Lord of Chaos

  The servant sank to her knees before him, white head bowed low and hands raised high to proffer yet another letter, this one on thick parchment. The posture itself made him blink; even in Tear he had never seen a servant cringe so, much less in Andor. Mistress Harfor was frowning and shaking her head. The kneeling woman spoke, still with her face down. “This has come for my Lord Dragon.”

  “Sulin?” he gasped. “What are you doing? What are you doing in that . . . dress?”

  Sulin turned her face up; she looked perfectly horrible, a wolf trying very hard to pretend she was a doe. “It is what women wear who serve and obey as commanded for coins.” She waggled the letter in her still upraised hands. “I was commanded to say that this has just come for my Lord Dragon, by a . . . a horseman who left as soon as it was handed over.” The First Maid clicked her tongue irritably.

  “I want a straight answer,” he said, snatching the sealed parchment. She bounded to her feet as soon as it left her hands. “Come back here, Sulin. Sulin, I want an answer!” But she ran as fleetly as she ever had in cadin’sor, straight to the doors and out.

  For some reason Mistress Harfor glared at Nandera. “I told you this would not work. And I told you both that as long as she wears the Palace livery, I expect her to do the Palace proud whether she’s Aiel or the Queen of Saldaea.” Curtsying, she gave Rand a hasty “My Lord Dragon” and stalked out talking to herself about crazy Aiel.

  He was ready to agree. He looked from Nandera to Aviendha to Jalani. None of them appeared in the least surprised. Not one looked as if she had seen a thing out of the ordinary. “Will you tell me what under the Light is going on? That was Sulin!”

  “First,” Nandera said, “Sulin and I went to the kitchens. She thought scrubbing pots and the like would be suitable. But a fellow there said he had all the scullions he needed; he seemed to think Sulin would always be fighting the others. He was not very tall,” she marked just under Rand’s chin, “but just as wide, and I think he would have offered to dance the spears with us if we had not gone away. Then we went to the woman Reene Harfor, since she seems to be roofmistress here.” A slight grimace passed over her face; a woman should be roofmistress or not — Aiel thinking held no place for a First Maid. “She did not understand, but at last she agreed. I almost thought Sulin would change her mind when she realized Reene Harfor meant her to put on a dress, but of course she did not. Sulin has more courage than I. I would rather be made gai’shain by a new Seia Doon.”

  “I,” Jalani said stoutly, “would rather be beaten by the first-brother of my worst enemy in front of my mother every day for a year.”

  Nandera’s eyes tightened in disapproval and her fingers twitched, but instead of handtalk she said deliberately, “You boast like a Shaido, girl.” Had Jalani been older, the three calculated insults might have caused trouble, but instead she squeezed her eyes shut to hide the sight of those who had heard her shamed.

  Rand scrubbed fingers through his hair. “Reene didn’t understand? I don’t understand, Nandera. Why is she doing this? Has she given up the spear? If she’s married an Andorman” — stranger things had happened around him — “I’ll give her enough gold to buy a farm or whatever they want. She doesn’t have to become a servant.” Jalani’s eyes shot open, and the three women were looking at him as if he was the one mad.

  “Sulin is meeting her toh, Rand al’Thor,” Aviendha said firmly; she stood very straight and met his gaze directly, a good imitation of Amys. Only there was less imitation in it every day and more her. “It does not concern you.”

  Jalani nodded a very definite agreement. Nandera only stood there, idly examining a spearpoint.

  “Sulin concerns me,” he told them. “If something happened to her — ” Suddenly he remembered the exchange he had overheard before going to Shadar Logoth. Nandera had accused Sulin of speaking to gai’shain as Far Dareis Mai, and Sulin admitted it and said they would deal with it later. He had not seen Sulin since returning from Shadar Logoth, but he had assumed she was angry with him and simply letting others do the work of guarding him. He should have known better. Being around any Aiel for long would teach you some of ji’e’toh, and Maidens were touchier than anyone, except maybe Stone Dogs and Black Eyes. Then there was Aviendha and her attempts to turn him into an Aiel.

  This situation was simple, or as simple as anything ever was in ji’e’toh. If he had not been so caught up in himself, he would have realized from the first. You could remind even a roofmistress who she was every day she wore gai’shain white — it was deeply shaming, but permitted, even encouraged sometimes — yet for the members of nine of the thirteen societies, that reminder was a deep dishonor except under a handful of circumstances he could not recall. Far Dareis Mai was most definitely one of the nine. It was one of the few ways to incur toh toward a gai’shain, but that was considered the hardest obligation of all to meet. Seemingly Sulin had chosen to meet it by accepting a greater shame, in Aiel eyes, than she had given. It was her toh, so her choice how to meet it, her choice how long she continued to do what she despised. Who knew the worth of her honor or the depth of her obligation better than she herself? Still, she had only done what she did in the first place because he had not allowed her enough time. “It is my fault,” he said.

  That was the wrong thing to say. Jalani gave him a startled stare. Aviendha flushed with embarrassment; she continually drove home that there were no excuses under ji’e’toh. If saving your child brought an obligation to a blood enemy, you paid the price without quibble.

  The look Nandera shot at Aviendha could charitably be called disparaging. “If you stopped daydreaming about his eyebrows, you would teach him better.”

  Aviendha’s face went dark with indignation, but Nandera flashed handtalk at Jalani, which made Jalani throw back her head and laugh, and made the crimson in Aviendha’s cheeks brighten and return to pure embarrassment. Rand half-expected to hear an offer to dance spears. Well, not that exactly; Aviendha had taught him that neither Wise Ones nor their apprentices did that sort of thing. But it would not surprise him if she boxed Nandera’s ears.

  He spoke quickly to forestall any such thing. “Since I caused Sulin to do what she did, don’t I have toh toward her?”

  Apparently it was possible to make a bigger fool of himself than he already had. Somehow Aviendha’s face grew redder still, and Jalani took a sudden interest in the carpet under her feet. Even Nandera looked a little chagrined at his ignorance. You could be told that you had toh, though that was insulting, or you could be reminded of it, but asking meant that you did not know. Well, he knew that he did. He could begin by ordering Sulin out of that ridiculous job as a servant, letting her put on cadin’sor again, and . . . And stop her from meeting her toh. Anything he did to lighten her burden would interfere with her honor. Her toh, her choice. There was something in that, but he could not see what. Maybe he could ask Aviendha. Later, when she would not die from mortification. All three women’s faces made it clear he had embarrassed her more than enough for the time being. Light, what a mess.

  Wondering how he could find a way out, he realized he still held the letter Sulin had brought. He thrust it into a pocket and unbuckled his sword belt to lay it atop the Dragon Scepter, then retrieved the parchment. Who would send him a message by a rider who did not even stop for breakfast? There was nothing on the outside, no name; only the now vanished courier could have said who it was directed to. Once more the seal was nothing he recognized, some sort of flower impressed in purple wax, but the parchment itself was heavy, of the most expensive sort. The contents, in a fine lacy hand, brought a thoughtful smile.

  Cousin,

  The times are delicate, but I felt I must write to assure you of my goodwill, and to express my hopes of yours in return. Never fear; I know you and acknowledge you, but there are those who would not smile on anyone who approached you save through them. I ask nothing save that you hold my confidences in the fires of your heart.

  Alliandre Maritha
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  “What are you grinning at?” Aviendha asked, peering at the letter curiously. There was still a touch of anger around her mouth for what he had put her through.

  “It’s just pleasant to hear from somebody simple in her ways,” he told her. The Game of Houses was simple compared with ji’e’toh. There was enough of the name to let him know who sent it, but if the parchment fell into the wrong hands, it would seem a note to a friend, or maybe a warm reply to a petitioner. Alliandre Maritha Kigarin, Blessed of the Light, Queen of Ghealdan, would certainly never sign a letter so intimately to someone she had never met, above all not to the Dragon Reborn. Plainly she was worried about the Whitecloaks in Amadicia, and about the Prophet, Masema. He was going to have to do something about Masema. Alliandre was being cautious, not risking any more on paper than she had to. And she reminded him to burn this. The fires of his heart. Still, it was the first time any ruler had approached him without his sword at that nation’s throat. Now if he could just find Elayne and give her Andor before he had another battle here.

  The door opened gently and he looked up, but saw nothing and returned to the letter, wondering whether he had dug out everything that was in it. Reading, he rubbed his nose. Lews Therin and his talk of death. Rand could not rid himself of that feel of filth.

  “Jalani and I will take our places outside,” Nandera said.

  He nodded absently over the letter. Thom would probably find six things in the first glance that he had missed.

  Aviendha put a hand on his arm, then snatched it away. “Rand al’Thor, I must talk with you seriously.”

  Suddenly everything came together in his head. The door had opened. He was smelling filth, not just feeling it, but it was not really a smell. Dropping the letter, he pushed Aviendha away from him hard enough that she toppled with a startled yell — clear of him, though; clear of danger; everything seemed to have slowed down — and seized saidin as he spun.

  Nandera and Jalani were just turning back to see what had made Aviendha shout. Rand had to look carefully to see the tall man in a gray coat that neither Maiden saw at all as he glided right by them, dark lifeless eyes fixed on Rand. Even concentrating, Rand found his own gaze wanting to slide past the Gray Man. That was what he was; one of the Shadow’s assassins. As the letter was settling to the floor, the Gray Man realized Rand had seen him. Aviendha’s shout still hung in the air and she was in mid-bounce from sitting down hard; a knife appeared in the Gray Man’s hand, held low, and he darted forward. Rand wrapped him in coils of Air almost contemptuously. And a wrist-thick bar of fire flashed past his shoulder, burned a hole through the Gray Man’s chest large enough for a fist. The assassin died before he could twitch; his head fell over, and those eyes, no more dead than they had been, stared at Rand.

  Dead, whatever had been done to the Gray Man to make him hard to see no longer held. Dead, he suddenly was as visible as anyone else. Aviendha, just starting to gather herself on the floor, gave a startled yelp, and Rand felt the goose bumps that told him she had embraced saidar. Nandera’s hand jerked toward her veil with a bit-off exclamation, and Jalani half-raised hers.

  Rand let the corpse fall, but he held on to saidin as he turned to confront Taim, standing in the doorway of his bedchamber. “Why did you kill him?” Only part of the cold hardness in his voice came from the Void. “I had him captured; he might have told me something, maybe even who sent him. What are you doing here anyway, sneaking in through my bedroom?”

  Taim strolled in completely at ease, wearing a black coat with dragons entwined around the sleeves in blue and gold. Aviendha scrambled to her feet, and despite saidar, her eyes said she was as ready to use her drawn belt knife on Taim as she was to sheathe it. Nandera and Jalani had veiled, and stood poised on their toes, spears ready. Taim ignored them; Rand felt the Power leave the man. Taim did not even seem concerned that saidin still filled Rand. That peculiar almost-smile quirked his lips as he glanced at the dead Gray Man.

  “Nasty things, the Soulless.” Anybody else would have shivered; not Taim. “I came to your balcony by gateway because I thought you would want to hear the news right away.”

  “Somebody who learns too fast?” Rand broke in, and Taim flashed that half-smile again.

  “No, not one of the Forsaken in disguise, not unless he’s managed to disguise himself as a boy not much past twenty. His name is Jahar Narishma, and he has the spark, though it has not come out yet. Men usually show later than women. You should return to the school; you would be surprised by the changes.”

  Rand did not doubt it. Jahar Narishma was never an Andoran name; Traveling had no limits that he knew, but it seemed Taim’s recruiting had ventured far afield. He said nothing, only glanced at the corpse on the carpet.

  Taim grimaced, but he was not out of countenance, only irritated. “Believe me, I wish he was still alive as much as you do. I saw him and acted without thinking; the last thing I want is to see you dead. You seized him the moment I channeled, but it was too late to stop.”

  I must kill him, Lews Therin muttered, and the Power surged in Rand. Frozen, he struggled to push saidin away, and it was a struggle. Lews Therin was trying to hang on, trying to channel. Finally, slowly, the One Power faded like water draining from a hole in a bucket.

  Why? he demanded. Why do you want to kill him? There was no answer, only mad laughter and weeping in the distance.

  Aviendha was looking at him with a face full of concern. She had put up her knife, but the tingle along his skin said she retained saidar. The two Maidens had unveiled, now that it seemed clear Taim’s appearance was no attack; they managed to keep one eye on Taim, one on the rest of the room, and still give each other abashed glances for some reason.

  Rand took a chair beside the table where his sword lay atop the Dragon Scepter. The struggle had lasted only moments, but his knees felt weak. Lews Therin had almost taken over, almost taken over saidin at least. Before, at the school, he had been able to fool himself, but not this time.

  If Taim noticed anything, he showed no sign of it. Bending to pick up the letter, he glanced at it before handing it to Rand with a minimal bow.

  Rand stuffed the parchment into his pocket. Nothing shook Taim; nothing disturbed his balance. Why did Lews Therin want to kill him? “The way you were all for going after the Aes Sedai, I’m surprised you don’t suggest striking at Sammael. You and me together, maybe a few of the stronger students, dropping right on top of him in Illian through a gateway. That man had to come from Sammael.”

  “Perhaps,” Taim said shortly, glancing at the Gray Man. “I would give a great deal to be sure.” That had the ring of simple truth. “As for Illian, I doubt it would be as simple as disposing of a pair of Aes Sedai. I keep thinking what I would do in Sammael’s place. I would have Illian warded in boxes, so if a man even thought of channeling, I’d know right where he was, and I would burn even the ground to ash before he had time to take a breath.”

  That was how Rand saw it, too; no one knew better than Sammael how to defend a place. Maybe it was just that Lews Therin was insane. Maybe jealous, too. Rand tried to tell himself he had not been avoiding the school because he was jealous, but he always felt a prickle of something around Taim. “You’ve delivered your news. I suggest you go see to training this Jahar Narishma. Train him well. He may have to use his ability soon enough.”

  For a moment Taim’s dark eyes glittered, then he bowed his head slightly. Without a word he seized saidin and opened a gateway right there. Rand made himself sit, empty, until the man was gone, the gateway thinning in a blazing line of light; he could not risk another struggle with Lews Therin, not when he might lose and find himself fighting Taim. Why did Lews Therin want the man dead? Light, Lews Therin seemed to want everybody dead, himself included.

  It had been a most eventful morning, especially considering that the sky was still gray. Good news outweighed bad. He eyed the Gray Man sprawled on the carpet; that wound had probably been cauterized as soon as made, but Mistress Harfo
r would be sure to let him know, without saying a word, if there was even one bloodstain. As for this Sea Folk Wavemistress, she could stew in her own petulance for all of him; he had enough to handle without adding another touchy woman.

  Nandera and Jalani were still shifting from foot to foot near the door. They should have gone to their places outside as soon as Taim left.

  “If you two are upset over the Gray Man,” he said, “forget it now. Only a fool expects to notice one of the Soulless except by chance, and neither one of you is a fool.”

  “It is not that,” Nandera said stiffly. Jalani’s jaw was so tight she was plainly fighting to hold her tongue.

  Just that quickly, he understood. They did not believe they should have spotted the Gray Man, but they were still ashamed they had not. Ashamed of that, and fearful of the shame of having word of their “failure” spread. “I don’t want anyone to know Taim was here, or what he said. People are anxious enough knowing the school is somewhere near the city without being afraid Taim or one of the students will just appear. I think the best way is just to keep quiet about everything that happened this morning. We can’t keep a corpse secret, but I want you to promise you’ll say nothing except that a man tried to kill me and died for it. That’s all I intend to tell anybody, and I’d hate for you to make me out a liar.”