Lord of Chaos (The Wheel of Time #6)

Lord of Chaos (The Wheel of Time #6) Page 246

“I leave that to Bashere,” Rand said quietly. Taim’s mouth quirked derisively, and Rand set his mug down before it could break in his grip. Bashere was making what he could of them, he understood, in a camp somewhere west of the city; what he could considering that they were, as the Saldaean put it, a ragtag collection of penniless farmers, runaway apprentices and failed craftsmen who had never held a sword, ridden a horse with a saddle or been more than five miles from where they were born. Rand had too much to concern him to worry about the likes of that; he had told Bashere to do what he wanted with them and not bother him unless they ran riot.

Looking at Taim, who was making no effort to hide his disdain, he stuck his hands behind his back, where they clenched into fists. Lews Therin rumbled in the distance, an echo of his anger. “What has gotten into you? You’ve had a burr in your breeches ever since I put those badges on you. Is it something to do with them? If so, I don’t understand. Those men will think more of theirs for seeing you receive yours from the Dragon Reborn. For that matter, they’ll think more of you for it. Maybe you won’t have to keep discipline by clubbing men over the head. Well, what have you to say?” That began well enough, in a calm tone if not exactly mild—he had not intended it to be mild—but along the way his voice grew firmer and louder. Not to a shout, yet that final question cracked like a whip.

The most remarkable transformation came over the other man. Taim shook visibly—with rage, Rand would have said, not fear—but when the shaking stopped, he was his old self again. Not friendly certainly, a touch mocking, but very much relaxed and in control of himself. “Since you must know, what worries me are Aes Sedai, and you. Nine Aes Sedai come to Caemlyn, plus two, make eleven. Then there might just be one or two more. I haven’t been able to find them yet, but—”

“I told you to stay out of the city,” Rand said flatly.

“I found a few men to ask questions for me.” Taim’s tone was dry as dust. “I’ve been no closer than here since I saved you from that Gray Man.”

Rand let that pass. Barely. Almost. The voice in his head was too low to be understood, but cold thunder for that. “They’ll catch smoke with their fingers before they catch rumors.” That came out with all the contempt he felt—Taim had saved him?—and the man jerked. Outwardly he still appeared at his ease, yet his eyes could have been dark gemstones.

“And if they join with the Red Aes Sedai?” His voice was cool and amused, but his eyes glittered. “There are Red sisters in the countryside. Several parties of them, arrived in the last few days. Trying to intercept men coming here.”

I will kill him, Lews Therin shouted, and Rand felt that fumbling reach toward saidin.

Go away, he said firmly. The fumbling continued, and so did the voice.

I will kill him,and then them. They must serve him. It is plain; they must serve him.

Go away, Rand shouted back silently. You are nothing but a voice! Stretching toward the Source.

Oh, Light, I killed them all. All that I loved. If I kill him, it will be well, though. I can make it up, if I kill him finally. No, nothing can make up, but I must kill him anyway. Kill them all. I must. I must.

No! Rand screamed inside his head. You’re dead, Lews Therin. I am alive, burn you, and you are dead! You are dead!

Abruptly he realized he was leaning on the table, holding himself up with sagging knees. And muttering, “You are dead! I am alive, and you are dead!” But he had not seized saidin. And neither had Lews Therin. Shivering, he looked at Taim and was surprised to see concern on the man’s face.

“You must hold on,” Taim said softly. “If sanity can be held, you must. The price is too high, if you fail.”

“I won’t fail,” Rand said, pushing himself upright. Lews Therin was silent. There seemed to be nothing in his head but himself. And the feel of Alanna, of course. “Have these Reds taken anyone?”

“Not that I have heard.” Taim was watching him cautiously, as if he expected another outburst. “Most of the students come through gateways now, and with all the people on the roads, it cannot be easy to pick out a man heading here unless he talks too freely.” He paused, “They could be disposed of easily enough in any case.”

“No.” Was Lews Therin really gone? He wished it, and knew he would be a fool to believe. “If they start taking men, I’ll have to do something, but as it is, they’re no threat out in the country. And believe me, nobody Elaida sends is likely to join those Aes Sedai in the city. Either lot would probably welcome you before they did each other.”

“What about those who are not in the countryside? Eleven of them? A few accidents could reduce that to a much safer number. If you don’t want to soil your own hands, I am willing to—”

“No! How many times do I have to say, no! If I feel a man channel in Caemlyn, I will come for you, Taim. I swear I will. And don’t think you can stay far enough from the Palace that I won’t feel it and be safe. If one of those Aes Sedai keels over dead for no reason, I will know who to blame. Mark me!”

“You set wide boundaries,” Taim said dryly. “If Sammael or Demandred decides to taunt you with a few dead Aes Sedai on your doorstep, my veins are opened?”

“They haven’t so far, and you had better hope they do not start. Mark me, I say.”

“I hear my Lord Dragon and obey, of course.” The hawk-nosed man bowed slightly. “But I still say eleven is a dangerous number.”

Rand laughed in spite of himself. “Taim, I intend to teach them to dance to my flute.” Light, how long since he had played the flute? Where was his flute? Faintly, he heard Lews Therin chuckling.

CHAPTER

43

The Crown of Roses

Merana’s hired coach swayed its slow way through the densely packed streets toward The Crown of Roses. Outwardly she was calm, at least, a dark-haired woman with cool hazel eyes, slim-fingered hands folded peacefully on her pale gray silk skirts. Inside, she was not so serene. Thirty-eight years ago she had been in place by chance to negotiate a treaty between Arad Doman and Tarabon that was supposed to put an end to the squabbling over Almoth Plain, with Domani and Taraboners dodging at every turn and three times nearly starting a war in the middle of the exchanges and all the while maintaining smiling faces of utter goodwill. By the time the signatures were dry, she felt as if she had been rolled over rough hills in a barrel full of splinters, and after all that, the treaty turned out to be worth considerably less than the wax and ribbons for its seals. She hoped what she had begun this afternoon at the Royal Palace ended better—it had to—but inside, she felt as though she had just clim