A Crown of Swords (63 page)

“I see you, Caddar,” she said formally, in spite of his insult. “Sit, you and your woman.”

She wanted to see how the Aes Sedai reacted, but all she did was arch
an eyebrow and smile lazily. Her eyes were as black as his, as black as a raven’s. The other Wise Ones let a little coldness show. Had the Aes Sedai at the wells not allowed Rand al’Thor to break free, they surely would have killed or captured every one. This Aes Sedai must be aware of that, since Caddar plainly knew what had happened, yet she looked anything but afraid.

“This is Maisia,” Caddar said, lowering himself to the ground, a little short of the space left for him. For some reason, he did not like to come within arm’s reach. Perhaps he feared knives. “I told you to use a single Wise One, Sevanna, not seven. Some men might be suspicious.” For some reason, he seemed amused.

The woman, Maisia, paused in the act of smoothing her skirts under when he gave her name, glaring at him with a fury that should have stripped his hide away. Perhaps she had thought to keep her identity hidden. She said nothing, though. After a moment she sat beside him, her smile returning so suddenly it might never have gone. Not for the first time, Sevanna was thankful that wetlanders wore their emotions on their faces.

“You have brought the thing that can control Rand al’Thor?” She did not even glance at the pitcher of water. When he was so rude, why should she continue the forms? She did not remember him being so when they met before. Perhaps the Aes Sedai emboldened him.

Caddar gave her a quizzical look. “Why, when you do not have him?”

“I will,” she said levelly, and he smiled. So did Maisia.

“When you do, then.” His smile shouted of doubt and disbelief. The woman’s mocked. A black robe could be found for her, too. “What I have will control him once he is taken, but it cannot overcome him. I won’t risk him finding out about me until you have him secure.” He did not appear shamed in the slightest by the admission.

Sevanna forced down a stab of disappointment. One hope gone, but others remained. Rhiale and Tion folded their hands and stared straight ahead, beyond the circle, beyond him; he was no longer worth listening to. Of course, they did not know everything.

“What of Aes Sedai? Can this thing control them?” Rhiale and Tion stopped peering beyond the trees. Belinde’s eyebrows twitched, and Meira actually looked at her. Sevanna could have cursed their lack of self-control.

Caddar was as blind as all wetlanders, though. He threw back his head and laughed. “Do you mean to say you missed al’Thor but captured Aes Sedai? You grabbed at the eagle and caught a few larks!”

“Can you provide the same for Aes Sedai?” She wanted to grind her teeth. Surely he had been properly courteous before.

He shrugged. “Perhaps. If the price is right.” It was dust to him, of no moment. For that matter, Maisia showed no concern either. Strange, if she was Aes Sedai. But she must be.

“Your tongue tosses bright colors on the wind, wetlander,” Tion said in a flat voice. “What proof of them have you?” For once, Sevanna did not mind that she had spoken out of turn.

Caddar’s face tightened for all the world as if he were a clan chief, as if he had heard the insult, but in an instant he was all smiles once more. “As you wish. Maisia, play with the callbox for them.”

Someryn shifted her skirts, pressing her knuckles against Sevanna’s thigh as the gray cube rose a pace into the air. It bounced back and forth as though tossed from hand to hand, then tilted and spun on one corner like a top, faster and faster, until it blurred.

“Would you like to see her balance it on her nose?” Caddar asked with a toothy grin.

Tight-eyed, the dark woman stared straight ahead, her smile clearly forced now. “I think I have
demonstrated
quite enough, Caddar,” she said coldly. But the cube—the callbox?—continued whirling.

Sevanna waited a slow count of twenty before saying, “That is sufficient.”

“You may stop now, Maisia,” Caddar said. “Put it back where it was.” Only then did the cube slowly descend, nestling gently on its original spot. Dark as she was, the woman looked pale. And furious.

Had she been alone, Sevanna would have laughed, and danced. As it was, she had difficulty maintaining a smooth face. Rhiale and the others were too busy staring disdainfully at Maisia to notice. What worked on one woman with the gift would work on another. No need with Someryn and Modarra, perhaps, but Rhiale, and Therava. . . . She could not appear too eager, not when the others knew there were no Aes Sedai captives.

“Of course,” Caddar went on, “it will take a little time to provide you with what you wish.” He took on a sly look, trying to hide it; perhaps another wetlander would not have seen. “I warn you, the price will not be small.”

In spite of herself, Sevanna leaned forward. “And the way you traveled here so quickly? How much to make her teach us that?” She managed to keep eagerness from her voice, but she was afraid the contempt she felt came through. Wetlanders would do anything for gold.

Perhaps the man heard it; his eyes certainly widened in surprise before he could regain control. Such as it was. He studied his hands, and his mouth curled faintly. Why should his smile seem pleased? “That is not something she does,” he said in a voice as smooth as his palms, “not by herself. It is like the callbox. I can provide you with several, but the price of those is even higher. I doubt what you’ve gleaned from Cairhien will be enough. Fortunately, you can use the . . . traveling boxes to take your people to richer lands.”

Even Meira was hard-pressed to keep her expression from becoming too avid. Richer lands, and no need to make a way through those fools following Rand al’Thor.

“Tell me more,” Sevanna said coolly. “Richer lands might be of some interest.” Not enough to make her forget the
Car’a’carn
, though. Caddar would give her everything he had promised before she declared him
da’tsang.
As well that he seemed to like wearing black. There would be no need to give him any gold then.

The watcher ghosted through the trees, making no sound. It was wonderful what you could learn with a callbox, especially in a world where there seemed to be only two others. That red dress was easy to follow, and they never looked back even to see whether some of those so-called Aiel were trailing them. Graendal maintained the Mirror of Mists that hid her true form, but Sammael had dropped his, golden-bearded again and just head and shoulders taller than she. He had let the link between them dissolve, too. The watcher wondered whether that was wise, under the circumstances. He had always wondered how much of Sammael’s vaunted bravery was really stupidity and blindness. But the man did hold
saidin
; perhaps he was not completely unaware of his danger.

The watcher followed and listened. They had no idea. The True Power, drawn directly from the Great Lord, could neither be seen nor detected except by who wielded it. Black flecks floated across his vision. There was a price, to be sure, one that grew with each use, but he had always been willing to pay the price when it was necessary. Being filled with the True Power was almost like kneeling beneath Shayol Ghul, basking in the Great Lord’s glory. The glory was worth the pain.

“Of course I had to have you with me,” Sammael growled, stumbling over a dead vine. He had never really been at home away from the cities. “You answered a hundred questions for them just being there. I can hardly
believe that silly girl herself actually suggested what I wanted.” He barked a laugh. “Perhaps I’m
ta’veren
myself.”

A branch that partially blocked Graendal’s path flexed away until it snapped with a sharp crack. For a moment it hung in the air as if she intended to strike her companion. “That silly girl will cut out your heart and eat it, given half a chance.” The branch flew aside. “I have a few questions of my own. I never thought you would keep your truce with al’Thor any longer than you must, but this . . . ?”

The watcher’s eyebrows rose. A truce? A claim as risky as it was false, by all evidence.

“I didn’t arrange his kidnapping.” Sammael gave her what he probably thought was a wry look; his scar made it more a snarl. “Mesaana had a hand in it, though. Maybe Demandred and Semirhage as well, despite how it ended, but Mesaana certainly. Perhaps you ought to reconsider what you think the Great Lord means about leaving al’Thor unharmed.”

Graendal considered that, so much so that she tripped. Sammael caught her by the arm, keeping her on her feet, but as soon as she regained her balance, she jerked free. Interesting, even given what had happened back in that clearing. Graendal’s real interest was always the most beautiful plucked from among the most powerful, but she would have flirted, just to pass an hour, with a man she intended to kill or one who wanted to kill her. The only men she never flirted with were those of the Chosen who stood above her for a time. She never accepted being the lesser of any pair.

“Then why continue with them?” Her voice dripped molten lava, although normally she had exquisite control over her emotions. “Al’Thor in Mesaana’s hands is one thing; al’Thor in this savage’s is something else. Not that she’ll have much chance at him if you really intend sending them off to loot.
Traveling
boxes? What is your game there? Do they hold captives? If you think I will teach them Compulsion, erase it from your mind. One of those women was not negligible. I will not risk strength and skill residing together, in her, or in someone she teaches. Or do you have a binder hidden away with your other toys? For that matter, where were you earlier? I do not like having to wait!”

Sammael stopped, glancing behind them. The watcher stood very still. Swathed in fancloth except for his eyes, he had no worry that he would be seen. Over the years he had learned expertise in many areas Sammael scorned. In some he favored, too.

The gateway opening suddenly, slicing away half of a tree, made
Graendal jump. The split trunk leaned drunkenly. Now she also knew Sammael held to the Source.

“Did you think I was telling them the truth?” Sammael said mockingly. “Small increases in chaos are as important as large. They will go where I send them, do as I wish, and learn to be satisfied with what I give them. As will you, Maisia.”

Graendal let her Illusion fade and stood golden-haired as he, as fair as she had been dark. “If you call me that again, I will kill you.” Her voice held even less expression than her face. She meant it. The watcher tensed. If she tried, one of the two would die. Should he interfere? Black flecks sped across his eyes, faster, faster.

Sammael met her stare with one just as hard. “Remember who will be Nae’blis, Graendal,” he said, and stepped through his gateway.

For a moment she stood looking at the opening. A vertical silver slash appeared off to one side, but before her gateway began to align, she let go the weave, slowly, the streak shrinking to a point before winking out. The prickling vanished from the watcher’s skin as she released
saidar
as well. With a fixed face, she followed Sammael, and his gateway closed behind her.

The watcher smiled crookedly behind his fancloth skulker’s mask. Nae’blis. That explained what had brought Graendal to heel, what had stayed her from killing Sammael. Even she would be blinded by that. An even greater risk for Sammael than claiming truce with Lews Therin, though. Unless, of course, it was true. The Great Lord delighted in setting his servants one against another, to see who was stronger. Only the strongest could stand near his glory. But today’s truth need not be tomorrow’s. The watcher had seen truth change a hundred times between a single sunrise and sunset. More than once he had changed it himself. He considered going back and killing the eight women in the clearing. They would die easily; he doubted they knew how to form a true circle. The black flecks filled his eyes, a horizontal blizzard. No, he would let that run its course. For now.

To his ears, the world screamed as he used the True Power to rip a small hole and step outside the Pattern. Sammael did not know how truly he spoke. Small increases in chaos could be every bit as important as large.