The Wheel of Time, page 824
Sprawled among the trees, the encampment seemed larger than she had imagined. Whether she looked left, right or ahead, tents and cookfires, lines of tethered horses and rows of wagons stretched out of her sight. As she and her escort passed, soldiers looked up in curiosity, hard-faced men with their heads shaved except for a tuft on top that was sometimes long enough to reach the shoulders. Few wore any part of their armor, but armor and weapons always lay close to hand. The smell was not so bad as Merilille had described, though she could make out the faint odor of latrines and horse dung beneath the aroma of whatever was boiling in all these cookpots. No one appeared hungry, though many were lean. Not the leanness of starvation, though, just that of men who had never carried much fat on them. She did notice that there were no spits over any fire she could see. Meat would be harder to come by than grain, though grain itself was in short enough supply this late in winter. Barley soup did not strengthen a man the way meat did. They needed to move soon; nowhere could support four armies this size for long. She just had to make sure they moved in the right direction.
Not everyone she saw was a soldier with a shaven head, of course, though the men among them looked almost as hard. There were fletchers making arrows, wheelwrights working on wagons, farriers shoeing horses, laundresses stirring boiling kettles, women working with needles who might have been seamstresses or wives. Great numbers of people always followed an army, sometimes as many as the soldiers themselves. She did not see anyone who could have been Aes Sedai, though; sisters were unlikely to push up their sleeves and work wooden paddles in the laundry kettles, or don patched woolens and sit darning breeches. Why did they want to remain hidden? She resisted the desire to embrace the Source, to draw saidar through the turtle angreal pinned to her breast. One battle at a time, and first she must fight for Andor.
Before a much larger tent than any of the others she could see, pale canvas with a single long peak, Kayen dismounted and handed her down. He hesitated over whether to do the same for Birgitte and Aviendha, but Birgitte solved his dilemma by stepping down smoothly and handing her reins to a waiting soldier, Aviendha by half-falling out of the saddle. She had improved her riding, but mounting and dismounting still gave her difficulty. Glaring around her to see whether anyone was laughing, she smoothed down her bulky skirts, then unwrapped the shawl from around her head and settled it on her shoulders. Birgitte watched her horse being taken away as though she wished she had taken her bow and quiver from the saddle. Kayen pulled open one of the entry flaps and bowed.
Drawing a last deep calming breath, Elayne led the other two women in. She could not allow them to see her as a supplicant. She was not here to beg, or to defend. Sometimes, Gareth Bryne had told her when she was a child, you find yourself outnumbered, with no path to slip away. Always do what your enemy least expects, Elayne. In that case, you must attack. From the start, she must attack.
Inside, Merilille glided to her across the layered carpets laid down for a floor. The diminutive Gray’s smile was not precisely relieved, but clearly she was glad to see Elayne. Aside from her, there were only five others present, two women and three men, and one of the latter was a servant, an old cavalryman by his bowed legs and scarred face, who came to take cloaks and gloves—and blink at Aviendha—before retreating to a plain wooden table that held a silver tray with a tall-necked pitcher and an array of cups. The other four ruled the nations of the Borderlands. A scattering of backless camp chairs and four large braziers holding glowing coals completed the tent’s furnishings. This was not the sort of reception the Daughter-Heir of Andor might have expected, with courtiers and many servants, and idle conversation to be made before serious discussions could begin, and men and women at those rulers’ shoulders to advise them. What she found was what she had hoped for.
Healing had rid Merilille’s eyes of their dark circles before she left the Palace, and she made Elayne’s introduction with simple dignity. “This is Elayne Trakand, of the Green Ajah, as I told you.” That, and nothing more. Elayne knew enough from Vandene to pick out one from another of the four rulers who faced her.
“I give you welcome, Elayne Sedai,” Easar of Shienar said. “Peace and the Light favor you.” He was a short man, no taller than herself, slim in a bronze-colored coat, his face unwrinkled despite a long white topknot that hung over the side of his head. Looking at his sad eyes, she reminded herself that he was accounted a wise ruler and a skilled diplomat as well as a fine soldier. In appearance, he was none of those things. “May I offer you wine? The spices are not fresh, but they have gained extra sharpness with age.”
“When Merilille told us you would come all the way from Caemlyn today, I confess I would have doubted her, were she not Aes Sedai.” Ethenielle of Kandor, perhaps half a hand taller than Merilille, was plump, her black hair lightly dusted with gray, but there was nothing motherly about her despite her smile. Regal dignity clothed her as much as did her fine blue wool. Her eyes were blue, too, clear and level.
“We are pleased that you did come,” Paitar of Arafel said in a surprisingly deep, rich voice that made Elayne feel warmed, somehow. “We have much to discuss with you.” Vandene had said he was the most beautiful man in the Borderlands, and perhaps he had been long ago, but age had laid deep lines in his face, and only a fringe of short gray hair remained on his head. He was tall and broad-shouldered, though, in plain green, and he did look strong. And not a fool.
Where the others carried their years with grace, Tenobia of Saldaea flaunted youth if not beauty, with her eagle’s beak of a nose and wide mouth. Her tilted, almost purple eyes, level with Elayne’s, were her best feature. Perhaps her only one. Where the others dressed simply, even if they did rule nations, her pale blue dress was worked with pearls and sapphires and she wore more sapphires in her hair. Suitable for the court, but hardly for a camp. And where they were courteous . . . “Under the Light, Merilille Sedai,” Tenobia said in a high voice, frowning, “I know you speak truth, but she looks more a child than an Aes Sedai. You did not mention she would be bringing a black-eyed Aiel.”
Easar’s face never changed, but Paitar’s mouth tightened, and Ethenielle went so far as to cut her eyes briefly toward Tenobia in a glance that would have suited a mother. A very irritated and displeased mother.
“Black?” Aviendha muttered in confusion. “My eyes are not black. I never saw black eyes except on a peddler until I crossed the Dragonwall.”
“You know I can speak only the truth, Tenobia, and I assure you,” Merilille began.
Elayne silenced her with a touch on the arm. “It is enough that you know I am Aes Sedai, Tenobia. This is my sister, Aviendha, of the Nine Valleys Sept of the Taardad Aiel.” Aviendha smiled at them, or at least bared her teeth. “This is my Warder, Lady Birgitte Trahelion.” Birgitte made a short bow, her golden braid swaying.
One announcement caused as many startled looks as the other—an Aiel woman was her sister? her Warder was a woman?—but Tenobia and the others ruled lands on the edge of the Blight, where nightmares truly might walk abroad in daylight and anyone who let themselves be startled too greatly was as good as dead. Elayne gave them no chance to recover fully, though. Attack before they know what you are doing, Gareth Bryne had said, and keep attacking until you rout them or break through.
“Shall we consider the niceties completed?” she said, taking a cup that gave off the aroma of spiced wine from the tray proffered by the old soldier. A surge of caution flowed along the Warder bond, and she saw Aviendha glance sideways at the cup, but she did not mean to drink. She was just glad neither actually spoke. “Only a fool would think you have come all this way to invade Andor,” she said, walking to the chairs and sitting. Rulers or not, they had no choice but to follow or stare at her back. At Birgitte’s back, since she stood behind her. As usual, Aviendha folded herself to the floor and arranged her skirts in a neat fan. They followed. “The Dragon Reborn brings you,” Elayne went on. “You requested this audience with me because I was at Falme. The question is, why is that important to you? Do you think I can tell you more of what happened there than you already know? The Horn of Valere was sounded, dead heroes out of legend rode against Seanchan invaders, and the Dragon Reborn fought the Shadow in the sky for all to see. If you know that much, you know as much as I.”
“Audience?” Tenobia said incredulously, pausing half-seated. The camp chair creaked as she let herself drop the rest of the way. “No one requested an audience! Even if you already held the throne of Andor—!”
“Let us stay to the point, Tenobia,” Paitar broke in mildly. Rather than sitting, he stood, occasionally sipping at his wine. Elayne was glad she could see the wrinkles on his face. That voice could confuse a woman’s thoughts, otherwise.
Ethenielle spared Tenobia another quick glance while seating herself, and murmured something under her breath. Elayne thought she heard the word “marriage,” with a rueful sound, but that made no sense. In any case, she turned her attention to Elayne as soon as she was settled in her chair. “I might like your ferocity another time, Elayne Sedai, but there’s little to enjoy falling into an ambush that one of your own allies has helped lay.” Tenobia scowled, though Ethenielle did not even dart those sharp eyes in her direction. “What happened at Falme,” the Queen of Kandor told Elayne, “is not so important as what came of it. No, Paitar; we must tell her what we must tell her. She already knows too much for anything else. We know that you were a companion to the Dragon Reborn at Falme, Elayne. A friend, perhaps. You are right; we have not come to invade. We have come to find the Dragon Reborn. And we have marched all this way only to find that no one knows where he is to be found. Do you know where he is?”
Elayne hid her relief at the blunt question. It would never have been asked if they thought she was more than a companion or friend. She could be just as blunt. Attack and keep attacking. “Why do you want to find him? Emissaries or messengers could take any word you wanted to send him.” Which was as good as asking why they brought vast armies.
Easar had taken no wine, and he stood with his fists on his hips. “The war against the Shadow is fought along the Blight,” he said grimly. “The Last Battle will be fought in the Blight, if not at Shayol Ghul itself. And he ignores the Borderlands and concerns himself with lands that have not seen a Myrddraal since the Trolloc Wars.”
“The Car’a’carn decides where to dance the spears, wetlander,” Aviendha sneered. “If you follow him, then you fight where he says.” No one looked at her. They were all looking at Elayne. No one took the opening Aviendha had offered.
Elayne made herself breathe evenly and meet their gazes without blinking. A Borderland army was too great a trap for Elaida to lay in order to catch Elayne Trakand, but Rand al’Thor, the Dragon Reborn, might be another matter. Merilille shifted on her chair, but she had her instructions. No matter how many treaties the Gray sister had negotiated, once Elayne began, she was to keep silent. Confidence flowed along the bond with Birgitte. Rand was a stone, unreadable, and distant. “You know of the White Tower’s proclamation regarding him?” she asked quietly. They must, by now.
“The Tower calls anathema on anyone who approaches the Dragon Reborn save through the offices of the Tower,” Paitar said just as quietly. Taking a seat at last, he regarded her with serious eyes. “You are Aes Sedai. Surely that counts as the same thing.”
“The Tower meddles everywhere,” Tenobia muttered. “No, Ethenielle; I will say this! The whole world knows the Tower is divided. Do you follow Elaida or the rebels, Elayne?”
“The world seldom knows what it thinks it knows,” Merilille said in a voice that seemed to lower the temperature in the tent. The tiny woman who ran when Elayne ordered her and squeaked when Windfinders looked at her sat up straight and faced Tenobia as an Aes Sedai, her smooth face as frosty as her tone. “The affairs of the Tower are for initiates to know, Tenobia. If you want to learn, ask to have your name written in the novice book, and in twenty years you might learn a little.”
Her Illumined Majesty, Tenobia si Bashere Kazadi, Shield of the North and Sword of the Blightborder, High Seat of House Kazadi, Lady of Shahayni, Asnelle, Kunwar and Ganai, glared at Merilille with all the fury of a blizzard. And said nothing. Elayne’s respect for her increased slightly.
Merilille’s disobedience did not displease her. It saved her from trying to prevaricate while seeming to speak only the truth. Egwene said they must try to live as if they had already sworn the Three Oaths, and here and now, Elayne felt the weight of it. Here, she was not the Daughter-Heir of Andor struggling to claim her mother’s throne, or not only that. She was an Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah, with more reason for taking care with her words than simply hiding what she wanted to remain hidden.
“I cannot tell you exactly where he is.” Truth, because she could only have given them a vague direction, roughly toward Tear, and no telling how far; truth, because she did not trust them sufficiently for even that. She just had to be careful what she said, and how. “I do know that apparently he intends to remain where he is awhile.” He had not moved for days, the first time since leaving her that he had remained in any one place longer than half a day. “I will tell you what I can, but only if you agree that you will march south within the week. You will run out of barley as well as meat if you remain here much longer, anyway. I promise, you will be marching toward the Dragon Reborn.” To begin with they would be, at any rate.
Paitar shook his bald head. “You want us to enter Andor? Elayne Sedai—or should I call you Lady Elayne, now?—I wish you the Light’s blessing in your quest for Andor’s crown, but not enough to offer my men to fight for it.”
“Elayne Sedai and Lady Elayne are one and the same,” she told them. “I do not ask you to fight for me. In truth, I hope with all my heart that you cross Andor without so much as a skirmish.” Raising her silver winecup, she wet her lips without drinking. A flash of caution surged through the Warder bond, and in spite of herself, Elayne laughed. Aviendha was watching her from the corner of her eye and frowning. Even now, they were going to look after the mother to be.
“I am glad someone finds this amusing,” Ethenielle said wryly. “Try to think like a Southlander, Paitar. They play the Game of Houses here, and I think she is being very clever at it. She should be, I suppose; I’ve always heard that Aes Sedai created Daes Dae’mar.”
“Think tactics, Paitar.” Easar was studying Elayne, wearing a small smile. “We move toward Caemlyn as invaders, so any Andoran will see it. Winter may be mild here, but we’ll still need weeks to ride that far. By the time we do, she will have rallied enough of the Andoran Houses against us, and to her, that she will have the Lion Throne, or near enough. At the least, enough strength will have been pledged to her that no one else will be able to stand long against her.” Tenobia shifted on her chair, frowning and adjusting her skirts, but there was a respect in her eyes when she looked at Elayne that had not been there before.
“And when we reach Caemlyn, Elayne Sedai,” Ethenielle said, “you will . . . negotiate . . . us into leaving Andor without a battle being fought.” That came out as not quite a question, but almost. “Very clever indeed.”
“If all works as she plans,” Easar said, his smile fading. He put out a hand without looking, and the old soldier placed a winecup in it. “Battles seldom do; even this bloodless sort, I think.”
“I very much want it all to be bloodless,” Elayne said. Light, it had to be, or instead of saving her country from civil war, she had plunged it into worse. “I will work hard to see that it is. I expect you to do the same.”
“Do you also happen to know where my Uncle Davram is, Elayne Sedai?” Tenobia said suddenly. “Davram Bashere? I would like to speak with him as much as with the Dragon Reborn.”
“Lord Davram is not far from Caemlyn, Tenobia. I cannot promise he will still be there when you arrive, though. That is, if you agree?” Elayne made herself breathe, to hide her anxiety. She was beyond where she could turn back, now. They would move south now, she was certain, but without their agreement, there would be bloodshed.
For a long moment there was silence in the tent except for a coal cracking in one of the braziers. Ethenielle exchanged glances with the two men.
“So long as I get to see my uncle,” Tenobia said heatedly, “I am agreed.”
“On my honor, I am agreed,” Easar said decisively, and almost atop him, if in a milder tone, Paitar said, “Under the Light, I am agreed.”
“Then so are we all,” Ethenielle breathed. “And now your part, Elayne Sedai. Where do we find the Dragon Reborn?”
A thrill shot through Elayne, and she could not say whether it was exhilaration, or fear. She had done what she had come for, risked the dangers for herself and for Andor, and only time would tell whether she had made the right decision. She answered without hesitation, “As I told you, I cannot say exactly where. A search in Murandy will be profitable, though.” Truth, though the profit would be hers, not theirs, if any came. Egwene had moved from Murandy today, taking away the army that had held Arathelle Renshar and the other nobles in the south. Perhaps the Borderlanders moving south would force Arathelle and Luan and Pelivar to decide as Dyelin believed they would, to support her. The Light send it so.
Except for Tenobia, the Borderlanders did not seem at all exultant over learning where to find Rand. Ethenielle let out a long breath, almost a sigh, and Easar simply nodded and pursed his lips in thought. Paitar drank down half his wine, the first real drink he had taken. It very much seemed that however much they wanted to find the Dragon Reborn, they were not looking forward to meeting him. Tenobia, on the other hand, called for the old soldier to bring her wine and went on about how much she wanted to see her uncle. Elayne would not have thought the woman had so much family feeling.
Night came early that time of year, and only a few hours of daylight remained, as Easar pointed out, offering beds for the night. Ethenielle suggested that her own tent would be more comfortable, yet they gave no sign of disappointment when Elayne said she must leave immediately.
