunderstand, let him. The most she had hoped for was that he would leave them be.
He seemed to feel the need to defend himself. “It is hardly safe to send you off alone, but a boat will take you away before the entire border explodes. Which it will, soon or late; all it needs is one spark, and the Prophet is sure to strike it if no one else does. You must see to getting yourselves to Caemlyn, you and Elayne. All I ask is your promise that you will go there. The Tower is no place for either of you. Or for—” He clamped his teeth shut, but he might as well have gone ahead and named Egwene.
It could not hurt, having Galad looking for a boat, too. If Masema could forget whether he intended to close the taverns, he could forget to have anyone find a riverboat. Especially if he thought a convenient bout of forgetfulness might keep her there to further his own plans. It could not hurt—if she could trust Galad. If she could not, then she would have to hope he was not as good with that sword as he thought he was. A stark thought, but not so stark as what might happen—would happen—if he proved untrustworthy.
“I am what I am, Galad, and Elayne is the same.” Dodging around Masema had put a bad taste on her tongue. A little White Tower sidestepping was as close as she could come. “And you are what you are, now.” She raised her eyebrows significantly at his white cloak. “That lot hates the Tower, and they hate women who can channel. Now that you are one of them, why shouldn’t I think there will be fifty of you after me inside the hour, trying to put an arrow in my back if they can’t haul me off to a cell? Me, and Elayne as well.”
Galad’s head jerked in irritation. Or maybe he was offended. “How often must I tell you? I would never let harm come to my sister. Or to you.”
It truly was annoying, realizing that she was annoyed at the pause that made it clear she was an afterthought. She was not some silly girl, to lose her wits because a man had eyes that somehow managed to be melting and incredibly penetrating at the same time. “If you say it so,” she told him, and his head tossed again.
“Tell me where you are put up, and I will bring word, or send it, as soon as I locate a suitable vessel.”
If Elayne was right, he could no more lie than could an Aes Sedai who had sworn the Three Oaths, but still she hesitated. A mistake here could be her last. She had a right to take risks for herself, but this risk involved Elayne, too. And Thom and Juilin, for that matter; they were her responsibility, whatever they wanted to think. But she was here, and the decision had to be hers. Not that it might be any other way, frankly.
“Light, woman, what more do you want of me?” Galad growled, half-raising his hands as though to grab her shoulders. Uno’s blade was between them in a flash of bright steel, but Elayne’s brother actually brushed it aside like a twig, and paid it no more mind than one. “I mean no harm to you, now or ever; I swear it by my mother’s name. You say that you are what you are? I know what you are. And what you are not. Perhaps half the reason I wear this,” he touched an edge of his snowy cloak, “is because the Tower sent you out—you and Elayne and Egwene—for the Light knows what reason, when you are what you are. It was like sending a boy who has just learned to hold a sword into battle, and I will never forgive them. There is still time for both of you to turn aside; you do not have to carry that sword. The Tower is too dangerous for you or my sister, especially now. Half the world is become too dangerous for you! Let me help you to safety.” The tightness slid from his voice, though it took on a raw edge. “I beg you, Nynaeve. If anything happened to Elayne . . . I half-wish that Egwene were with you, so I could . . .” Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he looked left and right, searching for how to convince her. Uno and Ragan held their blades ready to drive through his body, but he did not appear to see them. “In the name of the Light, Nynaeve, please allow me to do what I can.”
It was a simple thing that finally tipped the balance in her mind. They were in Ghealdan. Amadicia was the only land that actually made a crime out of a woman being able to channel, and they were on the opposite bank of the river. That left only Galad’s oaths as a Child of the Light to battle against his duty to Elayne. She gave blood the edge in that struggle. Besides, he really was too gorgeous for her to let Uno and Ragan kill him. Not that that had anything to do with her decision, of course.
“We are with Valan Luca’s show,” she said at last.
He blinked at her, frowned. “Valan Luca’s . . . ? You mean one of the menageries?” Incredulity and disgust fought in his voice. “What under the Light are you doing in company like that? Those who keep such shows are no better than . . . No matter. If you need coin, I can supply some. Enough to see you in a decent inn.”
His tone bespoke his certainty that she would do as he wanted. Not a “can I help you with a few crowns?” or a “would you like me to find a room for you?” He thought they should be in an inn, so into an inn they would go. The man might have observed enough to know she would duck into an alley, but he did not know her at all, it seemed. Besides, there were reasons to stay with Luca.
“Do you think there is a room, or a hayloft, not taken in all of Samara?” she asked, a touch more tartly than intended.
“I am certain I can find—”
She cut him off. “The last place anyone would look for us is among the shows.” The last place anyone but Moghedien would look, at least. “You’ll agree we should keep from sight as much as possible? If you did find a room, more than likely you’d have to have someone put out of it. A Child of the Light securing a room so for two women? That would set tongues wagging and draw eyes like flies to a midden.”
He did not like it, grimacing, and glaring at Uno and Ragan as if it were their fault, but he had enough sense to see sense. “It is no fit place for either of you, but it is probably safer than anywhere inside the city at that. Since you have at least agreed to go to Caemlyn, I will say no more on it.”
She kept her face smooth and let him think as he wished. If he thought she had promised what she had not, that was his affair. She had to keep him away from the show as much as possible, though. One glimpse of his sister in those spangled white breeches, and the uproar would overshadow any riot Masema could raise. “You will have to stay clear of the menagerie, mind. Until you find a ship, anyway. Then come to the performers’ wagons at nightfall and ask for Nana.” He liked that even less, if possible, but she forestalled him firmly. “I’ve not seen a single Child of the Light near any of the shows. If you visit one, don’t you think people will notice and ask why?”
His smile was still gorgeous, but it showed too many teeth. “You have an answer for everything, it seems. Do you have any objection to my escorting you back there, at least?”
“I most certainly do. There will be rumors as it is—a hundred people must have noticed us talking here”—she could no longer see the street past the three men, yet she had no doubt passersby were still glancing into the alley, and Uno and Ragan had not resheathed their swords—“but if you accompany me, we’ll be seen by ten times as many.”
His wince was half rueful, half mirthful. “An answer for everything,” he muttered. “But you have the right of it.” Clearly he wished she did not. “Hear me, Shienarans,” he said, turning his head, and suddenly his voice was steel. “I am Galadedrid Damodred, and this woman is under my protection. As for her companion, I would count it small loss to die in order to save her the smallest harm. If you allow either to come to that smallest harm, I will find you both and kill you.” Ignoring the sudden, dangerous blankness of their faces as completely as he did their swords, he swung his eyes back to her. “I suppose you still will not tell me where Egwene is?”
“All you need know is that she is far from here.” Folding her arms beneath her breasts, she could feel her heart beating through her ribs. Was she making a dangerous mistake because of a pretty face? “And safer than any action of yours can make her.”
He looked as if he did not believe her, but he made no more of it. “With luck, I will find a vessel in a day or two. Until then, stay close to this Valan Luca’s . . . show. Stay low and avoid notice. As much as you can with your hair that color. And tell Elayne not to run away from me again. The Light shone on you to let me find you still in one piece, and it will have to shine twice as brightly to keep you from harm if you try haring off across Ghealdan. This Prophet’s blasphemous ruffians are everywhere, without respect for law or persons, and that does not count brigands taking advantage of disorder. Samara itself is a wasp nest, but if you will sit quietly—and convince my headstrong sister to do the same—I will find a way to get you out of it before you are stung.”
It was an effort to keep her mouth shut. Taking what she told him and making it an injunction to her! Next thing the man would want to pack her and Elayne in wool and sit them on a shelf! Wouldn’t it be best if someone did? a tiny voice asked. Haven’t you caused enough trouble going your own way? She told the voice to be quiet. It did not listen, but began listing disasters and near disasters sprung from her own stubbornness.
Apparently taking her silence for acquiescence, he turned away from her—and stopped. Ragan and Uno had moved to block his way to the street, glancing at her with that strange, deceptive calm men so often adopted when they were a hairsbreadth from sudden violence. The air seemed to crackle, until she motioned hurriedly. The Shienarans lowered their blades and stood aside, and Galad took his hands from his sword, brushed past them and melded into the crowd without a backward glance.
Nynaeve gave Uno and Ragan each a good glare before stalking off in the opposite direction. There she had had everything arranged properly, and they had to nearly ruin it all. Men always seemed to think violence could solve anything. If she had had a stout stick, she would have thumped all three of them about the shoulders until they saw reason.
The Shienarans seemed to see a little of it, now; they caught up to her, swords scabbarded on their backs once more, and followed without a word, even when she twice took a wrong turn and had to double back. It was especially well for them that they kept silent then. She had had enough of holding her tongue. First Masema, and then Galad. All she wanted was a wafer-thin excuse to tell someone exactly what she thought. Especially that little voice in her head, pushed back to an insect buzz now but refusing to be quiet.
By the time they were out of Samara and on that dirt cart track, with its sparse traffic, the voice refused to be denied. She worried over Rand’s arrogance, but hers had brought herself and others as near calamity as made no never mind. For Birgitte, perhaps it was well over the line, even if she was alive. The best thing was for Nynaeve not to confront them again, not the Black Ajah and not Moghedien, not until someone who knew what they were doing could decide what should be done. Protest welled up, but she stamped on it as firmly as she ever had on Thom or Juilin. She would go to Salidar and hand the matter over to the Blues. That was how it would be. She was set on it.
“Have you eaten something that disagrees with you?” Ragan said. “Your mouth is twisted as if you had chewed a ripe duckberry.”
She gave him a look that snapped his teeth shut and stalked on. The two Shienarans kept pace to either side.
What was she going to do with them? That she should put them to some use was never in doubt; their appearance was too providential to throw away. For one thing, two additional pairs of eyes—Well, three eyes anyway; she was going to learn to look at that patch without swallowing if it killed her—more eyes hunting for a ship might mean finding one sooner. All very well if Masema or Galad found a vessel first, but she did not want either to know more of her doings than she had to allow. There was no telling what either might do.
“Are you following me because Masema told you to look after me,” she demanded, “or because Galad did?”
“What flaming difference does it make?” Uno muttered. “If the Lord Dragon has summoned you, you bloody well—” He cut off, frowning, as she raised one finger. Ragan eyed it as if it were a weapon.
“Do you mean to help Elayne and me reach Rand?”
“We’ve nothing better to do,” Ragan said dryly. “As it is, we’ll not see Shienar again till we are gray and toothless. We might as well ride with you to Tear or wherever he is.”
She had not considered that, but it made sense. Two more to help Thom and Juilin with chores and standing guard. No need to let them know how long that might take, or how many stops and detours could lie along the way. The Blues in Salidar might not let any of them go further. Once they reached Aes Sedai, they would be only Accepted again. Stop thinking about it! You are going to do it!
The crowd waiting in front of Luca’s garish sign appeared no smaller than it had before. A stream of people trickled into the meadow to join the throng as another stream meandered out, exclaiming over what they had seen. Now and again the “boar-horses” were visible, rearing above the canvas wall, to oohs and aahs from those waiting to get in. Cerandin was putting them through their paces again. The Seanchan woman always saw that the s’redit got plenty of rest. She was very firm about that, whatever Luca wanted. Men did do as they were told when you left no doubt that anything else was inconceivable. Usually they did.
Short of the well-trampled brown grass, Nynaeve stopped and turned to face the two Shienarans. She kept her face calm, but they looked suitably wary, though in Uno’s case, regrettably, that involved fiddling with his eyepatch in a queasy-making way. The folk heading to or from the show paid no heed to them.
“Then it will not be because of Masema or Galad,” she said firmly. “If you are going to travel with me, you will do as I say, else you can go your own way, for I’ll have none of you.”
Of course they had to exchange glances before nodding acceptance. “If that’s how it flaming has to be,” Uno growled, “then well enough. If you don’t have somebody to bloody well look after you, you’ll never flaming live to reach the Lord Dragon. Some sheep-gutted farmer will have you for breakfast because of your tongue.” Ragan gave him a guarded look that said he agreed with every word but strongly doubted Uno’s wisdom in voicing them. Ragan, it seemed, had the makings of a wise man in him.
If they accepted her terms, it did not really matter why. For now. There would be plenty of time later to set them straight.
“I don’t doubt the others will agree, too,” Ragan said.
“Others?” she said, blinking. “You mean there are more than the two of you? How many?”
“There are only fifteen of us altogether now. I don’t think Bartu or Nengar will come.”
“Sniffing after the bloody Prophet.” Uno turned his head and spat copiously. “Only fifteen. Sar went over that bloody cliff in the mountains, and Mendao had to get himself into a flaming duel with three Hunters for the Horn, and . . .”
Nynaeve was too busy stopping herself from gaping to listen. Fifteen! She could not help toting up in her head what it would cost to feed fifteen men. Even when they were not particularly hungry, Thom or Juilin, either one, ate more than Elayne and her combined. Light!
On the other hand, with fifteen Shienaran soldiers, there was no need to wait for a ship. A riverboat was certainly the fastest way to travel—she remembered what she had heard of Salidar, now; a river town, or close by; a boat could take them right to it—yet a Shienaran escort would make their wagon just as safe, from Whitecloaks or bandits or followers of the Prophet. But much slower. And a lone wagon heading away from Samara with such an escort would certainly stand out. A signpost for Moghedien, or the Black Ajah. I will let the Blues deal with them, and that is that!
“What is wrong?” Ragan asked, and Uno added apologetically, “I shouldn’t have mentioned how Sakaru died.” Sakaru? That must have been after she stopped listening. “I don’t spend much time around fla—, around ladies. I forget you have weak bell—, I mean, uh, delicate stomachs.” If he did not stop tugging at that eyepatch, he was going to find out how delicate her stomach was.
