Knife of Dreams by Robert Jordan
When he finally released her, she stood there looking up at him and trying to catch her breath. For that matter, his breath came a little raggedly, too. Metwyn whistled appreciatively. Mat smiled. What would she think of what plainly was her first real kiss ever? He tried not to smile too widely, though. He did not want her to think he was smirking.
She laid fingers against his cheek. "I thought so," she said in that slow honey drawl. "You're feverish. Some of your wounds must be infected."
Mat blinked. He gave her a kiss that had to have curled her toes, and all she said was that his face was hot? He bent his head again—this time, she would bloody well need help to stay standing!—but she put a hand against his chest, fending him off.
"Selucia, fetch the box of ointments I got from Mistress Luca," she commanded. Selucia went scurrying for Tuon's black-and-white mount.
"We don't have time for that now," Mat said. "I'll smear on something tonight." He might as well have kept his mouth shut.
"Strip off, Toy," she said in the same tone she had used with her maid. "The ointment will sting, but I expect you be brave."
"I am not going to—!"
"Riders coming." Harnan announced. He was already in his saddle, on a dark bay gelding with white forefeet, holding the lead to one of the strings of packhorses. "One of them's Vanin."
Mat swung up onto Pips for a better vantage. A pair of horsemen were approaching at a gallop, dodging around fallen trees when they had to. Aside from recognizing Chel Vanin's dun, there was no mistaking the man himself. Nobody else who was that wide and sat his saddle like a sack of suet could have maintained his seat at that pace without any apparent effort. The man could have stayed in the saddle on a wild boar. Then Mat recognized the other rider, whose cloak was flailing behind him, and felt as if he had been punched in the belly. He would not have been surprised in the least had the dice stopped then, but they kept bouncing off the inside of his skull. What in the Light was Talmanes bloody well doing in Altara?
The two riders slowed to a walk short of Mat, and Vanin reined in to let Talmanes approach alone. It was not shyness. There was nothing shy about Vanin. He leaned lazily on the tall pommel of his saddle and spat to one side through a gap in his teeth. No, he knew Mat would not be best pleased, and he meant to stay clear.
"Vanin brought me up to date, Mat," Talmanes said. Short and wiry, with the front of his head shaved and powdered, the Cairhienin had the right to wear stripes of color across his chest in considerable number, but a small red hand sewn to the breast of his dark coat was its only decoration unless you counted the long red scarf tied around his left arm. He never laughed and seldom smiled, but he had his reasons. "I was sorry to hear about Nalesean and the others. A good man, Nalesean. They all were."
"Yes, they were," Mat said, keeping a tight rein on his temper. "I assume Egwene never came to you for help getting away from those fool Aes Sedai, but what in the bloody flaming Light are you doing here?" Well, maybe he did not have such a tight rein after all. "At least tell me you haven't brought the whole bloody Band three hundred bloody miles into Altara with you."
"Egwene is still the Amyrlin," the other man said calmly, straightening his cloak. Another red hand, larger, marked that. "You were wrong about her, Mat. She really is the Amyrlin Seat, and she has those Aes Sedai by the scruff of the neck. Though some of them might not know it yet. The last I saw, she and the whole lot of them were off to besiege Tar Valon. She might have it by now. They can make holes in the air like the one the Dragon Reborn made to take us near Salidar." The colors spun in Mat's head, resolving for an instant into Rand talking to some woman with gray hair in a bun atop her head, an Aes Sedai, he thought, but his anger blew the image away like mist.
All that talk of the Amyrlin Seat and Tar Valon attracted the sisters, of course. They heeled their horses up beside Mat and tried to take over. Well, Edesina hung back a little the way she did when Teslyn or Joline had the bit in her teeth, but the other two. . . .
"Who do you be talking about?" Teslyn demanded while Joline was still opening her mouth. "Egwene? There did be an Accepted named Egwene al'Vere, but she be a runaway."
"Egwene al'Vere is the one, Aes Sedai," Talmanes said politely. The man was always polite to Aes Sedai. "And she is no runaway. She is the Amyrlin Seat, my word on it." Edesina made a sound that would have been called a squeak coming from anyone but an Aes Sedai.
"Later for that," Mat muttered. Joline opened her mouth again, angrily. "Later, I said." That was not enough to stop the slender Green, but Teslyn laid a hand on her arm and murmured something, and that was. Joline still glared daggers, though, promising to drag out everything she wanted to know later. "The Band, Talmanes?"
"Oh. No, I only brought three banners of horse and four thousand mounted crossbowmen. I left three banners of horse and five of foot, a little short of crossbows, in Murandy with orders to move north to Andor. And the Mason's Banner, of course. Handy to have masons ready to hand if you need a bridge built or the like."
Mat squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Six banners of horse and five of foot. And a banner of masons! The Band had only been two banners counting horse and foot when he left them in Salidar. He wished he had back half the gold he had handed over to Luca so freely. "How am I supposed to pay that many men?" he demanded. "I couldn't find enough dice games in a year!"
"Well, as to that, I made a small deal with King Roedran. Finished with, now, and not before time—I think he was about ready to turn on us; I will explain later—but the Band's coffers hold a year's pay and more. Besides, sooner or later the Dragon Reborn will give you estates, and grand ones. He has raised men to rule nations, so I hear, and you grew up with him."
This time, he did not fight the colors as they resolved into Rand and the Aes Sedai. It was an Aes Sedai, for sure. A hard woman, she looked. If Rand tried to give him any titles, he would stuff them down Rand's bloody throat is what he would do. Mat Cauthon had no liking for nobles—well, a few like Talmanes were all right; and Tuon: never forget Tuon—and he certainly had no bloody desire to become one! "That's as may be," was all he said, though.
Selucia cleared her throat loudly. She and Tuon moved their horses up beside Mat, and Tuon was so straight in her mare's saddle, so cool-eyed, cold-faced and regal, that he expected Selucia to start proclaiming her titles. She did nothing of the sort. Instead, she shifted on her dun and scowled at him, eyes like blue coals in a fire, then cleared her throat again. Very loudly. Ah.
"Tuon," Mat said, "allow me to present Lord Talmanes Delovinde of Cairhien. His family is distinguished and ancient, and he has added honors to its name." The little woman inclined her head. Perhaps all of an inch. "Talmanes, this is Tuon." So long as she called him Toy, she would get no titles from him. Selucia glared, eyes hotter than ever, impossible as that seemed.
Talmanes blinked in surprise, though, and bowed very low in his saddle. Vanin pulled the sagging brim of his hat lower, half hiding his face. He still avoided looking directly at Mat. So. It seemed the man had already told Talmanes exactly who Tuon was.
Growling under his breath, Mat leaned from the saddle to snatch his hat from the spear and pull up the ashandarei. He clapped the hat on his head. "We were ready to move on, Talmanes. Take us to where your men are waiting, and we'll see if we can have as good luck avoiding Seanchan on the way out of Altara as you had on the way in."
"We saw a good many Seanchan." Talmanes said, turning his bay to fall in beside Pips. "Though most of the men we saw seemed to be Altaran. They have camps scattered everywhere, it seems. Luckily, we saw none of those flying creatures I have heard tell of. But there is a problem. Mat. There was a landslide. I lost my rear guard and some of the packhorses. The pass is well and truly blocked, Mat. I sent three men to try climbing over with the orders sending the Band to Andor. One broke his neck, and another his leg."
Mat stopped Pips short. "I'm guessing this is the same pass Vanin was talking about?"
Talmanes nodded, and Van
"Then you'll have to find another one," Mat told him. "I've heard you can find your way blindfolded at midnight. It should be easy for you." Flattery never hurt. Besides, he had heard that about the man.
Vanin made a sound like he was swallowing his tongue. "Find another pass?" he muttered. "Find another pass, the man says. You don't just go find another pass in new mountains like the Damonas. Why do you think I only knew the one?" He was shaken to admit that much. Before this, he had been adamant that he had only heard of it.
"What are you talking about?" Mat demanded, and Vanin explained. At great length, for him.
"An Aes Sedai explained it to me, once. You see, there's old mountains. They was there before the Breaking, maybe on the bottom of the sea or the like. They have passes all over, broad and gentle. You can ride into those and as long you keep your head and your direction and have enough supplies, sooner or later you come out the other side. And then there's mountains made during the Breaking." The fat man turned his head and spat copiously. "Passes in those are narrow, twisty things, and sometimes they aren't really what you'd call passes at all. Ride into one of those, and you can wander around till your food runs out trying to find a way to the other side. Loss of that pass is going to hurt a lot of folks who use it for what you might call untaxed goods, and men'll die before they find a new one that gets them all the way through. We go into the Damonas with that pass gone, likely we'll all die, too. Them as doesn't turn back in time and hasn't gotten their heads so turned around they can't find the way back."
Mat looked around, at Tuon, the Aes Sedai, at Olver. They were all depending on him to get them to safety, but his safe route out of Altara was not there any more. "Let's ride," he said. "I have to think." He had to bloody think for all he was worth.
CHAPTER 26 As If the World Were Fog
Toy set a fast pace through the forest, but Tuon rode close behind him—with Selucia at her side, of course—so she could listen in on him and Talmanes. Her own thoughts interfered with eavesdropping, however. So he had grown up with the Dragon Reborn, had he? The Dragon Reborn! And he had denied knowing anything at all of the man. That was one lie of his she had failed to catch, and she was good at catching lies. In Seandar, the undetected lie might be the one that killed you or sent you to the sale block as property. Had she known of his prevarication, she might have slapped his face rather than allowing him to kiss her.
Now, that had been a shock, one she was not sure she had recovered from yet. Selucia had described being kissed by a man, but the actuality made the other woman's descriptions pale. No, she had to listen.
"You left Esteati in charge?" Toy erupted, so loudly that a covey of gray doves burst from cover in the thin undergrowth with a mournful whirring sound. "The man's a fool!"
"Not too much of a fool to listen to Daerid," Talmanes replied calmly. He did not seem a man to get overly excited. He kept a careful watch, head swiveling constantly. Every so often he scanned the sky through the thick branches overhead, too. He had only heard of raken, yet he watched for them. His words were even crisper and quicker than Toy's, and difficult to follow. These people all spoke so fast! "Carlomin and Reimon are not fools, Mat—at least, Reimon is only a fool sometimes—but neither will they listen to a commoner, no matter how much more he knows about warfare than they do. Edorion will, but I wanted him with me."
That red hand symbol Talmanes wore was intriguing. More than intriguing. Much more. Of an old and distinguished House, was he? But Toy was the one. He remembered Hawkwing's face. That seemed utterly impossible, yet his denial of it had plainly been a lie, as plain as the spots on a leopard. Could the Red Hand be Toy's sigil? But if so, what about his ring? She had almost fainted when she first saw that. Well, she had come as close to it as she had since childhood.
"That's going to change, Talmanes," Toy growled. "I let it go on too long as it is. If Reimon and the others command banners now, that makes them Banner-Generals. And you a Lieutenant-General. Daerid commands five banners, and that makes him a Lieutenant-General, too. Reimon and the others will obey his orders or they can go home. Come Tarmon Gai'don, I'm not going to have my skull split open because they bloody refuse to listen to somebody who doesn't have bloody estates."
Talmanes turned his horse to ride around a patch of briars, and everyone followed. The tangled vines seemed to have particularly long thorns, and hooked besides. "They will not like it, Mat, but they will not go home, either. You know that. Have you any ideas yet how we are to get out of Altara?"
"I'm thinking on it," Toy muttered. "I'm thinking on it. Those crossbowmen. . . ." He exhaled heavily. "That wasn't wise, Talmanes. For one thing, they're used to marching on their own feet. Half of them will have all they can do to stay in the saddle if we're moving fast, and we're going to have to. They can be useful in woods like these, or anywhere they have plenty of cover, but if we're on open ground, with no pikes, they'll be ridden down before they can loose a second flight."
In the distance, a lion coughed. In the distance, but it was still enough to make the horses whicker nervously and dance a few steps. Toy leaned forward on his gelding's neck and appeared to whisper in the animal's ear. It quieted immediately. So that had not been another of his fanciful tales after all. Remarkable. "I picked men who could ride, Mat," Talmanes said once his bay stopped frisking. "And they all have the new crank." A touch of excitement entered his voice now. Even restrained men tended to warmth over weapons. "Three turns of the crank," his hands moved in a quick circle, demonstrating, "and the bowstring is latched. With a little training, a man can get off seven or eight quarrels in a minute. With a heavy crossbow."
Selucia made a small sound in her throat. She was right to be startled. If Talmanes was telling the truth, and he had no reason to lie that Tuon could find, then she had to obtain one of these marvelous cranks somehow. With one for a pattern, artisans could make more. Archers could shoot faster than crossbowmen, but they took longer to train, too. There were always more crossbowmen than archers.
"Seven?" Toy exclaimed incredulously. "That would be more than useful, but I never heard of such thing. Ever." He muttered that as if it had some special significance, then shook his head. "How did you come by it?"
"Seven or eight. There was a mechanic in Murandy who wanted to take a wagonload of things he had invented up to Caemlyn. There is a school of some sort there for scholars and inventors. He needed money for the journey, and he was willing to teach the Band's armorers to make the things. Smother your enemy with arrows at every opportunity. It is always better to kill your enemies far off than close at hand."
Selucia held her hands up so Tuon could see them, slim fingers moving quickly, WHAT IS THIS BAND THEY SPEAK OF? She used the proper form, inferior to superior, yet her impatience was almost palpable. Impatience with everything that was happening. Tuon kept few secrets from her, but some seemed advisable for the present. She would not put it past Selucia to return her to Ebou Dar forcibly, so she would not be breaking her word. A shadow's duties were many, and sometimes required paying the final sacrifice. She did not want to have to order Selucia's execution.
She replied in the imperative form. TOY'S PERSONAL ARMY, OBVIOUSLY. LISTEN AND WE MAY LEARN MORE.
Toy commanding an army seemed very odd. He was charming at times, even witty and amusing, but often a buffoon and always a rapscallion. He had seemed very much in his element as Tylin's pet. Yet he had seemed in his element among the show's performers, too, and with the marath'damane and the two escaped damane, and in the hell. That had been such a disappointment. Not even one fight! Events later had not compensated for that. Getting swept up in a street brawl was hardly the same as seeing fights in a hell. Which admittedly had been far more boring than rumor heard in Ebou Dar had made it seem. Toy had displayed an unexpected side of himself in that street brawl. A formidable man, t
"Good advice," he said absently, tugging at the black scarf tied around his neck. She wondered about the scar he took such pains to hide. That he did was understandable. Why had he been hanged, and how had he survived? She could not ask. She did not mind lowering his eyes a little—in fact, it was enjoyable making him writhe; it took so little effort—but she did not want to destroy him. At least, not for the moment.
"Do you not recognize it?" Talmanes said. "It is from your book. King Roedran has two copies in his library. He has it memorized. The man thinks it will make him a great captain. He was so pleased with how our bargain worked out that he had a copy printed and bound for me."
Toy gave the other man a mystified look. "My book?"
"The one you told us about, Mat. Fog and Steel, by Madoc Co-madrin."
"Oh, that book." Toy shrugged. "I read it a long time ago."
Tuon gritted her teeth. Her fingers flashed. WHEN WILL THEY STOP TALKING OF BOOKS AND GO BACK TO INTERESTING THINGS?
PERHAPS IF WE LISTEN WE MAY LEARN MORE, Selucia replied. Tuon glared at her, but the woman wore such an innocent look that she could not maintain her scowl. She laughed—softly, so as not to let Toy realize how close behind him she was—and Selucia joined in. Softly.
Toy had fallen silent, though, and Talmanes seemed content to leave it so. They rode in silence save for the sounds of the forest, birds singing, strange black-tailed squirrels chittering on branches.