Stevan shifted on his stool, darting a pained look at her. “Both missed any organ that would have killed you on the spot, but the amount of blood you lost — ”
“What are we to do now?” Demira cut in, directing her question to Merana, before he could start in on how foolish she had been to let herself be caught that way.
“I say we should find the Aiel responsible,” Berenicia said firmly, “and make an example of them.” She came from the Border Marches of Shienar, and Aiel raids had been a feature of her growing up. “Seonid agrees with me.”
“Oh, no!” Demira protested. “I will not have my first chance to study the Aiel ruined. They’ll hardly say two words as it is. It was my blood, after all. Besides, unless the man who gave you warning was Aiel too, it seems obvious to me that they acted under orders, and I think there is only one man in Caemlyn who orders Aiel.”
“The rest of us,” Merana said, eyeing Berenicia firmly, “agree with you, Demira. I want to hear no more talk of wasting time and energy finding one pack of hounds among hundreds while the man who set them to hunt walks about grinning.” Berenicia bristled a little before bowing her head, but she always did.
“We must at least show al’Thor he cannot treat Aes Sedai in this fashion,” Berenicia said sharply. A glance from Merana moderated her tone, though she did not sound happy. “Yet not so sharply that it ruins everything we’ve planned, of course.”
Demira steepled her fingers against her lips and sighed. She did feel weak. “A thought occurs to me. If we charge him openly with what he’s done, he will deny it, of course, and we have no proof to fling in his face. Not only that, it might be wise to let it be learned that he feels free to hunt Aes Sedai like rabbits.” Merana and Berenicia exchanged glances and nodded quite firmly. Poor Stevan frowned furiously; he had never let anyone walk away from hurting her. “Might it not be better to say nothing? That will certainly make him ponder and sweat. Why haven’t we said anything? What are we going to do? I don’t know how much we can do, but we can at least make him look over his shoulder.”
“A valid point,” Verin said from the doorway. “Al’Thor has to respect Aes Sedai, or there will be no working with him.” She motioned Stevan to leave — he waited for Demira’s nod, of course — then took his stool. “I thought since you were the target — ” She frowned at Merana and Berenicia. “Will you sit down? I do not mean to get a crick in my neck staring up at you.” Verin went on while they were still placing the room’s only chair and a second stool beside the bed. “Since you were the target, Demira, you should help decide how Master al’Thor is to be taught his lesson. And you seem to have made a beginning already.”
“What I think,” Merana began, but Verin cut her off.
“In a moment, Merana. Demira has the right to first suggestions.”
Demira’s breath caught as she waited for the explosion. Merana always seemed to want her decisions approved by Verin, which was natural enough under the circumstances, if awkward, but this was the first time Verin had simply taken charge. In front of others, at least. Yet all Merana did was stare at Verin for a moment, lips compressed, and then bow her head. Demira wondered whether this meant Merana was going to resign the embassy to Verin; there did not seem anything else she could do, now. All eyes turned to Demira, waiting. Verin’s were particularly penetrating.
“If we want him to worry over what we intend to do, I suggest no one go to the Palace today. Perhaps without any explanation, or if that is too strong, with one he must see through.” Merana nodded. More importantly, as things were turning out, Verin did as well. Demira decided to venture a little more. “Maybe we should send no one for several days, to let him stew. I’m sure watching Min will tell us when he is nicely on the boil, and . . . “ Whatever they decided to do, she wanted to be part of it. It had been her blood, after all, and the Light only knew how long she would have to put off her researches in the library now. That last was almost as much reason to teach al’Thor a lesson as his forgetting who Aes Sedai were.
Chapter 47
The Wandering Woman
* * *
Mat wanted a quiet ride to Ebou Dar, and he got one, in a way. But traveling with six women, four of them Aes Sedai, he had plenty of irritations.
They reached the distant forest that first day with the sun still fairly well up in the sky, and rode several hours beneath a high canopy of mostly bare branches, with dead leaves and dry branches crunching under the horses’ hooves, until making camp near a dwindling stream just before sunset. Lantern-jawed Harnan, the file leader with the hawk tattooed on his cheek, saw to getting the troopers from the Band settled, the horses curried and hobbled, sentries set and fires lit. Nerim and Lopin bustled about moaning over not having brought tents, and how was a man to know they would be spending nights on the ground when his master said nothing, and if his master caught his death of something, it was not his fault. Skinny and stout, they managed to sound like echoes. Vanin took care of himself, of course, though he did keep an eye on Olver and even curried the parts of Wind that the boy could not reach even using his saddle for a stool. Everybody took care of Olver.
The women shared the camp, but in a way their area was as separate as if it had been fifty paces away. An invisible line seemed to split the campsite in half,
with invisible signs telling the troopers not to cross. Nynaeve and Elayne and the two white-haired women gathered around their own fire with Aviendha and the golden-haired Hunter, rarely even glancing toward where Mat and his men were laying out their blankets. The murmured conversation Mat heard, as much as he could make out, had to do with Vandene and Adeleas’ concern that Aviendha meant to lead her horse all the way to Ebou Dar instead of riding. Thom tried to get a word in with Elayne and received an absent pat on the cheek, of all things, before he was sent back to sit with Juilin and Jaem, the stringy old Warder, who belonged to Vandene and seemed to spend all of his time sharpening his sword.
Mat had no objection to the women staying apart. A tension he could not understand hung around them. At least, it did around Nynaeve and Elayne, and the Hunter seemed to be infected too. They sometimes stared at the Aes Sedai — the other Aes Sedai; he was not sure he would ever become used to thinking of Nynaeve and Elayne that way — a bit too intently, though Vandene and Adeleas appeared as oblivious as Aviendha. Whatever the reason, Mat wanted no part of it. It smelled like an argument burning to leap out, and whether it burst into flame or smoldered underground, a wise man stepped wide of women’s arguments. Medallion or no medallion, a wise man stepped very wide if the women were Aes Sedai.
A small irritant that, and so was the next, which was his own fault. Food. The smell of lamb and some sort of soup quickly wafted from the Aes Sedai’s fire. Expecting a quick arrival in Ebou Dar, he had said nothing about food to Vanin and the others, which meant they had a little dried meat and hard cakes of flatbread in their saddlebags. Mat had seen hardly a bird or squirrel, let alone sign of a deer, so hunting was out of the question. When Nerim set up a small folding table and stool for Mat — Lopin was putting up another for Nalesean — Mat told him to share out what he had tucked away in the packhorses’ panniers. The result was not as good as he hoped.
Nerim stood by Mat’s table, pouring water from a silver pitcher as if it were wine and mournfully watching delicacies vanish down the trooper’s gullets. “Pickled quail eggs, my Lord,” he would announce in a funereal tone. “They would have gone very well for my Lord’s breakfast in Ebou Dar.” And, “The best smoked tongue, my Lord. If my Lord only knew what I went through to find honey-smoked tongue in that wretched village, with no time to find anything and all the best taken by the Aes Sedai.” Actually, his biggest grievance seemed to be that Lopin had found potted larks for Nalesean. Every time Nalesean crunched one between his teeth, Lopin’s smug smile grew wider and Nerim’s face grew longer. For that matter, it was plain from the way some of the men sniffed the air that they would rather have had a slice of lamb and a bowl of soup than any amount of honey-smoked tongue or goose-liver pudding. Olver stared at the women’s fire with open wistfulness.
“You want to eat with them?” Mat asked him. “It’s all right, if you do.”
“I like kippered eel,” Olver said stoutly. In a darker tone, he added, “Anyway, she might put something in it.” His eyes followed Aviendha every time she shifted, and he seemed to have taken against the Hunter too, perhaps because she spent a good bit of time in obviously friendly chat with the Aiel woman. Aviendha at least must have felt the boy’s stare, because she glanced at him and frowned.
Wiping his chin and eyeing the Aes Sedai’s fire — come to think of it, he would rather have had lamb and soup himself — Mat noticed that Jaem was missing. Vanin grumped about being sent out again, but Mat sent him for the same reason he had had the man scout ahead during the day despite the fact that Jaem did too. He did not want to rely on what the Aes Sedai chose to tell him. He might have trusted Nynaeve — he did not think she would actually lie to him; as Wisdom, Nynaeve had always been death on anyone lying — but she kept peeping at him past Adeleas’ shoulder in a very suspicious way.
To his surprise, Elayne rose as soon as she finished eating and came gliding across that invisible line. Some women just seemed to skim over the ground. “Will you walk aside with me, Master Cauthon?” she asked coolly. Not polite, exactly, but not exactly rude either.
He motioned her to lead the way, and she floated out into the moon-shadowed trees beyond the sentries. That golden hair nestled about her shoulders, framing a face to make any man stare, and the moonlight softened her arrogance. If she had been anything but what she was . . . And he did not mean just Aes Sedai, nor even that she belonged to Rand. Rand did seem to be tangling himself with the worst sort of woman for a man who had always known how to handle them. Then Elayne began talking, and he forgot everything else,
“You have a ter’angreal,” she said without preamble, and without looking at him. She just glided along, rustling the leaves on the ground, as if she expected him to heel like a hunting hound. “Some hold that ter’angreal are rightfully the property of Aes Sedai, but I do not require you to surrender it. No one will take it from you. Such things need study, however. For that reason, I want you to give the ter’angreal to me each evening when we stop. I will return it each morning before we start out.”
Mat gave her a sidelong look. She was serious, no doubt about it. “That’s very kind of you, letting me keep what’s mine. Only, what makes you think I have one of these . . . what did you call it? A ter-something?”
Oh, she did stiffen up at that, and looked at him too. He was surprised not to see fire leap from her eyes to light up the night. Her voice, on the other hand, was purest crystal ice. “You know very well what a ter’angreal is, Master Cauthon. I heard Moiraine speak of them to you in the Stone of Tear.”