Lord of Chaos (The Wheel of Time 6)

In truth, though, he began to feel more than a little smug. Whatever they were doing, it had no effect on him that a touch of one of Nerim’s ointments rubbed onto his chest could not cure. Nerim assured him it was not frostbite. He felt smug until the fourth afternoon. He was making his way from stabling Pips to The Southern Hoop, a scruffy two stories of white-plastered bricks in a scruffy village of white-plastered bricks and flies called So Tehar, when something soft hit him squarely between the shoulders. With the smell of horse dung in his nostrils he spun around, ready to chew a hole in a stableboy or one of So Tehar’s sullen-eyed louts, knife or no knife. There was no stable-boy and no lout. Only Adeleas, busily scribbling away in her little book and nodding to herself. Her hands were quite clean.

Mat went inside and called for punch from the innkeeper, then changed his mind and had her bring brandy instead, a cloudy liquid the lanky woman insisted was made from plums, but which tasted as if it might remove rust. Juilin contented himself with a sniff, and Thom would not even do that. Even Nalesean only took one sip before asking for punch, and Nalesean would drink anything. Mat lost count of how many of the tiny pewter cups he emptied, but however many it was, it took Nerim and Lopin together to get him to bed. He had never really let himself think whether the foxhead had any limits. He had proof and more than enough that it would stop saidar, but if all they had to do was pick something up with the Power and throw it at him . . . Better than nothing, he kept telling himself, lying on his lumpy mattress and watching moonshadows crawl across the ceiling. A lot better than nothing. But if he had been able to stand by himself, he would have gone back down for more brandy.

Which was why he was in a vile temper, with a tongue that seemed coated with feathers and a head that had drummers pounding away inside and sweat pouring down him from the sun overhead, when the road topped a rise on the fifth day to reveal Ebou Dar spread out below, straddling the broad River Eldar with a great bay full of ships beyond.

His first impression of the city was white. White buildings, white palaces, white towers and spires. Domes like sharp white turnips or pears often bore bands of crimson or blue or gold, but mainly the city was white, and reflected sunlight till it almost hurt his eyes. The gate the road led to was a broad tall pointed arch in a white-plastered wall so thick that he rode in shade for twenty paces before emerging into the sun again. It seemed to be a city of squares and canals and bridges, large squares full of people with fountains or statues in the center, canals broad and narrow with men poling barges along them, bridges in every size, some low, some arching high, some big enough that shops lined their sides. Palaces with thick columned porticos stood alongside shops displaying rugs and cloth; houses of four stories with huge arched windows hidden behind louvered shutters stood beside stables and cutlers and fishmongers.

It was in one of those squares that Vandene drew rein to confer with Adeleas while Nynaeve frowned at them and Elayne stared as if icicles should have been hanging from her nose and chin. At Elayne’s urging, Aviendha had climbed onto her lanky dun for the entry to the city, but now she scrambled down again as awkwardly as she had climbed on. She looked about almost as curiously as Olver, who had been wide-eyed since the city first came into view. Birgitte seemed to be trying to heel Elayne in imitation of Jaem with Vandene.

Mat took the opportunity to fan himself with his hat and look around.

The largest palace he had seen yet filled one entire side of the square, all domes and spires and colonnades three and four stories above the ground. The other three sides mixed great houses with inns and shops, each as white as the next. A statue of a woman in flowing robes, taller than an Ogier, stood on an even taller pedestal in the middle of the square, one arm raised to point south toward the sea. There were only a handful of people walking across the pale paving stones, and no wonder in that heat. A few were eating their midday meal on the lowest step of the pedestal, and pigeons and seagulls flocked about fighting for scraps. It was a picture of tranquility. Mat did not understand why he suddenly felt the dice rolling in his head.

He knew that sensation well. Sometimes he felt it when his luck was running strong in the gambling. It was always there when a battle was in the offing. And it seemed to come when there was a vital decision to make, the sort where the wrong choice might well get his throat cut.

“We will go in now, by one of the lesser gates,” Vandene announced. Adeleas was nodding. “Merilille will see that we are given rooms to freshen.”

That must mean this was the Tarasin Palace, where Tylin Quintara of House Mitsobar sat on the Throne of the Winds and ruled in truth maybe as much as a hundred miles around Ebou Dar. One of the few things he had managed to learn about this trip was that the Aes Sedai were to meet one of their number in the palace, and of course Tylin. Aes Sedai would meet the Queen. Mat looked at that great heap of gleaming marble and white-plastered stone, and he thought what it would be like to stay in there. He liked palaces, usually; at least, he liked anywhere with servants and gold, and feather beds did not hurt. But a Royal Palace meant nobles every time you turned around. Mat preferred nobles a few at a time; even Nalesean could be irritating. A palace that size meant either constant wondering where Nynaeve and Elayne were or else an attempt to mount guard over them. He was not sure whether it would be worse if they let him tag, along in there as a bodyguard or refused. He could almost hear Elayne saying in that cool voice, Pray find some accommodation for Master Cauthon and my men. See they are fed and watered. She would do it, too. She would pop in for her inspections and tell him to do whatever he was already about to. Yet if she and Nynaeve were safe from trouble anywhere, it would be inside a Queen’s Palace. Besides, what he wanted was somewhere he could put his feet up and drink punch with a girl on his knee to soothe his temples. Damp towels would be good. His head hurt. The prim-mouthed lecture Elayne had delivered that morning, about the evils of drink and setting an example, still rang in his ears. That was another reason he had to put his foo

t down. He had been too weak to reply, just out of bed and wondering whether he could heave himself onto Pips, and she had already gotten away with too much. If he did not put a stop to it now, she would have him knuckling his forehead.

All that ran through his mind in the time it took Vandene to turn her slab-sided bay gelding toward the palace. “I’ll take rooms at one of these inns for my men,” he said loudly. “If you or Elayne mean to go out in the streets, Nynaeve, you can send word, and I’ll bring a few men to walk you about.” They probably would not — nobody could top a woman for thinking she could take care of herself in a bear pit with her bare hands — but he would wager Vanin could figure out a way to know when they went out. And if not, then Juilin; a thief-catcher should know how. “That one will do.“ Choosing at random, he pointed to a wide building across the square. A sign he could not make out swung over the arched doorway.

Vandene looked at Adeleas. Elayne looked at Nynaeve. Aviendha frowned at him.

He gave none of them a chance to speak, though. “Thom, Juilin, what do you say to a few mugs of punch?” Maybe water would be better; he had never drunk that much before in his life.

Thom shook his head. “Later perhaps, Mat. I should stay close in case Elayne needs me.” The almost fatherly smile he directed at her faded when he saw her staring nonplussed at Mat. Juilin did not smile — he seldom did anymore — but he too said he should stay close, maybe later.

“As you wish,” Mat said, replacing his hat. “Vanin. Vanin!” The fat man gave a start and stopped staring worshipfully at Elayne. He actually blushed! Light, the woman was a bad influence.

As Mat turned Pips, Elayne’s voice hit him in the back, even more prim than that morning. “You are not to let them drink to excess, Master Cauthon. Some men do not know when to stop. You should certainly not allow a young boy to see men in drink.”

He gritted his teeth and rode on across the square without looking back. Olver was looking at him. He was going to have to warn the men about getting drunk in front of the boy, especially Mendair. Light, but he hated her telling him what he should do!

The inn turned out to be called The Wandering Woman, but the sign over the door, and the common room, promised everything that Mat wanted. The high-ceilinged room was certainly cooler than outside, with its wide, arched windows screened behind wooden shutters carved into arabesques. There seemed to be more hole than wood, but they shaded the room. Outlanders sat among the locals, a lanky Murandian with curling mustaches, a stout Kandori with two silver chains across the chest of his coat, others Mat did not recognize offhand. A faint haze of pipe smoke filled the air, and two women playing small flutes and a fellow with a drum between his knees provided an odd sort of music. Best of all, the serving women were pretty, and men were tossing dice at four tables. The Kandori merchant was playing at cards.

The stately innkeeper introduced herself as Setalle Anan, though her hazel eyes had never been born in Ebou Dar. “Good my Lords . . . ” Large gold hoops in her ears swayed as she bowed her head equally to Mat and Nalesean. ” . . . may The Wandering Woman offer you her humble accommodation?”

She was pretty despite a touch of gray in her hair, but Mat watched her eyes. She wore a marriage knife hanging from a close-fitting necklace, the hilt set with red and white stones nestling in her generous cleavage, and she also had one of those curving knives in her belt. Still, he could not help grinning. “Mistress Anan, I feel like I’ve come home.”

The odd thing was, the dice had stopped rolling in his head.

Chapter 48

Leaning on the Knife

* * *

Climbing out of the big copper tub with a length of white toweling wrapped around her head, Nynaeve dried slowly. The plump gray-haired serving woman tried to dress her, but Nynaeve sent her away, ignoring the startled looks and protests, and did it herself, with great care, examining the dark green dress with its wide collar of pale Merada lace in the tall narrow stand-mirror. Lan’s heavy gold ring lay in her pouch — best not to think of that — alongside one of the twisted ring ter’angreal, and the Great Serpent gleamed golden around the third finger of her right hand. Her right hand. Best not to think of that either.

The high ceiling was quite pleasantly painted in blue sky and white clouds, and if the furnishings stood on disconcertingly large gilded lion feet and the slim bedposts and chair legs and everything else vertical had too much fluting and gilding for her taste, it was still a more comfortable room than she had stayed in for some considerable time. A pleasant room. Moderately cool. What she was trying to do was calm herself.

It did not work, of course. She had felt saidar being woven, and as soon as she stepped from her bedchamber she saw the ward against eavesdropping Elayne had made and tied off around the sitting room. Birgitte and Aviendha were already there as well, all of them freshly scrubbed and dressed.

In what Birgitte claimed was a rather ordinary arrangement here, four bedchambers flanked the one sitting room, which also had a ceiling painted as sky and clouds. Four tall arched windows opened onto a long balcony of white-painted wrought iron, so intricate they could peer down from it unseen at the Mol Hara Square in front of the palace. A faint breeze stirred through the windows, carrying the salt scent of the sea, and for a wonder it actually was a little cool. Anger interfered with her concentration, and Nynaeve had been feeling the heat since shortly after arriving in the Tarasin Palace.

Thom and Juilin had been given a room somewhere deep in the servants’ quarters, which in truth seemed to irritate Elayne more than it did either of the men. Thom had actually laughed. But then, he could afford to.