Knife of Dreams by Robert Jordan
Winding streets led over and around the hills past narrow, tile-covered towers that would glitter with a hundred colors when the sun rose and glittered faintly in the cloud-dappled moonlight, past silent shops and lightless inns, simple stone houses with slate roofs and small palaces that might have fit in Tar Valon. The ring of horseshoes on the paving stones and the faint creak of saddle leather sounded loud in the silence. Except for an occasional dog that slunk away into the deeper shadows of alleys, nothing else moved. The streets were dangerous at this hour, but no footpad would be mad enough to come in sight of so large a party. Half an hour after leaving the Royal Palace, Elayne rode Fireheart through the Mondel Gate, a wide, twenty-foot-high arch in the Inner City's tall white wall. Once there would have been Guardsmen on duty there, to keep the peace, but the Queen's Guards were spread too thin now for that.
Almost as soon as they were into the New City, Hark turned east into a warren of streets that meandered in every direction through the city's hills. He rode awkwardly, on a bay mare that had been found for him. Cutpurses seldom spent time in the saddle. Some of the streets were quite narrow here, and it was in one of those that he finally drew rein, surrounded by stone houses of two or three or even four stories. Birgitte raised a hand to halt the column. The sudden silence seemed deafening.
"It's just around that corner there, it is, my Lady, the other side of the street," Hark said in a near whisper, "but if we go riding out there, they might hear us or see us. Pardon, my Lady, but if these Aes Sedai are what you says they are, I don't want them seeing me." He scrambled down from his saddle clumsily and looked up her, wringing his hands, his moonshadowed face anxious.
Dismounting, Elayne led Fireheart to the corner and peeked around the corner of a narrow, three-story house. The houses along the other street stood dark except for one, four substantial stories of stone with the closed gate of a stableyard beside it. Not an ornate building, but large enough for a wealthy merchant or banker. Bankers and merchants were unlikely to be awake at this hour, however.
"There," Hark whispered hoarsely, pointing. He stood far back, so he had to learn forward to point. He really did fear being seen. "The one with the light on the second floor, it is."
"Best to find out if anyone else is awake in there," Vandene said, peering past Elayne. "Jaem? Don't go inside the house." Elayne expected the lean old Warder to sneak across the street, but he just strolled out holding his cloak close around him against the early morning chill. Even the dangerous grace of a Warder appeared to have deserted him. Vandene seemed to sense her surprise.
"Skulking draws the eye and creates suspicion," she said. "Jaem is just a man walking, and if it's early to be out in the streets, he isn't sneaking, so anyone who sees him will think of some mundane reason for him to be out."
Reaching the stableyard gate, Jaem pulled it open and walked through as if he had a perfect right. Long minutes passed before he came back out, shutting the gate carefully behind him, and strolled back along the street. He rounded the corner and the leopard-like grace reappeared in his step.
"All the windows are dark except that one," he told Vandene quietly. "The kitchen door is unlatched. So is the back door. That lets onto an alley. Trusting, for Darkfriends. Or else dangerous enough they don't worry about burglars. There's a big fellow sleeping in the barn, up in the loft. Big enough to scare any burglar, but he's so drunk he didn't wake while I was tying him up." Vandene raised a questioning eyebrow. "I thought I'd better be safe. Drunks sometimes wake when you least expect. You wouldn't want him seeing you go in and start making noise." She nodded approval.
"It's time to get ready," Elayne said. Moving back from the corner and handing her reins to Birgitte, she tried to embrace the Source. It was like trying to catch smoke with her fingers. Frustration and anger welled up, all the things you needed to suppress if you were to channel. She tried again, and failed again. Falion and Marillin were going to get away. To come this close. . . . They had to be in that lighted room. She knew it. And they were going to escape. Sadness replaced anger, and suddenly saidar flowed into her. She barely stifled a sigh of relief. "I'll meld the flows, Sareitha. Vandene, you meld for Careane."
"I don't understand why we have to link," the Tairen Brown muttered, but she put herself on the edge of embracing the Power. "With two of them and four of us, we outnumber them, but linked, it's two and two." A clue? Perhaps she wished it to be three and three?
"Two strong enough to overwhelm them even if they're holding the Power, Sareitha." Elayne reached through her as if she were an angreal, and the glow of saidar surrounded the other woman as the link was completed. In truth, it surrounded both of them, but she could only see the part around Sareitha—until she wove Spirit around her. Then the glow vanished. She placed the same weave on herself and prepared four shields and several other weaves, all inverted. She felt almost giddy with excitement, but she did not intend to be caught by surprise. Frustration still pulsed along the bond, but for the rest, Birgitte felt like a drawn arrow. Elayne touched her arm. "We will be all right." Birgitte snorted and flung her thick braid back over her shoulder. "Keep an eye on Master Hark, Birgitte. It would be a shame if he had to be hanged because he was tempted to run." Hark squeaked.
She exchanged glances with Vandene, who said, "We might as well be about it."
The four of them walked up Full Moon Street, slowly, as if out for a stroll, and slipped into the shadow-shrouded stableyard. Elayne opened the kitchen door slowly, but the hinges were well-oiled, emitting not a squeak. The brick-walled kitchen was lit only by a tiny fire in the wide stone fireplace where a kettle hung steaming, yet that was enough for them to cross the floor without bumping into the table or chairs. Someone sighed, and she pressed a warning finger to her lips. Vandene frowned at Careane, who looked embarrassed and spread her hands.
A short hall led to stairs at the front of the house. Gathering her skirts, Elayne started up, silent on slippered feet. She was careful to keep Sareitha where she could see her. Vandene was doing the same with Careane. They could do nothing with the Power, but that hardly meant they could do nothing. On the second flight of stairs, she began hearing the murmur of voices. Light spilled from an open door.
". . . . don't care what you think," a woman said in that room. "You leave the thinking to me and do as you're told."
Elayne moved to the door. It was a sitting room, with gilded stand-lamps and rich carpets on the floor and a tall fireplace of blue marble, but she had eyes only for the three women in it. Only one, a sharp-faced woman, was seated. That must be Shiaine. The other two stood with their backs to the door, heads bowed like penitents. The sharp-faced woman's eyes widened when she saw her in the doorway, but Elayne gave her no time to open her mouth. The two Black sisters cried out in alarm as shields went onto them, and flows of Air bound their arms to their sides, tightened their skirts around their legs. More flows of Air fastened Shiaine to her gilded armchair.
Elayne drew Sareitha into the room with her and moved to where she could see all of their faces. Sareitha tried to step back. She might only have been trying to give her the place of prominence, but Elayne caught her sleeve again, keeping her in view, too. Vandene and Careane joined them. Marillin's narrow face held Aes Sedai calm, but Falion snarled silently.
"What is the meaning of this?'' Shiaine demanded. "I recognize you. You're Elayne Trakand, the Daughter-Heir. But that gives you no right to invade my home and assault me."
"Falion Bhoda," Elayne said calmly, "Marillin Gemalphin, Shiaine Avarhin, I arrest you as Darkfriends." Well, her voice was calm. Inside, she wanted to skip with glee. And Birgitte thought this would be dangerous!
"That is ridiculous." Shiaine said in icy tones. "I walk in the Light!"
"Not if you walk with these two," Elayne told her. "To my certain knowledge they've proven themselves Black Ajah in Tar Valon, Tear and Tanchico. You don't hear them denying it, do you? That's because they know I—"
Suddenly sparks danced all ov
Four women Elayne recognized entered the room. Asne Zeramene and Temaile Kinderode, Chesmal Emry and Eldrith Jhondar. Four Black sisters. She could have wept. Sareitha groaned softly.
"Why did you wait so long?" Asne demanded of Falion and Marillin. The Saldaean's dark tilted eyes were angry. "I used this so they wouldn't feel us embrace saidar, but why did you just stand there?" She waved a small, bent black rod, perhaps an inch in diameter, that had a strangely dull look. The thing seemed to fascinate her. "A 'gift' from Moghedien. A weapon from the Age of Legends. I can kill a man at a hundred paces with this, or just stun him if I want to put him to the question."
"I can kill a man if I can see him," Chesmal said scornfully. Tall and handsome, she was the image of icy arrogance.
Asne sniffed. "But my target could be surrounded by a hundred sisters, and not one would know what killed him."
"I suppose it has its uses,'' Chesmal admitted in grudging tones. "Why did you just stand there?"
"They had us shielded," Falion said bitterly.
Eldrith's breath caught, and she put a plump hand to a round cheek. "That's impossible. Unless. . . ." Her dark eyes sharpened. "They've discovered a way to hide the glow, to hide their weaves. Now, that would be most useful."
"You have my thanks for your timely rescue," Shiaine said, rising, "but do you have a reason for coming here tonight? Did Moridin send you?"
Asne channeled a flow of Air that struck Shiaine's cheek with a loud crack, staggering her. "Keep a civil tongue in your mouth, and perhaps we'll let you leave with us. Or we can leave you behind dead." Shiaine's cheek was reddened, but her hands remained at her sides. Her face was expressionless.
"Elayne's the only one we need," Temaile said. She was pretty in a fox-faced way, almost a fragile child in appearance despite her ageless face, but her blue eyes held an unhealthy light. She touched her lips with the tip of her tongue. "I'd enjoy playing with the others, but they'd be a burden we don't need."
"If you're going to kill them," Marillin said as though discussing the price of bread, "spare Careane. She is one of us."
"A gift from Adeleas," Vandene murmured, and Careane's eyes went very wide. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. The two women sagged and fell to the carpet. Vandene began trying to push herself up, but Careane lay staring at the ceiling, the hilt of Vandene's belt knife protruding from beneath her breastbone.
The glow surrounded Chesmal, and she touched Vandene with a complex weave of Fire, Earth and Water. The white-haired woman collapsed as if her bones had melted. The same weave touched Sareitha, and she pulled Elayne down atop her as she fell. Sareitha's eyes were already glazing.
"Their Warders will be coming now," Chesmal said. "A little more killing to do."
Run, Birgitte, Elayne thought, wishing the bond could carry words. Run!
CHAPTER 32 To Keep the Bargain
Birgitte was leaning against the stone wall of the three-story house, thinking sadly of Gaidal, when the bundle of emotions and physical sensations in the back of her head, her awareness of Elayne, suddenly spasmed. That was the only word for it. Whatever it was lasted just a moment, but afterward, the bond was full of. . . limpness. Elayne was conscious, but unsteady. She was unafraid, however. Still, Birgitte threw back her cloak and moved to the corner to peer up Full Moon Street. Elayne could be too brave for her own good. The hardest thing about being Elayne's Warder was keeping her from endangering herself beyond need. Nobody was indestructible, but the bloody woman thought she bloody well was. Her sigil should have been an iron lion rather than a golden lily. That light shone in the window, spilling a pale pool into the narrow street, and there was not a sound except for a cat yowling somewhere in the night.
"Sareitha feels . . . muzzy," Ned Yarman muttered beside her. The tall young Warder's boyish face was a grim shadowed mask inside the hood of his cloak. "She feels weak."
Birgitte became aware of the other Warders crowding her close, stone-faced and hard-eyed. That was clear enough even by moonlight. Something had happened to all of the Aes Sedai, it seemed. But what? "The Lady Elayne said she'd shout if she needed us," she told them, as much to reassure herself as anything else. Even if both Careane and Sareitha were Darkfriends, they would have been helpless to do anything linked, and apparently whatever had happened had happened to them, as well. Burn her, she should have insisted that she and the other Warders go along.
"Careane won't be pleased if we interfere needlessly," Venr Kosaan said quietly. Blade slim and dark, with touches of white in his tightly curled black hair and short beard, he appeared completely at ease. "I say we wait. She feels confident, whatever's going on."
"More so that she did going in," Cieryl Arjuna added, earning him a sharp glance from Venr. Still short of his middle years, Cieryl seemed all bones, though his shoulders were wide.
Birgitte nodded. Elayne was confident, too. But then, Elayne would feel self-assured walking an unraveling rope stretched over a pit full of sharp stakes. A dog began barking in the distance, and the yowling cat went silent, but other dogs answered the first in a spreading ripple that faded away as suddenly as it had begun.
They waited, with Birgitte fretting in silence. Suddenly, Venr growled an oath and shed his cloak. The next instant, his blade was in his hand and he was running up the street followed by Cieryl and Tavan, cloaks billowing behind, their blades bared, too. Before they had gone two steps, Jaem gave a wild cry. Unsheathing his sword, he threw his cloak down and raced after the other three at a speed that belied his age. Bellowing with rage, Ned ran, too, the steel in his fist glittering in the moonlight. Fury stabbed through the bond, like the battle fury that took some men. And sadness, too, but still no fear.
Birgitte heard the soft rasp of swords being unsheathed behind her and spun, cloak flaring. "Put those up! They're no use here."
"I know what the Warders running in means as well as you, my Lady," Yurith said in courtly accents, obeying smoothly. And with clear reluctance. Lean and as tall as most men, the Saldaean denied being nobly born, but whenever the conversation came around to what she had done before swearing the oath as a Hunter for the Horn, she always gave one of her rare smiles and changed the subject. She was skilled with that sword, however. "If the Aes Sedai are dying—"
"Elayne is alive," Birgitte cut in. Alive, and in trouble. "She's our concern, now, but we'll need a lot more swords to rescue her." And more than swords. "Somebody collar that man!" Two Guardswomen seized Hark's coat before he could slip away into the darkness. Apparently he had no wish to stay near where Aes Sedai had died. Neither did she. "Gather the . . . the extra horses and follow me," she said, swinging into Arrow's saddle. "And ride like fire!" She suited her words, digging her heels into the rangy gray gelding's flanks without waiting.
It was a wild gallop through dark, twisting streets where people were just beginning to appear. She reined Arrow around the few carts and wagons out this early, but men and women had to leap from her path, often shaking fists and shouting curses. She only urged the gelding for more speed, her cloak flapping behind. Before she reached the Mondel Gate, Elayne was moving. She had been uncertain at first, but there could be no mistaking it now. Elayne was moving northeast at about walking
Two lines of Guardswomen were practicing the sword in the Queen's Stableyard when she galloped in, but the lath blades stopped rattling when she flung herself out of the saddle, let Arrow's reins drop and ran toward the colonnade. "Hadora, run tell the Windfinders to meet me in the Map Room right away!" she shouted without slowing. "All of them! Sanetre, you do the same for Captain Guybon! And have another horse saddled for me!" Arrow was played out for today. She was past the columns by that time, but she did not look back to see whether they were obeying. They would be.
She raced through tapestry-hung hallways and up sweeping marble stairs, got lost and shouted curses as she retraced her steps at a run. Liveried serving men and women gaped as they dodged out of her way. At last she reached the lion-carved doors of the Map Room, where she paused only long enough to tell the two burly Guardsmen on duty to admit the Windfinders as soon as they appeared, then went in. Guybon was already there, in his burnished breastplate with the three golden knots on his shoulder, and Dyelin, delicately holding her blue silk skirts up as she moved, the pair of them frowning at the huge mosaic map, where well over a dozen red discs marked the city's northern wall. Never before had there been so many assaults at once, not even ten, but Birgitte spared the discs barely a glance.