Lord of Chaos (The Wheel of Time 6)

“I say Elaida’s a fine Amyrlin,” one rough-coated man-said, shift

ing a bundle of fagots on his shoulder. “As fine as any.” He did not murmur to his companion. He spoke loudly, trying hard not to look around to see who had heard him.

Nynaeve’s mouth twisted sourly. He wanted to be overheard. How had Elaida discovered Salidar so quickly? Tarna must have left Tar Valon soon after Aes Sedai began gathering in the village. Siuan had pointed out darkly that a goodly number of Blue sisters were still missing — the original message to gather in Salidar had been aimed at Blues — and Alviarin was accomplished at applying the question. A stomach-turning thought, but not as wrenching as the most common explanation: secret supporters of Elaida here in Salidar. Everybody looked sideways at everybody else, and the woodsman was not the first Nynaeve had heard say much the same, in the same manner. Aes Sedai might not say it, but Nynaeve suspected some wanted to. It all stirred Salidar into a stew, and not a tasty one. It made what she was doing even more right.

Finding who she sought took time. She needed groups of children playing, and there were not many children in Salidar. Sure enough, Birgitte was watching five boys scramble about the street throwing a small bag of pebbles at each other, all laughing uproariously whenever one of them was hit, including the one hit. It made no more sense than most boys’ games. Or men’s.

Birgitte was not alone, of course. She seldom was unless she made an effort to be. Areina stood at her shoulder, dabbing at the perspiration streaming down her face and trying not to show boredom with the children. A year or two younger than Nynaeve, Areina wore her dark hair in a braid patterned after Birgitte’s golden one, though still little below her shoulders; Birgitte’s hung properly to the waist. Her clothes copied Birgitte, too, a waist-length coat of pale gray, and voluminous bronze-colored trousers, gathered at the ankle above short boots with raised heels, as did the bow she carried and the quiver at her waist. Nynaeve did not think Areina had ever held a bow before meeting Birgitte. She ignored the woman.

“I need to talk to you,” she told Birgitte. “Alone.”

Areina glanced at her, blue eyes close to contempt. “I’d think you’d be wearing your shawl this fine day, Nynaeve. Oh, my. You seem to be sweating like a horse. Why is that?”

Nynaeve’s face tightened. She had befriended the woman before Birgitte had, but the friendship melted on reaching Salidar. Learning that Nynaeve was not full Aes Sedai brought something more than disappointment. Only a request from Birgitte had held Areina back from informing the Aes Sedai that she had masqueraded as one. Besides, Areina had taken the oaths as a Hunter for the Horn, and Birgitte was certainly a better model for that life than Nynaeve. To think she had once pitied the woman her bruises!

“From your face,” Birgitte said with a sweaty grin, “either you’re ready to strangle somebody — probably Areina here — or else your dress fell off in the middle of a pack of soldiers and you weren’t wearing a shift.” Areina snorted a laugh, but she looked shocked. Why she should, Nynaeve did not know; the woman had had plenty of time to become used to Birgitte’s so-called sense of humor, more suited as it was to some unshaven man with his nose in a mug and his belly full of ale.

Nynaeve studied the boys’ play for a minute to give her irritation a chance to die down. Worse than useless to let herself get angry when she had a favor to ask.

Seve and Jaril were among the boys dodging and tossing the bag. The Yellows had been right about them; time was what they had needed. After close to two months in Salidar with other children and no fear, they laughed and shouted as loudly as the rest.

A sudden thought hit her like a hammer. “Marigan” still looked after them, if grudgingly, saw that they were bathed and fed, but now that they were talking again, at any time they might tell that the woman was not their mother. Perhaps they already had. That might not cause questions, but then again it might, and questions could bring the house of twigs they had built tumbling down on their heads. The ball of ice reappeared in the pit of Nynaeve’s belly. Why had she not thought of this before?

She gave a start as Birgitte touched her arm. “What is wrong, Nynaeve? You look as though your best friend died and cursed you with her last breath.”

Areina was striding away, stiff-backed, casting one look over her shoulder at them. The woman could watch Birgitte drink and flirt with men without turning a hair, and even try to emulate her, yet she bristled every time Birgitte wanted to be alone with Elayne or Nynaeve. Men were no threat; only women could be friends in Areina’s book, but only she could be Birgitte’s friend. The idea of having two friends seemed foreign to her. Well, enough and be done with her.

“Could you get horses for us?” Nynaeve tried to steady her voice. That was not what she had come to ask, but Seve and Jaril made it an excellent question. “How long will it take?”

Birgitte drew her out of the street, to the mouth of a narrow alley between two weathered houses, and looked around carefully before answering. No one was close enough to overhear, or pay them any mind. “A day or two. Uno was just telling me — ”

“Not Uno! We will leave him out of this. Just you, me, Elayne and Marigan. Unless Thom and Juilin return in time. And Areina, I suppose, if you insist.”

“Areina’s a fool some ways,” Birgitte said slowly, “but life will wring that out of her, or wring her out. You know I’d never insist on her going along if you and Elayne don’t want her.”

Nynaeve kept silent. The woman was behaving as if she was the jealous one! It was none of her affair if Birgitte wanted to take up with somebody as fickle as Areina.

Rubbing a knuckle across her lips, Birgitte frowned. “Thom and Juilin are good men, but the best way to avoid trouble is to make sure no one wants to trouble you. A dozen or so Shienarans in armor — or out — would go a long way toward that. I don’t understand you and Uno. He is tough, and he’d follow you and Elayne into the Pit of Doom.” A sudden grin bloomed on her face. “Besides, he’s a well-set-up fellow.”

“We do not need anyone to hold our hands,” Nynaeve told her stiffly. Well set up? That painted eyepatch flashed queasily across her mind, and the scars. The woman had the strangest taste in men. “We can handle anything that comes our way. I’d think we’ve already proved that, if it needed proof.”

“I know we can, Nynaeve, but we’ll draw trouble like flies to a midden. Altara’s at a slow boil. Every day brings another tale of Dragonsworn, and I’ll wager my best silk dress against one of your old shifts that half of them are really just brigands who’ll see four women alone as easy meat. We will have to prove we’re not every second day. Murandy’s worse, I hear, full of Dragonsworn and bandits and refugees from Cairhien, afraid the Dragon Reborn will fall on them any day. I assume you don’t mean to cross over into Amadicia. I assume it’s Caemlyn.” Her intricate braid swung slightly as she tilted her head and raised a questioning eyebrow. “Does Elayne agree with you about Uno?”

“She will,” Nynaeve muttered.

“I see. Well, when she does, I will procure as many horses as we need. But I want her to tell me why we should not take Uno.”

The unyielding finality of her tone heated Nynaeve’s face angrily. If she did ask Elayne ever so sweetly to tell Birgitte that Uno was to stay here, they might well find him waiting down the road, and Birgitte all amazement over how he knew they were going and which way. The woman might be Elayne’s Warder, but sometimes Nynaeve wondered which of them was really in charge. When she found Lan — when, not if! — she intended to make him swear oaths fit to curl his hair that he would abide by her decisions.

She drew deep calming breaths. No point arguing with a stone wall. She might as well get on to the reason she had hunted up Birgitte in the first place.

Casually she took a step deeper into the narrow alley, making the other woman follow. Brown stubble remained underfoot from the brush that had been cleared out of it. Trying to appear offhanded, she studied the press in the street. Still no one giving them more than a glance. She lowered her voice anyway. “We need to know what Tarna is telling the Hall, a

nd what they’re telling her. Elayne and I have tried to find out, but they ward the meetings against eavesdropping. Only with the Power, though. They’re so caught up that someone can listen in that way, they seem to have forgotten about pressing an ear to a door. If someone were to —”

Birgitte cut her off in a flat voice. “No.”

“At least consider it. Elayne or I are ten times as likely to be caught as you.” She thought of adding that Elayne was rather clever, but the other woman sniffed.