Juilin hesitated, then clasped her hand. "I'll make a try at it." He sounded doubtful.
"An honest try is all I ask." Frowning around the tent, she shook her head. "I've seen orlop decks less crowded than this. We have some decent wine in our wagon, Master Sandar. Will you and your lady join us in a cup or two?"
Again Juilin hesitated. "He has this game all but won," he said finally. "No point in playing it out." Clapping his conical red hat on his head, he adjusted his dark, flaring Tairen coat unnecessarily, and offered his arm to Amathera formally. She clasped it tightly, and though her eyes were still on Egeanin's face, she trembled visibly. "I expect Olver will want to stay here and play his game, but my lady and I will be pleased to share wine with you and your husband, Mistress Shipless." There was a hint of challenge in his gaze. It was clear that to him, Egeanin had further to go to prove she no longer saw Amathera as stolen property.
Egeanin nodded as if she understood perfectly. "The Light shine on you tonight, and for as many days and nights as we have remaining," she said by way of farewell to those staying. Cheerful of her.
No sooner had the four departed than thunder boomed overhead. Another loud peal, and rain began pattering on the tent roof, quickly growing to a downpour that drummed the green-striped canvas. Unless Juilin and the others had run, they would do their drinking wet.
Noal settled on the other side of the red cloth from Olver and took up Amathera's part of the game, rolling the dice for the snakes and the foxes. The black discs that now represented Olver and him were nearly to the edge of the web-marked cloth, but it was evident to any eye that they would not make it. To any eye but Olver's, at least. He groaned loudly when a pale disc inked with a wavy line, a snake, touched his piece, and again when a disc marked with a triangle touched Noal's.
Noal took up the tale he had left off when Egeanin and Domon appeared, as well, a story of some supposed voyage on a Sea Folk raker. "Atha'an Miere women are the most graceful in the world," he said, moving the black discs back to the circle in the center of the board, "even more so than Domani, and you know that's saying something. And when they're out of sight of land—" He cut off abruptly and cleared his throat, eyeing Olver, who was stacking the snakes and foxes on the board's corners.
"What do they do then?" Olver asked.
"Why. . . ." Noal rubbed his nose with a gnarled finger. "Why, they scramble about the rigging so nimbly you'd think they had hands where their feet should be. That's what they do." Olver oohed, and Noal gave a soft sigh of relief.
Mat began removing the black and white stones from the board on the table, placing them in two carved wooden boxes. The dice in his head bounced and rattled even when the thunder was loudest. "Another game, Thom?"
The white-haired man looked up from his letter. "I think not, Mat. My mind's in a maze, tonight."
"If you don't mind my asking, Thom, why do you read that letter the way you do? I mean, sometimes your face looks like you're trying to puzzle out what it means." Olver yelped with glee at a good toss of the dice.
"That's because I am. In a way. Here." He held out the letter, but Mat shook his head.
"It's no business of mine, Thom. It's your letter, and I'm no good with puzzles."
"Oh, it's your business, too. Moiraine wrote it just before. . . . Well, anyway, she wrote it."
Mat stared at him for a long moment before taking the creased page, and when his eyes fell on the smudged ink, he blinked. Small, precise writing covered the sheet, but it began. "My dearest Thom." Who would have thought Moiraine, of all people, would address old Thom Merrilin so? "Thom, this is personal. I don't think I should—"
"Read," Thom cut in. "You'll see."
Mat drew a deep breath. A letter from a dead Aes Sedai that was a puzzle and concerned him in some way? Suddenly, he wanted nothing less than to read the thing. But he began anyway. It was near enough to make his hair stand on end.
My dearest Thom,
There are many words I would like to write to you, words from my heart, but I have put this off because I knew that I must, and now there is little time. There are many things I cannot tell you lest I bring disaster, but what I can, I will. Heed carefully what I say. In a short while I will go down to the docks, and there I will confront Lanfear. How can I know that? That secret belongs to others. Suffice it that I know, and let that foreknowledge stand as proof for the rest of what I say.
When you receive this, you will be told that I am dead. All will believe that. I am not dead, and it may be that I shall live to my appointed years. It also may be that you and Mat Cauthon and another, a man I do not know, will try to rescue me. May, I say, because it may be that you will not or cannot, or because Mat may refuse. He does not hold me in the affection you seem to, and he has his reasons which he no doubt thinks are good. If you try, it must be only you and Mat and one other. More will mean death for all. Fewer will mean death for all. Even if you come only with Mat and one other, death also may come. I have seen you try and die, one or two or all three. I have seen myself die in the attempt. I have seen all of us live and die as captives. Should you decide to make the attempt anyway, young Mat knows the way to find me, yet you must not show him this letter until he asks about it. That is of the utmost importance. He must know nothing that is in this letter until he asks. Events must play out in certain ways, whatever the costs.
If you see Lan again, tell him that all of this is for the best. His destiny follows a different path from mine. I wish him all happiness with Nynaeve.
A final point. Remember what you know about the game of Snakes and Foxes. Remember, and heed. It is time, and I must do what must be done.
May the Light illumine you and give you joy, my dearest Thom, whether or not we ever see one another again. Moiraine
Thunder boomed as he finished. Fitting, that. Shaking his head, he handed the letter back. "Thom," he said gently, "Lan's bond to her was broken. It takes death to do that. He said she was dead."
"And her letter says everyone would believe that. She knew, Mat. She knew it all in advance."
"That's as may be, but Moiraine and Lanfear went into that doorframe ter’angreal, and it melted. The thing was redstone, or looked to be stone, Thom, yet it melted like wax. I saw it. She went to wherever the Eelfinn are, and even if she is alive, there's no way for us to get there anymore."
"The Tower of Ghenjei," Olver piped up, and all three adults turned their heads to stare at him. "Birgitte told me," he said defensively. "The Tower of Ghenjei is the way to the lands of the Aelfinn and the Eelfinn." He made the gesture that began a game of Snakes and Foxes, a triangle drawn in the air and then a wavy line through it. "She knows even more stories than you, Master Charin."
"That wouldn't be Birgitte Silverbow, would it?" Noal said wryly.
The boy gave him a level look. "I'm not an infant, Master Charin. But she is very good with a bow, so maybe she is. Birgitte born again, I mean."