The Gathering Storm

"Start with Alsalam," Cadsuane said, sipping her wine. "When was he last seen?"

"By credible witnesses, or by hearsay?"

"Tell me both."

"There have been lesser windborn and merchants who claim to have received personal communication from the King as recently as a week ago, my Lady, but I regard such claims with skepticism. Very soon after the King's . . . hiatus began you could find forged letters claiming to dictate his wishes. I have seen some few sets of orders with my own eyes that I trust—or, at least, I trust the seal on them—but the King himself? I'd say it has been almost half a year since anyone I can vouch for has seen him."

"His whereabouts, then?"

The innkeeper shrugged, looking apologetic. "For a while, we were certain that the Council of Merchants was behind the disappearance. They rarely let the King out of their sight, and with the troubles to the south, we all assumed they'd taken His Majesty to safety."

"But?"

"But my sources," that meant his wife, "aren't convinced any longer. The Council of Merchants has been too disorganized lately, each member trying to keep their own chunk of Arad Doman from unraveling. If they'd had the King, they'd have revealed him by now."

Cadsuane tapped the side of her cup with a fingernail, annoyed. Could there be truth, then, to the al'Thor boy's belief that one of the Forsaken had Alsalam? "What else?"

"There are Aiel in the city, Lady," Quillin said, scrubbing at an invisible spot on the tabletop.

She gave him a flat stare. "I hadn't noticed."

He chuckled. "Yes, yes, obvious, I suppose. But the exact number in the area is twenty-four thousand. Some say the Dragon Reborn has them here just to prove his power and authority. After all, who ever heard of Aiel distributing food? Half the poor in the city are too frightened to go to the handouts, for fear the Aiel have used some of their poisons on the grain."

"Aiel poisons?" She'd never heard that particular rumor before.

Quillin nodded. "Some claim that as the reason for the food spoilages, my Lady."

"But food was spoiling in the country long before the Aiel arrived, wasn't it?"

"Yes, yes, of course," Quillin said. "But it can be hard to remember things like that in the face of so much bad grain. Besides, spoilage has grown much worse since the Lord Dragon arrived."

Cadsuane covered her frown by taking a sip of wine. It had grown worse with al'Thor's arrival? Was that just rumor, or was it the truth? She lowered her cup. "And the other strange occurrences in the city?" she asked carefully, to see what she could discover.

"You've heard of those, then?" Quillin said, leaning in. "People don't like to speak of them, of course, but my sources hear things. Stillborn children, men dying from falls that should barely have caused a bruise, stones toppling from buildings and striking women dead as they trade. Dangerous times, my Lady. I hate to pass on mere hearsay, but I've seen the numbers myself!"

The events were not, in themselves, unexpected. "Of course, there are the balances."

"Balances?"

"Marriages on the rise," she said, waving a hand, "children who encounter wild beasts but escape unharmed, unexpected fortunes discovered beneath the floorboards of a pauper's home. That sort of thing."

"That certainly would be nice," Quillin said, chuckling. "We can wish and hope, my Lady."

"You've heard no such stories?" Cadsuane asked with surprise.

"No, my Lady. I can ask around, if you wish."

"Do so." Al'Thor was ta'veren, but the Pattern was a thing of balance. For every accidental death caused by Rand's presence in a city, there was always a miraculous survival.

What did it mean if that was breaking down?

She went on to specific questions for Quillin, the whereabouts of the members of the merchant council at the top of the list. She knew that the al'Thor boy wanted to capture them all; if she could get information about their locations that he didn't have, it could be very useful. She also asked Quillin to find out the economic situation of the other major Do-mani cities and supply any news of rebel factions or Taraboners striking across the border.

As she left the inn—reluctantly raising her hood and stepping back into the muggy afternoon—she found that Quillin's words had left her with more questions than she'd had when she'd come.

It looked like rain. Of course, that was always the way it looked lately. Overcast and dreary, with a gray sky and clouds that bled together in a uniform haze. At least it had actually rained the previous night; for some reason, that made the overcast sky more bearable. As if it were more natural, allowing her to pretend that the perpetual gloom wasn't another sign of the Dark One's stirring. He had withered the people with a drought, he had frozen them with a sudden winter, and now he seemed determined to destroy them through sheer melancholy.

Cadsuane shook her head, tapping her clogs to make sure they were sturdily affixed, then walked onto the muddied boardwalk and made her way down toward the docks. She would see just how accurate these rumors about spoilage were. Had the strange events surrounding alThor really grown more destructive, or was she just allowing herself to find what she feared?