Knife of Dreams (The Wheel of Time 11)

"Windfinders," Birgitte answered, holding open the canvas flap at the back of the wagon. "Chanelle decided she'd rather not report losing her bargain to Zaida."

Elayne sniffed in disdain, a mistake. Sneezing repeatedly, she climbed down from the wagon as quickly as she could manage. Her legs were as stiff as her arms. Burn her, but she wanted a hot bath. And a hairbrush. Birgitte's white-collared red coat looked somewhat rumpled, but Elayne suspected she made her warder appear fresh from the dressing room.

When her feet hit the ground, mounted Guardsmen in a thick ring around the wagon raised a loud cheer, shaking their lances in the air. Guardswomen whooped, too, apparently almost every last one of them. Two of the men bore Andor's White Lion and her Golden Lily. That brought a smile. The Queen's Guards were sworn to defend Andor, the Queen and the Daughter-Heir, yet the decision to carry her personal banner had to have been Charlz Guybon's. Sitting a tall bay with his helmet resting on the saddlebow, he bowed to her, a broad smile on his lips. The man was a pleasure to look at. Perhaps he would do for a third Warder. Beyond the Guards rose House banners and banners of mercenary companies, banner after banner. Light, how many men had Birgitte brought? That could be answered later, though. First Elayne wanted to see her prisoners.

Asne lay spreadeagled on the road, her empty eyes staring at the sky; the shield on her was unneeded. The others lay as still, bound with flows of Air that held their arms to their sides and snugged their divided skirts against their legs. A much more comfortable position than she had been in. Most seemed remarkably composed considering their situation, though Temaile scowled at her and Falion appeared about to sick up. Shiaine's mud-smeared face would have done credit to any Aes Sedai. The three men bound with Air were anything but composed. They writhed and struggled, glaring at the riders surrounding them as if they wanted nothing more than to attack them all. That was enough to identify them as Asne's Warders, though not necessarily as Darkfriends. Whether they were or not, they would still have to be imprisoned, to protect others from the death-rage that Asne's death had filled them with. They would do anything to kill whomever they held responsible.

"How did they find us?" Chesmal demanded. If she had not been lying in the road with a dirty face, no one would have thought her a prisoner.

"My Warder," Elayne said, smiling at Birgitte. "One of them."

"A woman Warder?" Chesmal said disdainfully.

Marillin shook in her bonds with silent laughter for a moment. "I'd heard that,'' she said when the shaking ceased, "but it seemed too incredible to be true."

"You heard this, and you never mentioned it?" Temaile said, twisting around to transfer her scowl to Marillin. "You great fool!"

"You forget yourself," Marillin said sharpl

y, and the next instant they were arguing about whether Temaile should defer to her! In truth, Temaile should—Elayne could sense their relative strengths—yet it hardly seemed a topic they would argue over now!

"Somebody gag these women," Elayne ordered. Caseille dismounted, handing her reins to another Guardswoman, and strode over to begin cutting a strip from Temaile's skirts with her dagger. "Load them into the wagon and cut away that dead horse. I want to get back inside the walls before Arymilla's people beyond the ridge feel tempted." The last thing she needed now was a pitched battle. Whatever the outcome, Arymilla could afford to lose more men than she. "Where are the Windfinders, Birgitte?"

"Still on the ridge. I think they believe they can deny taking part if they don't get too near the carnage. But you don't have to worry about being attacked here. The camps beyond the ridge are empty."

Caseille hoisted Temaile over her shoulder and staggered over to heave her into the wagon like a sack of grain. Guardswomen were picking up the other women, too. They wisely left the struggling Warders to the Guardsmen. It required two to handle each of them. A pair of tall Guardsmen were unfastening the dead horse's harness.

"All I saw were camp followers, grooms and the like," Charlz put in.

"I think all of her camps may be empty," Birgitte went on. "She sent heavy assaults against the northern wall this morning to draw as many of our men as possible, and she has twenty thousand or more in Low Caemlyn below the Far Madding Gate. Some of the mercenaries changed colors and are attacking it from inside, but I sent Dyelin with everything I could spare. As soon as you're safe inside the walls, I'll take the rest to help her. To add to the good news, Luan and the rest of that lot are riding north. They could be here this afternoon."

Elayne's breath caught. Luan and the rest would have be dealt with when they appeared, but the other news . . . ! "Do you remember what Mistress Harfor reported, Birgitte? Arymilla and the others all intend to be with the first party to ride into Caemlyn. They must be outside the Far Madding Gate, too. How many men do you have here?"

"What's the butcher's bill, Guybon?" Birgitte asked, eyeing Elayne warily. The bond carried wariness, too. Great wariness.

"I don't have a full tally yet, my Lady. Some of the bodies. . . ." Charlz grimaced. "I'd say as many as five or six hundred dead, though, perhaps a few more. Twice as many wounded one way and another. As nasty a few minutes as I've ever seen."

"Call it ten thousand, Elayne," Birgitte said, thick braid swaying as she shook her head. She tucked her thumbs behind her belt, and determination filled the bond. "Arymilla has to have at least twice that at the Far Madding Gate, maybe three times if she's really stripped her camps. If you're thinking what I think you're thinking. ... I told Dyelin to retake the gate if it had fallen, but it's more likely she's fighting Arymilla inside the city. If, by some miracle, the gate is holding, you're talking better than two to one odds against us."

"If they're through the gate," Elayne said stubbornly, "it's unlikely they closed it behind them. We'll take them in the rear." It was not all stubbornness. Not entirely. She had not trained with weapons, but she had received all of the other lessons Gawyn had gotten from Gareth Bryne. A queen had to understand the battle plans her generals gave her rather than simply accept them blindly. "If the gate is holding, we'll have them trapped between us and the wall. Numbers won't count so much in Low Caemlyn. Arymilla won't be able to line up any more men across a street than we can. We are going to do it, Birgitte. Now somebody find me a horse."

For a moment, she thought the other woman was going to refuse, which ratcheted up her stubbornness, but Birgitte exhaled heavily. "Tzigan, catch up that tall gray mare for Lady Elayne."

It seemed that everyone around them except the Darkfriends sighed. They must have thought they were going to see a display of Elayne Trakand's fabled temper. Knowing that almost sparked one. Burn her bouncing moods!

Stepping closer, Birgitte lowered her voice. "But you'll ride surrounded by your bodyguard. This isn't some fool story with a queen carrying her banner into battle to lead her troops. I know one of your ancestors did that, but you're not her, and you don't have a broken army to rally.''

"Why, that was exactly my plan," Elayne said sweetly. "How ever did you guess?"

Birgitte snorted with laughter and muttered "Bloody woman" not quite softly enough to escape detection. Affection flowed in the bond, though.

It was not so simple, of course. Men had to be told off to help the wounded. Some could walk, but many could not. Too many had tourniquets around the bloody stump of an arm or a leg. Charlz and the nobles gathered around Elayne and Birgitte to hear the plan of attack, which was simple of necessity, but then Chanelle refused to change the gateway until Elayne agreed that this time they need provide transport only and sealed the agreement; with them both kissing their fingertips and pressing them to the other's lips. Only then did the gateway dwindle to a vertical silvery slash and widen again into a hundred-pace-wide view of Caemlyn from the south.

There were no people in the brick markets lining the wide road that ran north from the gateway to the Far Madding Gate, but a great mass of men, mounted and afoot, crowded the road out of bowshot from the walls. The first of them was only a few hundred paces from the gateway. It appeared that they spilled into the side streets, too. The mounted men were to the front with a thicket of banners, but cavalry or infantry, they were all looking toward the gates of Caemlyn itself. The closed gates. Elayne could have shouted for joy.

She rode through first, but Birgitte was taking no chances. Her bodyguard gathered around her, herding her off to one side. Birgitte was right by her side, but somehow they did not seem to be herding her. Fortunately, no one tried to object to her pushing the gray forward until only a single line of Guardswomen was between her and the road. That line might as well have been a stone wall. The gray was indeed tall, however, so she could see without standing in the stirrups. She should have lengthened those. They were just a little short for her. That made this Chesmal's horse, since she was the only one who came close to her own height. A horse could not be tainted by its rider—just because Chesmal was Black Ajah did not make the horse evil—but she felt uncomfortable on the animal for more than short stirrups. The gray would be sold, the gray and all the other horses the Darkfriends had been riding, and the money distributed to the poor.

Cavalry and foot came out of the gateway behind Charlz, enough to fill it from side to side. Followed by the White Lion and the Golden Lily, he started up the road at a trot with five hundred Guardsmen, spread out to cover the width of the road. Other parties of similar size split off and vanished into the streets of Low Caemlyn. When the last men exited the gateway, it dwindled and vanished. Now, there was no quick escape if anything went wrong. Now, they had to win, or Arymilla would as good as have the throne whether or not she had Caemlyn. "We need Mat Cauthon's bloody luck today," Birgitte muttered.