“An interesting day, yesterday,” she said as he sat down.
“I’d not call Trollocs and Halfmen interesting,” he said dryly.
“I did not mean them. Earlier. The High Lord Carleon dead in a hunting accident. His good friend Tedosian apparently mistook him for a boar. Or perhaps a deer.”
“I hadn’t heard.” He kept his voice calm. Even if she had found the note, she could not have traced it to him. Carleon himself would have thought it by his own hand. He did not think she could have, but he reminded himself again that she was Aes Sedai. As if he needed any reminding, with that smooth pretty face across from him, those serene dark eyes watching him full of all his secrets. “The servants’ quarters are full of gossip, but I seldom listen.”
“Do you not?” she murmured mildly. “Then you will not have heard that Tedosian fell ill not an hour after returning to the Stone, directly after his wife gave him a goblet of wine to wash away the dust of the hunt. It is said he wept when he learned that she means to tend him herself, and feed him with her own hands. No doubt tears of joy at her love. I hear she has vowed not to leave his side until he can rise again. Or until he dies.”
She knew. How, he could not say, but she knew. But why was she revealing it to him? “A tragedy,” he said, matching her bland tone. “Rand will need all the loyal High Lords he can find, I suppose.”
“Carleon and Tedosian were hardly loyal. Even to each other, it seems. They led the faction that wants to kill Rand and try to forget he ever lived.”
“Do you say so? I pay little attention to
such things. The works of the mighty are not for a simple gleeman.”
Her smile was just short of laughter, but she spoke as if reading from a page. “Thomdril Merrilin. Called the Gray Fox, once, by some who knew him, or knew of him. Courtbard at the Royal Palace of Andor in Caemlyn. Morgase’s lover for a time, after Taringail died. Fortunate for Morgase, Taringail’s death. I do not suppose she ever learned he meant her to die and himself to be Andor’s first king. But we were speaking of Thom Merrilin, a man who, it was said, could play the Game of Houses in his sleep. It is a shame that such a man calls himself a simple gleeman. But such arrogance to keep the same name.”
Thom masked his shock with an effort. How much did she know? Too much if she knew not another word. But she was not the only one with knowledge. “Speaking of names,” he said levelly, “it is remarkable how much can be puzzled out from a name. Moiraine Damodred. The Lady Moiraine of House Damodred, in Cairhien. Taringail’s youngest half-sister. King Laman’s niece. And Aes Sedai, let us not forget. An Aes Sedai aiding the Dragon Reborn since before she could have known that he was more than just another poor fool who could channel. An Aes Sedai with connections high in the White Tower, I would say, else she’d not risk what she has. Someone in the Hall of the Tower? More than one, I’d say; it would have to be. News of that would shake the world. But why should there be trouble? Perhaps it’s best to leave an old gleeman tucked away in his hole in the servants’ quarters. Just an old gleeman playing his harp and telling his tales. Tales that harm no one.”
If he had managed to stagger her even a fraction, she did not show it. “Speculation without facts is always dangerous,” she said calmly. “I do not use my House name, by choice. House Damodred had a deservedly unpleasant reputation before Laman cut down Avendoraldera and lost the throne and his life for it. Since the Aiel War, it has grown worse, also deservedly.”
Would nothing shake the woman? “What do you want of me?” he demanded irritably.
She did not as much as blink. “Elayne and Nynaeve take ship for Tanchico today. A dangerous city, Tanchico. Your knowledge and skills might keep them alive.”
So that was it. She wanted to separate him from Rand, leave the boy naked to her manipulations. “As you say, Tanchico is dangerous now, but then it always was. I wish the young women well, yet I’ve no wish to stick my head into a vipers’ nest. I am too old for that sort of thing. I have been thinking of taking up farming. A quiet life. Safe.”
“A quiet life would kill you, I think.” Sounding distinctly amused, she busied herself rearranging the folds of her skirt with small, slender hands. He had the impression she was hiding a smile. “Tanchico will not, however. I guarantee that, and by the First Oath, you know it for truth.”
He frowned at her despite his best efforts to keep his face straight. She had said it, and she could not lie, yet how could she know? He was sure she could not Foretell; he was certain he had heard her disavow the Talent. But she had said it. Burn the woman! “Why should I go to Tanchico?” She could do without titles.
“To protect Elayne? Morgase’s daughter?”
“I have not seen Morgase in fifteen years. Elayne was an infant when I left Caemlyn.”
She hesitated, but when she spoke her voice was unrelentingly firm. “And your reason for leaving Andor? A nephew named Owyn, I believe. One of those poor fools you spoke of who can channel. The Red sisters were supposed to bring him to Tar Valon, as any such man is, but instead they gentled him on the spot and abandoned him to the … mercies of his neighbors.”
Thom knocked his chair over standing up, then had to hold on to the table because his knees were shaking. Owyn had not lived long after being gentled, driven from his home by supposed friends who could not bear to let even a man who could no longer channel live among them. Nothing Thom did could stop Owyn not wanting to live, or stop his young wife from following him to the grave inside the month.
“Why … ?” He cleared his throat roughly, tried to make his voice less husky. “Why are you telling me this?”
There was sympathy on Moiraine’s face. And could it be regret? Surely not. Not from an Aes Sedai. The sympathy had to be false as well. “I would not have done, had you been willing to go simply to help Elayne and Nynaeve.”
“Why, burn you! Why?”
“If you go with Elayne and Nynaeve, I will tell you the names of those Red sisters when I see you next, as well as the name of the one who gave them their orders. They did not act on their own. And I will see you again. You will survive Tarabon.”
He drew an uneven breath. “What good will their names do me?” he asked in a flat voice. “Aes Sedai names, wrapped in all the power of the White Tower.”
“A skilled and dangerous player of the Game of Houses might find a use for them,” she replied quietly. “They should not have done what they did. They should not have been excused for it.”
“Will you leave me, please?”
“I will teach you that not all Aes Sedai are like those Reds, Thom. You must learn that.”
“Please?”