"My Lord Dragon," she cooed. "I wish we could report complete success, but my Master of the Horse died fighting the Seanchan, and you left most of my armsmen in Illian. Still, we managed to strike a blow in your name."
"Success? A blow?" Alanna’s scowl took in Weiramon and Anaiyella both before she twisted back around to face Rand. "They landed at the Stone's docks with one ship, but they put most of their armsmen and all the mercenaries they hired in Cairhien ashore from the rest upriver. With orders to enter the city and attack the rebels." She made a sound of disgust. "The only result was a great many men dead and our negotiations with the rebels thrown back to the beginning." Anaiyella's simper took on a sickly twist.
"My plan was to sortie from the Stone and attack them from both sides," Weiramon protested. "Darlin refused. Refused!"
Darlin was not grinning now. He stood with his feet apart, and looked a man who wished he had a sword in his hand rather than a goblet. "I told you then, Weiramon. If I stripped the Stone of Defenders, the rebels would still have outnumbered us badly. Too badly. They've hired every sell-sword from the Erinin to the Bay of Remara."
Rand took a chair, flinging one arm over the back. The heavy arms had no supports at the front, so his sword was no problem. Caraline and Min seemed to have switched their talk to clothing. At least, they were fingering each other's coats, and he heard words like back-stitch and bias-cut, whatever that meant. Alanna's gaze drifted between him and Min, and he felt disbelief warring with suspicion along the bond. "I left you two in Cairhien because I wanted you in Cairhien," he said. He trusted neither, but they could cause small harm in Cairhien, where they were outlanders without power. Anger heated by nausea entered his voice. "You will make plans to return there as soon as possible. As soon as possible.” Anaiyella's simper grew more sickly, and she cringed slightly.
Weiramon was made of sterner stuff. "My Lord Dragon, I will serve you where you command, but I can serve best on my native soil. I know these rebels, know where they can be trusted and where—"
"As soon as possible!" Rand snapped, slamming his fist down on the chair arm hard enough to make the wood creak loudly.
"One," Cadsuane said, quite clearly and quite incomprehensibly.
"I strongly suggest you do as he says, Lord Weiramon." Nynaeve eyed Weiramon blandly, took a sip of wine. "He has a temper lately, worse than ever, and you don't want it directed at you."
Cadsuane exhaled a heavy breath. "Stay out of this, girl," she said sharply. Nynaeve glared at her, opened her mouth, then grimaced and closed it again. Gripping her braid, she glided across the carpet to join Min and Caraline. She had gotten very good at gliding.
Weiramon studied Cadsuane for a moment, tilting back his head so he was staring down his nose. "As the Dragon Reborn commands," he said finally, "so does Weiramon Saniago obey. My ship can be readied to sail by tomorrow, I wager. Will that suffice?"
Rand nodded curtly. It would have to answer. He was not about to waste a moment making a gateway to send this pair of fools where they belonged today. "There's hunger in the city," he said, eyeing the golden bear—how many days would that much gold feed Tear? The thought of food made his stomach clench—and waited for a response that was quick in coming, if not from the direction he expected.
"Darlin had cattle and sheep herded down to the city," Caraline said with some considerable warmth. Rand was the one getting the dagger look, now. "These days. . . ." She faltered for a moment, though the heat never left her gaze. "These days, meat is inedible two days after slaughter, so he had the animals brought, and wagons full of grain. Estanda and her companions seized it all for themselves."
Darlin gave her a fond smile, but his voice was apologetic. "I've tried three times, but Estanda is greedy, it seems. I saw no point in continuing to supply my enemies. Your enemies."
Rand nodded. At least the man was not ignoring the situation in the city. "There are two boys who live outside the walls. Doni and Com. I don't know any more name than that. About age ten. Once the rebels are settled and you can leave the Stone, I would appreciate it if you found them and kept an eye on them." Min made a sound in her throat, and the bond carried sadness so bleak it almost overwhelmed the burst of love that came with it. So. It must have been death she saw. But she had been wrong about Moiraine. Maybe this viewing could be changed by a ta'veren.
No, Lews Therin growled. Her viewings must not change. We have to die! Rand ignored him.
Darlin appeared puzzled by the request, but he acceded, as what else was he to do when the Dragon Reborn made it?
Rand was about to bring up the purpose of his visit when Bera Harkin, another of the Aes Sedai he had sent to Tear to deal with the rebels, entered the room frowning over her shoulder as if the Maidens had made some difficulty for her. They might well have. The Aiel considered the Aes Sedai sworn to him to be Wise Ones' apprentices, and Maidens took every opportunity to remind apprentices that they were not Wise Ones yet. She was a stocky woman, with brown hair cut close around a square face, and despite her green silks, lacking Aes Sedai agelessness she would have looked a farmwife. A farmwife who ruled her house and farm with a firm hand, though, and would tell a king not to track mud into her kitchen. She was Green Ajah, after all, with every scrap of Green Ajah pride and haughtiness. She frowned at Alivia, too, with all the disdain of Aes Sedai for wilder, and that faded only to coolness when she caught sight of Rand.
"Well, I must say I shouldn't be surprised to see you, considering what's happened this morning." she said. Unpinning her simple silver cloak brooch, she fastened it to her belt pouch and folded the cloak over her arm. "Though it might have been the news that the others are no more than a day west of the Erinin."
"The others?” Rand said quietly. Quietly and steely hard.
Bera did not seem impressed. She went on arranging the folds of her cloak. "The other High Lords and Ladies, of course. Sunamon, Tolmeran, all of them. Apparently they're traveling hot-foot for Tear as fast their armsmen's horses can move."
Rand leaped up so fast that his sword bound for a moment on the chair arm. Only a moment because the gilded wood, weakened by his earlier blow, split with a loud crack, and the arm dropped to the carpet. He never so much as glanced at it. The fools! The Seanchan at the border with Altara, and they were coming back to Tear? "Doesn't anybody remember how to obey?" he thundered. "I want messengers sent to them immediately! They're to return to Illian faster than they left or I'll have the lot of them hanged!"
"Two," Cadsuane said. What in the Light was she counting? "A bit of advice, boy. Ask her what happened this morning. I smell good news."
Bera gave a little start at realizing Cadsuane was in the room. Eyeing her sideways, and cautiously, she stopped fiddling with her cloak. "We've reached agreement," she said as if the question had been asked. "Tedosian and Simaan were wavering, as usual, but Hearne was nearly as adamant as Estanda." She shook her head. "I think Tedosian and Simaan might have come around sooner, but some fellows with strange accents have been promising them gold and men."
"Seanchan," Nynaeve said. Alivia opened her mouth, then closed it without speaking.
"They might be," Bera allowed. "They keep clear of us and look at us like we were mad dogs that might bite any moment. That sounds like what little I've heard of Seanchan. In any case, less than an hour gone, Estanda suddenly began asking whether the Lord Dragon would restore her title and lands, and they all collapsed right behind her. The agreement is this. Darlin is accepted as Steward in Tear for the Dragon Reborn, all laws you made remain unchanged, and they pay for feeding the city for one year as a fine for rebellion. In return, they receive full restoration, Darlin is crowned King of Tear, and they swear fealty to him. Merana and Rafela are preparing the documents for signatures and seals."
"King?" Darlin said incredulously. Caraline swayed over to take his arm.
"Restoration?" Rand growled, hurling his goblet aside in a spray of wine. The bond carried caution, a warning from Min, but he was too ang
ry to pay heed. The sickness twisting his insides twisted his rage, too. "Blood and bloody ashes! I stripped them of lands and titles for rebelling against me. They can stay commoners and swear fealty to me!"
"Three," Cadsuane said, and Rand's skin popped out in goose bumps an instant before something struck him across the bottom like a hard-swung switch. Bera's lips parted in shock, and the cloak slid off her arm to the floor. Nynaeve laughed. She smothered it quickly, but she laughed! "Don't make me have to keep reminding you about manners, boy." Cadsuane went on. "Alanna told me the terms you offered before she left—Darlin as Steward, your laws kept, everything else on the table—and it seems they've been met. You can do as you wish, of course, but another piece of advice. When the terms you offer are accepted, hold to them."
Else no one will trust you, Lews Therin said, sounding entirely sane. For the moment.
Rand glared at Cadsuane, fists clenched hard, on the brink of weaving something that would singe her. He could feel a welt on his bottom, and would feel it more in the saddle. It seemed to pulse, and his anger pulsed with it. She peered back calmly over her wine. Was there a hint of challenge in her gaze, of daring him to channel? The woman spent every moment in his presence challenging him! The trouble was, her advice was good. He had given Alanna those terms. He had expected them to bargain harder, gain more, but they had gotten what he actually asked for. More. He had not thought of fines.
"It seems your fortunes have risen, King Darlin," he said. One of the serving women curtsied and handed Rand another goblet full of wine. Her face was as calm as any Aes Sedai's. You might have thought men arguing with sisters was a matter of every day with her.
"All hail King Darlin," Weiramon intoned, sounding half strangled, and after a moment Anaiyella echoed him, as breathless as if she had run a mile. Once, she had talked of herself for a crown in Tear.
"But why would they want me as King?" Darlin said, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Or anyone. There've been no kings in the Stone since Moreina died, a thousand years ago. Or did you demand that, Bera Sedai?"
Bera straightened from picking up her cloak and began shaking it out. "It was their . . . 'demand' would be too strong . . . their suggestion. Any of them would have leapt at the chance of a throne, especially Estanda." Anaiyella made a choking sound. "But of course, they knew there was no hope of that. This way, they can swear to you instead of to the Dragon Reborn, making it slightly less distasteful."
"And if you are king," Caraline put in, "it means that Steward in Tear for the Lord Dragon becomes a lesser title." She laughed throatily. "They may even tack on three or four more noble sounding titles to try pushing it down to obscurity." Bera pursed her lips as though she had been about to bring up that very point.
"And would you marry a king, Caraline?" Darlin asked. "I'll accept the crown, if you will. Though I'll have to have a crown made."
Min cleared her throat. "I can tell you how it should look, if you like."
Caraline laughed again and released Darlin's arm, swaying away from him. "I will have to see you in it before I could answer that. Have Min's crown made, and if it makes you look pretty. . . ." She smiled. "Then perhaps I will consider it."
"I wish you both the best," Rand said curtly, "but there are more important matters to go into right now." Min gave him a sharp look, disapproval flooding the bond. Nynaeve gave him a sharp look. What was that about? "You will accept that crown, Darlin, and as soon as those documents are signed, I want you to arrest those Seanchan, then gather every man in Tear who knows one end of sword or halberd from the other. I'll arrange for Asha'man to take you to Arad Doman."
"And me, my Lord Dragon?" Weiramon asked avidly. He all but quivered with eagerness, managing to strut while standing still. "If there is fighting to be done, I can serve you better there than languishing in Cairhien.”
Rand studied the man. And Anaiyella. Weiramon was a bungling idiot, and he trusted neither, but he could not see what harm they could do with no more than a handful of followers. "Very well. You two may accompany the High Lord . . . that is, King Darlin." Anaiyella gulped as though she for one would rather return to Cairhien.
"But what am I supposed to do in Arad Doman?'' Darlin wanted to know. "The little I've heard of that land, it's a madhouse." Lews Therin laughed wildly in Rand's head.
"Tarmon Gai'don is coming soon," Rand said. The Light send not too soon. "You are going to Arad Doman to get ready for Tarmon Gai'don."
CHAPTER 22 To Make an Anchor Weep
Despite the pitching induced by the long blue rollers, Harine din Togara sat very straight alongside her sister, just ahead of their parasol bearers and the steersman at his long tiller. Shalon seemed intent on studying the twelve men and women working the oars. Or perhaps she was deep in thought. There was plenty to think on of late, not least this meeting Harine had been summoned to, but she let her thoughts drift blindly. Composing herself. Every time the First Twelve of the Atha'an Miere met since she had attained Illian, she had needed to compose herself before attending. When she reached Tear and found Zaida's Blue Gull still anchored in the river, she had been sure the woman was in Caemlyn yet, or at least trailing far behind her own wake. A painful mistake, that. Though in truth, very little would have been altered had Zaida been weeks behind. Not for Harine, at least. No. No thoughts of Zaida.
The sun stood only a fist above the horizon in the east, and several vessels of the shorebound were making for the long breakwater that guarded Illian's harbor. One carried three masts and a semblance of a high-rig. all the major sails square, yet he was squat and ill-handled, wallowing through the low rolling seas in fountains of spray rather than slicing them. Most were small and low-rigged, their triangular sails nearly all high-boomed. Some seemed quick enough, but since the shorebound seldom sailed beyond sight of land and usually anchored at night for fear of shoals, their quickness availed them little. Cargo that required true speed went to Atha'an Miere ships. At a premium price, to be sure. It was a small portion of what Atha'an Miere carried, in part because of the price, in part because few things actually required their speed. Besides, cargo hire guaranteed some profit, but when the Cargomaster traded on his own for the ship, all of the profit went to vessel and clan.
As far as the eye could see to east and west along the coastline, Atha'an Miere ships lay at anchor, rakers and skimmers, soarers and darters, most surrounded by bumboats so cluttered they looked like drunken shore festivals. Rowed out from the city, the bumboats offered for sale everything from dried fruit to quartered beeves and sheep, from iron nails and iron stock to swords and daggers, from gaudy trinkets of Illian that might catch a deckhand's eye to gold and gems. Though the gold was usually a thin plate that wore off in a few months to show the brass beneath and the gems colored glass. They brought rats, too, if not for sale. Anchored so long, every ship was plagued by rats, now. Rats and spoilage made sure there was always a market for the peddlers.
Bumboats also surrounded the massive Seanchan-built vessels, dozens upon dozens of them, that had been used in the Escape. That was what it was being called, now, the great Escape from Ebou Dar. Say the Escape, and no one asked what escape you meant. Great bluff-bowed things they were, twice the beam of a raker and more, some, suitable for battering through heavy seas perhaps, but strangely rigged and with odd ribbed sails too stiff for proper setting. Men and women were swarming over those masts and yards now, altering the rigging to something more usable. No one wanted the craft, but the shipyards would require years to replace all of the vessels lost at Ebou Dar. And the expense! Overly beamy or not, those ships would see many years of use. No Sailmistress had any desire to sink into debt, borrowing from the clan coffers, when most if not all of her own gold was being salvaged by the Seanchan in Ebou Dar, not unless she had no other choice. Some, unlucky enough to have neither their own ships nor one of the Seanchan's, did have no other choice.
Harine's twelve passed the heavy wall of the breakwater, thick with dark slime and long hairy weed
that the breakers crashing against the gray stone failed to dislodge, and the broad, gray-green harbor of Illian opened up before her, ringed with deep expanses of marsh, just turning from winter brown to green in patches, where long-legged birds waded. A line of mist drifted across the boat on a gentle breeze, dampening her hair before it passed on up the harbor. Small fishing boats were pulling their nets along the edges of the marsh, a dozen sorts of gull and tern wheeling overhead to steal what they could. The city did not interest her beyond the long stone docks, lined with trading craft, but the harbor. . . . That broad, nearly circular expanse of water was the greatest anchorage known, and filled with shipping and river craft, most waiting their turn at the docks. It truly was filled, by hundreds of vessels in every shape and size, and not all of those ships belonged to the shorebound. There were only rakers here, those slender three-masters that could race porpoises. Rakers and three of the ungainly Seanchan monstrosities. They were the vessels of Wavemistresses and of Sailmistresses who formed the First Twelve of each clan, those that could be fitted into the harbor before there was no more room. Even Lilian's anchorage had its limits, and the Council of Nine, not to mention this Steward in Illian for the Dragon Reborn, would have made trouble had the Atha'an Miere begun crowding their trade.
Abruptly a strong, icy wind came up out of the north. No, it did not come up; it just suddenly was there full strength, whipping the harbor to choppy whitecaps and carrying a smell of pines and something . . . earthy. She knew little of trees, but much of timbers used in building ships. Though she did not think there were many pines anywhere near to Illian. Then she noticed the mist line. While ships rocked and pitched under that southerly blast, the mist continued its slow drift northward. Keeping her hands on her knees required effort. She wanted very much to wipe the dampness out of her hair. She had thought after Shadar Logoth that nothing ever would shake her again, but she had seen too many . . . oddities . . . of late, oddities that spoke of the world twisting.