Knife of Dreams (The Wheel of Time #11)

Knife of Dreams (The Wheel of Time #11) Page 236

“Mantual is over-protective of me,” Loune explained. Clearly he did not want to explain, but he did want to avoid what might be taken for open insult. “Odd fellow. Attached himself to me years ago in Pujili, wormed his way into becoming my manservant. I think he’d stay if I stopped paying him.” Yes, very close kin to Ajimbura.

For a time they simply sipped kaf, balancing the cups on fingertips and enjoying the pungent bitterness. It seemed to be a pure Ijaz Mountains brew, and if so, very expensive. Karede’s own supply of black beans, most definitely not Ijaz Mountains, had run out a week ago, and he had been surprised at how much he missed having kaf. He never used to mind going without anything at need. The first cups done, Loune refilled them.

“You were going to tell me about the difficulties,” Karede prompted now that conversation would not be impolite. He always tried to be polite even with men he was going to kill, and rudeness here would dam up the man’s tongue.

Loune set his cup down and leaned his fists on the table, frowning at the map. Small red wedges supporting tiny paper banners were scattered across it, marking Seanchan forces on the move, and red stars indicating forces holding in place. Little black discs marking engagements peppered the map, but strangely, no white discs to indicate the enemy. None.

“Over the last week.” Loune said, “there have been four sizeable engagements and upwards of sixty ambushes, skirmishes and raids, many quite large, all spread out across three hundred miles.” That encompassed almost the entire map. His voice was stiff. Plainly, given a choice, he would have told Karede nothing. That half-step gave him none, however. “There must be six or eight different armies involved on the other side. The night after the first large engagement saw nine major raids, each forty to fifty miles from the site of the battle. Not small armies, either, at least not taken altogether, but we can’t find them, and nobody has any eyeless idea where they came from. Whoever they are, they have damane, those Aes Sedai, with them, and maybe those cursed Asha’man. Men have been torn apart by explosions our damane say weren’t caused by the Power.”

Karede sipped his kaf. The man was not thinking. If the enemy had Aes Sedai and Asha’man, they could use the thing called Traveling to move as far as they wished in a step. But if they could do that, why had they not used it to step all the way to safety with their prize? Perhaps not all Aes Sedai and Asha’man could Travel, yet that begged another question. Why had they not sent those who could? Maybe the only Aes Sedai were the damane stolen from the Tarasin Palace. Reportedly, none of them had had any idea how to Travel. That made sense. “What do the prisoners say about who sent them?”

Loune’s laugh was bitter. “Before you can have eyeless prisoners, you need an eyeless victory. What we’ve had are a string of eyeless defeats.” Picking up his cup, he took a sip. His voice loosened as if he had forgotten the colors of Karede’s armor. He was just a soldier talking his trade, now. “Gurat thought he had some of them two days ago. He lost four banners of horse and five of foot almost to the last man. Not all dead, but most of the wounded are the next thing to it. Pincushioned with crossbow bolts. Mostly Taraboners and Amadicians, but that isn’t supposed to matter, is it. Had to be twenty thousand or more cross-bowmen to put out that volume. Thirty thousand, maybe. And yet they manage to hide from the morat’raken. I know we’ve killed some—the reports claim it, at least—but they don’t even leave their dead behind. Some fools have begun whispering that we’re fighting spirits.” Fools he might consider them, but the fingers of his left hand hooked in a sign to ward off evil. “I’ll tell you one thing I know, Karede. Their commanders are very good. Very, very good. Every man to face them has been fought off his feet, outmaneuvered and outfought completely.”

Karede nodded thoughtfully. He had speculated that the White Tower must have tasked one of its best to kidnap the High Lady Tuon, but he had not been thinking along the lines of what people this side of the ocean called the great captains. Perhaps Thom Merrilin’s real name was Agelmar Jagad or Gareth Bryne. He looked forward to meeting the man, not least to ask him how he had known she would be coming to Ebou Dar. He might hide Suroth’s involvement, but then again, he might not. On the heights, today’s ally could be tomorrow’s sacrifice. Except for the Gardeners, the Deathwatch Guards were da’covale to the Empress herself, might she live forever, yet they lived on the heights. “There must be some plan for finding them and pinning them. Are you in charge of it?”

“No, praise be to the Light!” Loune said fervently. He took a long drink as though wishing it were brandy. “General Chisen is bringing his entire army back through the Malvide Narrows. Apparently the Tarasin Palace decided this was important enough to risk thrusts out of Murandy or Andor, though from what I’ve heard, neither one is capable of striking at anyone at the moment. I just have to wait here until Chisen arrives. We’ll see a different result then, I think. More than half Chisen’s men will be veterans from home.”

Abruptly Loune seemed to recall who he was talking to. His face turned to dark wood, a hard mask. It did not matter. Karede was convinced this was the work of Merrilin or whatever his name was. And he knew why the man was doing what he was doing. Under different circumstances, he would have told Loune his reasoning, but the High Lady would not be safe until she was back in the Tarasin Palace among those who knew her face. If the man failed to believe him on the key point, that she was the High Lady, he would have increased her danger for nothing.

“I thank you for the kaf,” he said, setting the cup down and taking up his helmet and gauntlets. “The Light see you safe, Loune. We will meet in Seandar someday.”

“The Light see you safe, Karede,” Loune said after a moment, plainly surprised by the polite farewell. “We will meet in Seandar someday.” The man had shared kaf, and Karede had no quarrel with him. Why should he be surprised?

Karede did not speak to Musenge until they had ridden out of the camp, the Ogier Gardeners striding along just ahead of the human Guards. Hartha was walking on Karede’s other side, his long axe propped on his shoulder, his head nearly level with theirs.

“We head northeast,” he said, “for the Malvide Narrows.” If he remembered the maps correctly, and he seldom forgot any map he had more than glimpsed, they could reach it in four days. “The Light shine on us that we arrive be