"The Shadow couldn't leave them in our possession," Elayne said with a sigh. "They know too much. They had to end up either rescued or executed."

"Well," Mat said, shrugging, "you're alive, and three of them are dead. Seems like a reasonably good outcome."

But the ones who escaped have a copy of your medallion, Elayne thought. She didn't speak it, however. She also didn't mention the invasion that Chesmal had spoken of. She would talk of it with Birgitte soon, of course, but first she wanted to consider it herself.

Mat had said the night's events had a "reasonably good outcome." But the more Elayne thought about it, the more dissatisfied she was. An invasion of Andor was coming, but she didn't know when. The Shadow wanted Mat dead, but as Birgitte had pointed out, that was no surprise. In fact, the only certain result of the evening's adventures was the sense of fatigue Elayne felt. That and a week confined to her rooms.

"Mat," she said, taking off his medallion. "Here, it's time I gave this back. You should know that it probably saved my life tonight."

He walked over and took it back eagerly, then hesitated. "Were you able to . . ."

"Copy it? Not perfectly. But to an extent."

He put it back on, looking concerned. "Well, that feels good to have back. I've been wanting to ask you something. Now might not be

the time."

"Speak of it," Elayne said, tited. "Might as well." "Well, it's about the gholam . . ."

"The city has been emptied of most civilians," Yoeli said as he and Ituralde walked through Maradon's gate. "We're close to the Blight; this is not the first time we've evacuated. My own sister, Sigril, leads the Lastriders, who will watch from the ridge to the southeast and send word if we should we fall. She will have sent word to our watchposts around Saldaea, requesting aid. She will light a watchfire to alert us if they come."

The lean-faced man looked at Ituralde, his expression grim. "There will be few troops who could come to our-aid. Queen Tenobia took many with her when she rode to find the Dragon Reborn."

Ituralde nodded. He walked without a limp Antail, one of the Asha'man, was quite skilled with Healing. His men made a hasty camp in the courtyard just inside the city gates. The Trollocs had taken the tents they'd left behind, then lit them on fire at night to illuminate them feasting on the wounded. Ituralde had moved some of his troops into the empty buildings, but he wanted others close to the gate in case of an assault.

The Asha'man and Aes Sedai had worked to Heal Ituralde's men, but only the worst cases could get attention. Ituralde nodded to Antail, who was working with the wounded in a roped-off section of the square. Antail didn't see the nod. He concentrated, sweating, working with a Power Ituralde didn't want to think about.

"Are you certain you want to see them?" Yoeli asked. He held a horseman's long spear on his shoulder, the tip tied with a triangular black and yellow pendant. It was called the Traitor's Banner by the Saldaeans here.

The city bristled with hostility, different groups of Saldaeans regarding one another with grim expressions. Many wore strips of black cloth and yellow cloth twisted about one another and tied to their sword sheaths. They nodded to Yoeli.

Desya gavane cierto cuendar isain carentin, Ituralde thought. A phrase in the Old Tongue. It meant "A resolute heart is worth ten arguments." He could guess what that banner meant. Sometimes a man knew what he must do, though it sounded wrong.

The two of them walked for a time through the streets. Maradon was like most Borderland cities: straight walls, square buildings, narrow streets. The houses looked like fortressed keeps, with small windows and sturdy doors. The streets wound in odd ways, and there were no thatched roofs only slate shingles, fireproof. The dried blood at several key intersections was difficult to make out against the dark stone, but Ituralde knew what to look for. Yoeli's rescue of his troops had come after fighting among the Saldaeans.

They reached a nondescript building. There would be no way for an outsider to know that this particular dwelling belonged to Vram Torku-men, distant cousin to the Queen, appointed lord of the city in her absence. The soldiers at the door wore yellow and black. They saluted Yoeli.

Inside, Ituralde and Yoeli entered a narrow staircase and climbed three flights of stairs. There were soldiers in nearly every room. On the top floor, four men wearing the Traitor's Banner guarded a large, gold-inlaid door. The hallway was dark: narrow windows, a rug of black, green and red.

"Anything to report, Tarran?" Yoeli asked.

"Not a thing, sir," the man said with a salute. He wore long mustaches and had the bowed legs of a man very comfortable in the saddle. Yoeli nodded. "Thank you, Tarran. For all you do." "I stand with you, sir. And will at the end."

"May you keep your eyes northward, but your heart southward, my friend," Yoeli said, taking a deep breath and pushing open the door. Ituralde followed.

Inside the room, a Saldaean man in a rich red robe sat beside a hearth, sipping a cup of wine. A woman in a fine dress did needlework in the chair across from him. Neither looked up.

"Lord Torkumen," Yoeli said. "This is Rodel Ituralde, leader of the Domani army."

The man at the hearth sighed over his cup of wine. "You do not knock, you do not wait for me to address you first, you come during an hour when I have spoken of my need for quiet contemplation."

"Really, Vram," the woman said, "you expect manners from this man? Now?"

Yoeli quietly rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. The room held a jumble of furniture: a bed on the side of the room that obviously didn't belong there, a few trunks and standing wardrobes.

"So," Vram said, "Rodel Ituralde. You're one of the great captains. I

realize it might be insulting to ask, but I must observe formalities. You realize that by bringing troops onto our soil, you have risked a war?"

Tags: Robert Jordan The Wheel of Time Fantasy
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