trot
again.
Her tears began again, too, and the silk cowl covering her face grew damp. Therava was
going to make her howl. But even while she wept, she began to work on what she would
say to Aybara. At least she could salvage her chances of obtaining the rod. Therava was
going to…. No. No! She needed to concentrate on what she could do. Images of the
cruel-eyed Wise One holding a switch or a strap or binding cords reared in her mind, but
every time she forced them down while she went over every question Aybara might ask
and what answers she would give him. On what she would say to make him leave his
wife’s safety in her hands.
In none of her calculations had she expected to be lifted down and stood upright no more
than an hour after being captured.
“Unsaddle her horse, Noren, and picket it with the others,” the Murandian said.
“Right away, Master Neald,” came a reply. In a Cairhienin accent.
The bonds around her ankles fell away, a knife blade slid between her wrists, severing
those cords, and then whatever held her gag in place was untied. She spat out silk sodden
with her own saliva and jerked the cowl back.
A short man in a dark coat was leading Swift away through a straggle of large, patched
brown tents and small, crude huts that seemed made from tree branches, including pine
boughs with brown needles. How long for pine to turn brown? Days, surely, perhaps
weeks. The sixty or seventy men tending cookfires or sitting on wooden stools looked
like farmers in their rough coats, but some were sharpening swords, and spears and
halberds and other polearms stood stacked in a dozen places. Through the gaps between
the tents and huts, she could see more men moving about to either side, a number of them
in helmets and breastplates, mounted and carrying long, streamered lances. Soldiers,
riding out on patrol. How many more lay beyond her sight? No matter. What was in front
of her eyes was impossible! The Shaido had sentries further from their camp than this.
She was certain they did!
“If the face wasn’t enough,” Neald murmured, “that cool, calculating study would
convince me. Like she’s examining worms under a rock she’s turned over.” A weedy
fellow in a black coat, he knuckled his waxed mustaches in an amused way, careful not to
spoil the points. He wore a sword, but he certainly had no look of soldier or armsman
about him. “Well, come along then, Aes Sedai,” he said, clasping her upper arm. “Lord
Perrin will be wanting to ask you some questions.” She jerked free, and he calmly took a
firmer grip. “None of that, now.”
The huge Aielman, Gaul, took her other arm, and she could go with them or be dragged.
She walked with her head high, pretending they were merely an escort, but anyone who
saw how they held her arms would know differently. Staring straight ahead, she was still
aware of armed farmboys—most were young—staring at her. Not gaping in
astonishment, just watching, considering. How could they be so high-handed with an Aes
Sedai? Some of the Wise Ones who were unaware of the oath holding her had begun
expressing doubt that she was Aes Sedai because she obeyed so readily and truckled so
for Therava, but these two knew what she was. And did not care. She suspected those
farmers knew, too, and yet none displayed any surprise at how she was being treated. It
made the back of her neck prickle.
As they approached a large red-and-white striped tent with the doorflaps tied back, she
overheard voices from inside.
“…said he was ready to come right now,” a man was saying.
“I can’t afford to feed one more mouth when I don’t know for how long,” another man
replied. “Blood and ashes! How long does it take to arrange a meeting with these
people?”
Gaul had to duck into the tent, but Galina strode in as though entering her own rooms in
the Tower. A prisoner she might be, yet she was Aes Sedai, and that simple fact was a
powerful tool.
again.
Her tears began again, too, and the silk cowl covering her face grew damp. Therava was
going to make her howl. But even while she wept, she began to work on what she would
say to Aybara. At least she could salvage her chances of obtaining the rod. Therava was
going to…. No. No! She needed to concentrate on what she could do. Images of the
cruel-eyed Wise One holding a switch or a strap or binding cords reared in her mind, but
every time she forced them down while she went over every question Aybara might ask
and what answers she would give him. On what she would say to make him leave his
wife’s safety in her hands.
In none of her calculations had she expected to be lifted down and stood upright no more
than an hour after being captured.
“Unsaddle her horse, Noren, and picket it with the others,” the Murandian said.
“Right away, Master Neald,” came a reply. In a Cairhienin accent.
The bonds around her ankles fell away, a knife blade slid between her wrists, severing
those cords, and then whatever held her gag in place was untied. She spat out silk sodden
with her own saliva and jerked the cowl back.
A short man in a dark coat was leading Swift away through a straggle of large, patched
brown tents and small, crude huts that seemed made from tree branches, including pine
boughs with brown needles. How long for pine to turn brown? Days, surely, perhaps
weeks. The sixty or seventy men tending cookfires or sitting on wooden stools looked
like farmers in their rough coats, but some were sharpening swords, and spears and
halberds and other polearms stood stacked in a dozen places. Through the gaps between
the tents and huts, she could see more men moving about to either side, a number of them
in helmets and breastplates, mounted and carrying long, streamered lances. Soldiers,
riding out on patrol. How many more lay beyond her sight? No matter. What was in front
of her eyes was impossible! The Shaido had sentries further from their camp than this.
She was certain they did!
“If the face wasn’t enough,” Neald murmured, “that cool, calculating study would
convince me. Like she’s examining worms under a rock she’s turned over.” A weedy
fellow in a black coat, he knuckled his waxed mustaches in an amused way, careful not to
spoil the points. He wore a sword, but he certainly had no look of soldier or armsman
about him. “Well, come along then, Aes Sedai,” he said, clasping her upper arm. “Lord
Perrin will be wanting to ask you some questions.” She jerked free, and he calmly took a
firmer grip. “None of that, now.”
The huge Aielman, Gaul, took her other arm, and she could go with them or be dragged.
She walked with her head high, pretending they were merely an escort, but anyone who
saw how they held her arms would know differently. Staring straight ahead, she was still
aware of armed farmboys—most were young—staring at her. Not gaping in
astonishment, just watching, considering. How could they be so high-handed with an Aes
Sedai? Some of the Wise Ones who were unaware of the oath holding her had begun
expressing doubt that she was Aes Sedai because she obeyed so readily and truckled so
for Therava, but these two knew what she was. And did not care. She suspected those
farmers knew, too, and yet none displayed any surprise at how she was being treated. It
made the back of her neck prickle.
As they approached a large red-and-white striped tent with the doorflaps tied back, she
overheard voices from inside.
“…said he was ready to come right now,” a man was saying.
“I can’t afford to feed one more mouth when I don’t know for how long,” another man
replied. “Blood and ashes! How long does it take to arrange a meeting with these
people?”
Gaul had to duck into the tent, but Galina strode in as though entering her own rooms in
the Tower. A prisoner she might be, yet she was Aes Sedai, and that simple fact was a
powerful tool.
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