The Gathering Storm twot-12 Page 36

  Tuon nodded again, studying the map, which showed the place called Tar Valon. Selucia Voiced, "The Highest Daughter is curious as to your plans. You will proceed."

  "My thanks are expressed deeply," Yulan said, bowing. "As Captain of the Air, I have the honor of commanding the raken and to'raken serving the Return. I believe that a strike at the very heart of our enemy's lands would not only be possible, but highly advantageous. We have not yet had to fight many of these marattidamane in combat, but as we advance into lands controlled by the Dragon Reborn, we will undoubtedly face them in great numbers.

  "They assume that they are safe from us at this time. A strike now could have great impact on the future. Each marath'damane we leash is not only a powerful tool gained by our forces, but one lost by the enemy. Preliminary reports claim that there are hundreds upon hundreds of marath'damane congregated in this place called the White Tower."

  That many? Tuon thought. A force like that could turn the war entirely. True, those marath'damane who had traveled with Matrim had said that they would not take part in wars. Indeed, marath'damane who had once been Aes Sedai had — so far — proven useless as weapons. But could there be some way to twist their supposed vows? Something Matrim had said in passing made her suspect they could. Her fingers flew.

  "The Daughter of the Nine Moons wonders how a strike against them could be feasible," Selucia Voiced. "The distance is great. Hundreds of leagues."

  "We would use a force of mostly to'raken," General Yulan said. "With some raken for scouting. Our captured maps show large grasslands with very few inhabitants, which could be used as resting points along the way. We could strike across Murandy here," he pointed at a second map, which aides held up, "and come at Tar Valon from the south. If it pleases the Highest Daughter, we could raid at night, while the marath'damane are asleep. Our objective would be to capture as many of them as possible."

  "It is wondered if this really could be accomplished," Selucia Voiced. Tuon was intrigued. "What numbers would we be able to use for such a raid?"

  "If we were fully committed?" Yulan asked. "I believe I could gather up between eighty and a hundred to'raken for the assault."

  Eighty to a hundred to'raken. So, perhaps around three hundred soldiers, with equipment, leaving room to bring back captured marath'damane. Three hundred would be a considerable force for a raid like this, but they would have to move quickly and lightly, so as to not be trapped.

  "If it pleases the Highest Daughter," General Galgan said, stepping forward again. "I believe General Yulan's plan has much merit. It is not without potential for great loss, but we will never have another such opportunity. If brought to bear in our conflict, those marath'damane could disable us. And if we could gain access to this weapon of theirs, or even their ability to travel great distances. . . . Well, I believe that the risk of every to'raken in our army is worth the gains."

  "If it pleases the Highest Daughter," General Yulan continued. "Our plan calls for the use twenty squads of the Fist of Heaven — two hundred troops total — and fifty linked sul'dam. We think that, perhaps, a small group of Bloodknives would be appropriate as well."

  Bloodknives, the most elite members of the Fist of Heaven, itself an exclusive group. Yulan and Galgan were dedicated to this action! One never committed Bloodknives unless one was very serious, for they did not return from their missions. Their duty was to stay behind after the Fists withdrew and cause damage — as much damage as possible — to the enemy. If they could place some of them in Tar Valon, with orders to kill as many marattidamane as possible. . . .

  "The Dragon Reborn will not react well to this raid," Tuon said to Galgan. "Is he not connected to these marath'damanel"

  "By some reports," Galgan said. "Others say he is opposed to them. Still others say they are his pawns. Our poor intelligence in this area lowers my eyes, Highest Daughter. I have not been able to sort the lies from the truths. Until we have better information, we must assume the worst, that this raid will anger him greatly."

  "And you still think it worthwhile?"

  "Yes," Galgan said without hesitation. "If these marath'damane are connected to the Dragon Reborn, then we have greater reason to strike now, before he can use them against us. Perhaps the raid will enrage him — but it will also weaken him, which will place you in a better position for negotiating with him."

  Tuon nodded thoughtfully. Undoubtedly, this was the difficult decision of the omen. But her choice seemed very obvious. Not a difficult decision at all. All of the marath'damane in Tar Valon must be collared, and this was an excellent way to weaken resistance to the Ever Victorious Army with a single, powerful blow.

  But the omen spoke of a difficult decision. She gestured to Selucia. "Are there any in the room who disapprove of this plan?" the Voice asked. "Any who would offer objection to what General Yulan and his men have advanced?"

  The Blood in the room regarded one another. Beslan might have stirred, but he remained silent. The Altarans had not made any objections to their marattidamane being collared; it seemed they had little trust for those who could channel. They had not been as prudent as Amadicia in outlawing these Aes Sedai, but neither were they welcoming. Beslan would nor object to a strike against the White Tower.

  She sat back, waiting . . . For what? Perhaps this wasn't the decision the omen had referred to. She opened her mouth to give the order to go forward with the raid, but at that moment the opening of the doors made her pause.

  The Deathwatch Guards who guarded the door stepped aside a moment later, admitting a so'jhin who served in the hallway. The strong-armed man, Ma'combe, bowed himself low to the ground, the black braid over his right shoulder dropping to the side and hitting the tiled floor. "May it please the Daughter of the Nine Moons, Lieutenant-General Tylee Khir-gan would like an audience."

  Galgan looked shocked.

  "What is it?" Tuon asked him.

  "I had not realized that she had returned, Highest Daughter," he said. "I suggest in humility that she be given leave to speak. She is one of my finest officers."

  "She may enter," Selucia Voiced.

  A male da'covale in a white robe entered, preceding a woman in armor, her helm under her arm. Dark of skin, with short black hair worn in tight curls against her scalp, she was tall and lean. Her hair was sprinkled with white at the temples. The overlapping plates of her armor were striped with red, yellow and blue lacquer, and creaked as she walked. She was only of the low Blood — recently raised by General Galgan's order — but she had been informed of this via raken. She wore her hair barely shaved a finger's width up the sides of her head.

  Tylee's eyes were red with fatigue. Judging by the scent of sweat and the stink of horse she gave off, she had come straight to Tuon upon arriving in the city. She was followed into the room by several younger soldiers, also exhausted, one bearing a large brown sack. Upon reaching the supplication space — a red square of cloth — all went down on their knees. The common soldiers proceeded to touch foreheads to the floor, and Tylee jerked as if to follow, but stopped herself. She was not yet accustomed to being one of the Blood.

  "It is obvious that you are tired, warrior," Selucia Voiced. Tuon leaned forward. "It is presumed that you have news of great import?"

  Tylee rose to one knee, then gestured to the side. One of her soldiers rose to his knees and lifted up his brown sack. It was stained on the bottom with a dark, crusted liquid. Blood.

  "If it pleases the Highest Daughter," Tylee said, voice betraying exhaustion. She nodded to her man, and he opened his sack, dumping things onto the floor. The heads of several animals. A boar, a wolf, and . . . a hawk? Tuon felt a chill. That hawk's head was as large as a person's. Perhaps larger. But they were not . . . right. The heads were horribly deformed.

  She could swear that the hawk's head, which rolled so that she could see the face clearly, had human eyes. And . . . the other heads had . . . human features as well. Tuon suppressed a shiver. What foul omen was this?

  "What i
s the meaning of this?" Galgan demanded.

  "I presume that the Highest Daughter knows of my military venture against the Aiel," Tylee said, still on one knee. Tylee had captured damane during that engagement, though Tuon didn't know much more than that. General Galgan had been awaiting her return with some curiosity to receive the full story.

  "In my venture," Tylee continued, "I was joined by men of various nationalities, none of whom had sworn the oaths. I will give a full report on them when there is time." She hesitated, then glanced at the heads. "These . . . creatures . . . attacked my company during our return ride, ten leagues from Ebou Dar. We took heavy casualties. We brought several full bodies as well as these heads. They walked on two feet, like men, but had much the appearance of animals." She hesitated again. "I believe them to be what some on this side of the ocean speak of as Trollocs. I believe them to be coming here."

  Chaos. The Blood began to argue about the implausibility of it. General Galgan immediately ordered his officers to organize patrols and send runners to warn of a potential attack on the city. The sul'dam at the side of the room hurried forward to inspect the heads while the Deathwatch Guards quietly surrounded Tuon, to give an extra layer of defense, watching everyone — Blood, servants, and soldiers — with equal care.

  Tuon felt she should be shocked. But, oddly, she wasn't. So Matrim was not mistaken about this, she signed covertly to Selucia. And she had assumed Trollocs to be nothing more than superstition. She glanced at the heads again. Revolting.

  Selucia seemed troubled. Are there other things he said that we discounted, I wonder?

  Tuon hesitated. We shall have to ask him. I should very much like to have him back. She froze; she hadn't meant to admit so much. She found her own emotions curious, however. She had felt safe with him, ridiculous though it seemed. And she wished he were with her now.

  These heads were yet another proof that she knew very little of him. She reasserted control of the chattering crowd. Selucia Voiced, "You will silence yourselves."

  The room fell still, though the Blood and the sul'dam still looked very disturbed. Tylee still knelt, head bowed, the soldier who had borne the heads kneeling beside her. Yes, she would have to be thoroughly questioned.

  "This news changes little," Selucia Voiced. "We were already aware that the Last Battle approaches. We appreciate Lieutenant-General Tylee's revelations. She is to be commended. But this only makes it more urgent that we subdue the Dragon Reborn."

  There were several nods from those in the room, including General Galgan. Beslan did not seem so quickly persuaded. He just looked troubled.

  "If it pleases the Highest Daughter," Tylee said, bowing.

  "You are allowed to speak."

  "These last few weeks, I have seen many things that have given me thought," Tylee said. "Even before my troops were attacked, I was worried. The wisdom and grace of the Highest Daughter undoubtedly let her see further than one such as I, but I believe that our conquests so far in this land have been easy compared to what might come. If I may be so bold ... I believe that the Dragon Reborn and those associated with him may make better allies than enemies."

  It was a bold statement. Tuon leaned forward, lacquered nails clicking on the armrests of her chair. Many of the low Blood would be so in awe at meeting one of the Empress's household, much less the Highest Daughter, that they would not dare speak. Yet this woman offered suggestions? In direct opposition to Tuon's published will?

  "A difficult decision is not always a decision where both sides are equally matched, Tuon," Selucia said suddenly. "Perhaps, in this case, a difficult decision is one that is right, but requires an implication of fault as well."

  Tuon blinked in surprise. Yes, she realized. Selucia is my Truthspeaker now. It would take time to accustom herself to the woman in that role. It had been years since Selucia had corrected or reproved her in public.

  And yet, meeting with the Dragon Reborn, in person? She did need to contact him, and had planned to. But would it not be bettet to go to him in strength, his armies defeated, the White Tower torn down? She needed him brought to the Crystal Throne under very controlled circumstances, with the understanding that he was to submit to her authority.

  And yet . . . with Seanchan in rebellion . . . with her position here in Altara barely stabilized . . . Well, perhaps some time to think — some time to take a few deep breaths and secure what she already had — would be worth delaying her strike on the White Tower.

  "General Galgan, send raken to our forces in Almoth Plain and eastern Altara," she said firmly. "Tell them to hold our interests, but avoid confrontation with the Dragon Reborn. And reply to his request for a meeting. The Daughter of the Nine Moons will meet with him."

  General Galgan nodded, bowing.

  Order must be brought to the world. If she had to do that by lowering her eyes slightly and meeting with the Dragon Reborn, then so be it.

  Oddly, she felt herself wishing — once again — that Matrim were still with her. She could have put his knowledge of this Rand al'Thor to good use in preparing for the meeting. Stay well, you curious man, she thought, glancing back at the balcony, northward. Do not dig yourself into trouble deeper than you can climb to freedom. You are Prince of the Ravens now. Remember to act appropriately.

  Wherever it is you are.

  CHAPTER 20

  On a Broken Road

  Women," Mat declared as he rode Pips down the dusty, little-used road, "are like mules." He frowned. "Wait. No. Goats. Women are like goats. Except every flaming one thinks she's a horse instead, and a prize racing mare to boot. Do you understand me, Talmanes?"

  "Pure poetry, Mat," Talmanes said, tamping the tabac down into his pipe.

  Mat flicked his reins, Pips continuing to plod along. Tall three-needle pines lined the sides of the stone roadway. They'd been lucky to find this ancient road, which must have been made before the Breaking. It was mostly overgrown, the stones shattered in many places, large sections of the roadway just . . . well, just gone.

  Sapling pines had begun to sprout at the sides of the roadway and between rocks, miniature versions of their towering fathers above. The path was wide, if very rough, which was good. Mat had seven thousand men with him, all mounted, and they'd been riding hard in the little under a week they'd spent traveling since sending Tuon back to Ebou Dar.

  "Reasoning with a woman is impossible," Mat continued, eyes forward. "It's like . . . Well, reasoning with a woman is like sitting down to a friendly game of dice. Only the woman refuses to acknowledge the basic bloody rules of the game. A man, he'll cheat you — but he'll do it honestly.

  He'll use loaded dice, so that you think you're losing by chance. And if you aren't clever enough to spot what he's doing, then maybe he deserves to take your coin. And that's that.

  "A woman, though, she'll sit down to that same game and she'll smile, and act like she's going to play. Only when it's her turn to throw, she'll toss a pair of her own dice that are blank on all six sides. Not a single pip showing. She'll inspect her throw, then she'll look up at you and say, 'Clearly I just won.'

  "Now, you'll scratch your head and look at the dice. Then you'll look up at her, then down at the dice again. 'But there aren't any pips on these dice,' you'll say.

  " 'Yes there are,' she'll say. 'And both dice rolled a one.'

  " 'That's exactly the number you need to win,' you'll say.

  " 'What a coincidence,' she'll reply, then begin to scoop up your coins. And you'll sit there, trying to wrap your head bout what just happened. And you'll realize something. A pair of ones isn't the winning throw! Not when you threw a six on your turn. That means she needed a pair of twos instead! Excitedly, you'll explain what you've discovered. Only then, do you know what she'll do?"

  "No idea, Mat," Talmanes replied, chewing on his pipe, a thin wisp of smoke curling out of the bowl.

  "Then she'll reach over," Mat said, "and rub the blank faces of her dice. And then, with a perfectly straight face, she'll say, 'I'm
sorry. There was a spot of dirt on the dice. Clearly you can see that they actually came up as twos!' And she'll believe it. She'll bloody believe it!"

  "Incredible," Talmanes said.

  "Only that's not the end of it!"

  "I had presumed that it wouldn't be, Mat."

  "She scoops up all of your coins," Mat said, gesturing with one hand, the other steadying his ashandarei across his saddle. "And then every other woman in the room will come over and congratulate her on throwing that pair of twos! The more you complain, the more of those bloody women will join the argument. You'll be outnumbered in a moment, and each of those women will explain to you how those dice clearly read twos, and how you really need to stop behaving like a child. Every single flaming one of them will see the twos! Even the prudish woman who has hated your woman from birth — since your woman's granny stole the other woman's granny's honeycake recipe when they were both maids — that woman will side against you."

  "They are nefarious creatures indeed," Talmanes said, voice flat and even. Talmanes rarely smiled.

  "By the time they're done," Mat continued, almost more to himself, "you'll be left with no coin, several lists' worth of errands to run and what clothing to wear and a splitting headache. You'll sit there and stare at the table and begin to wonder, just maybe, if those dice didn't read twos after all. If only to preserve what's left of your sanity. That's what it's like to reason with a woman, I tell you."

  "And you did so. At length,"

  "You aren't making sport of me, are you?"

  "Why, Mat!" the Cairhienin said. "You know I'd never do such a thing."

  "Too bad," Mat muttered, glancing at him suspiciously. "I could use a laugh." He looked over his shoulder. "Vanin! Where on the Dark One's blistered backside are we?"

  The fat former horsethief looked up. He rode a short distance behind Mat, and he carried a map of the area unrolled and folded across a board so he could read it in the saddle. He'd been poring over the bloody thing the better half of the morning. Mat had asked him to get them through Murandy quietly, not get them lost in the mountains for months!