The Eye of the World (97 page)

This man stands at the heart of it.
Rand felt a chill. “I don’t stand at the heart of anything,” he said harshly.

Master Gill blinked, and even Loial seemed taken aback at his anger.
The innkeeper and the Ogier looked at each other, and then at the floor. Rand forced his expression smooth, drawing deep breaths. For a wonder he found the void that had eluded him so often of late, and calmness. They did not deserve his anger.

“You can come, Loial,” he said. “I don’t know why you would want to, but I’d be grateful for the company. You . . . you know how Mat is.”

“I know,” Loial said. “I still cannot go into the streets without raising a mob shouting ‘Trolloc’ after me. But Mat, at least, only uses words. He has not tried to kill me.”

“Of course not,” Rand said. “Not Mat.”
He wouldn’t go that far. Not Mat.

A tap came at the door, and one of the serving maids, Gilda, stuck her head into the room. Her mouth was tight, and her eyes worried. “Master Gill, come quickly, please. There’s Whitecloaks in the common room.”

Master Gill leaped up with an oath, sending the cat jumping from the table to stalk out of the room, tail stiff and offended. “I’ll come. Run tell them I’m coming, then stay out of their way. You hear me, girl? Keep away from them.” Gilda bobbed her head and vanished. “You had best stay here,” he told Loial.

The Ogier snorted, a sound like sheets ripping. “I have no desire for any more meetings with the Children of the Light.”

Master Gill’s eye fell on the stones board and his mood seemed to lighten. “It looks as if we’ll have to start the game over later.”

“No need for that.” Loial stretched an arm to the shelves and took down a book; his hands dwarfed the clothbound volume. “We can take up from where the board lies. It is your turn.”

Master Gill grimaced. “If it isn’t one thing, it’s another,” he muttered as he hurried from the room.

Rand followed him, but slowly. He had no more desire than Loial to become involved with the Children.
This man stands at the heart of it.
He stopped at the door to the common room, where he could see what went on, but far enough back that he hoped he would not be noticed.

Dead silence filled the room. Five Whitecloaks stood in the middle of the floor, studiously being ignored by the folk at the tables. One of them had the silver lightning-flash of an under-officer beneath the sunburst on his cloak. Lamgwin was lounging against the wall by the front door, intently cleaning his fingernails with a splinter. Four more of the guards Master Gill had hired were spaced across the wall from him, all industriously paying no attention at all to the Whitecloaks. If the Children of the Light noticed anything, they gave no sign. Only the under-officer showed
any emotion at all, impatiently tapping his steel-backed gauntlets against his palm as he waited for the innkeeper.

Master Gill crossed the room to him quickly, a cautiously neutral look on his face. “The Light illumine you,” he said with a careful bow, not too deep, but not slight enough to actually be insulting, either, “and our good Queen Morgase. How may I help—”

“I’ve no time for your drivel, innkeeper,” the under-officer snapped. “I’ve been to twenty inns already today, each a worse pigsty than the last, and I’ll see twenty more before the sun sets. I’m looking for Darkfriends, a boy from the Two Rivers—”

Master Gill’s face grew darker with every word. He puffed up as if he would explode, and finally he did, cutting the Whitecloak off in turn. “There are no Darkfriends in my establishment! Every man here is a good Queen’s man!”

“Yes, and we all know where Morgase stands,” the under-officer twisted the Queen’s name into a sneer, “and her Tar Valon witch, don’t we?”

The scrape of chair legs was loud. Suddenly every man in the room was on his feet. They stood still as statues, but every one staring grimly at the Whitecloaks. The under-officer did not appear to notice, but the four behind him looked around uneasily.

“It will go easier with you, innkeeper,” the under-officer said, “if you cooperate. The temper of the times goes hard with those who shelter Darkfriends. I wouldn’t think an inn with the Dragon’s Fang on its door would get much custom. Might have trouble with fire, with that on your door.”

“You get out of here now,” Master Gill said quietly, “or I’ll send for the Queen’s Guards to cart what’s left of you to the middens.”

Lamgwin’s sword rasped out of its sheath, and the coarse scrape of steel on leather was repeated throughout the room as swords and daggers filled hands. Serving maids scurried for the doors.

The under-officer looked around in scornful disbelief. “The Dragon’s Fang—”

“Won’t help you five,” Master Gill finished for him. He held up a clenched fist and raised his forefinger. “One.”

“You must be mad, innkeeper, threatening the Children of the Light.”

“Whitecloaks hold no writ in Caemlyn. Two.”

“Can you really believe this will end here?”

“Three.”

“We’ll be back,” the under-officer snapped, and then he was hastily turning his men around, trying to pretend he was leaving in good order
and in his own time. He was hampered in this by the eagerness his men showed for the door, not running, but not making secret that they wanted to be outside.

Lamgwin stood across the door with his sword, only giving way in response to Master Gill’s frantic waves. When the Whitecloaks were gone, the innkeeper dropped heavily onto a chair. He rubbed a hand across his forehead, then stared at it as if surprised that it was not covered with sweat. All over the room men seated themselves again, laughing over what they had done. Some went over to clap Master Gill on the shoulder.

When he saw Rand, the innkeeper tottered off the chair and over to him. “Who would have thought I had it in me to be a hero?” he said wonderingly. “The Light illumine me.” Abruptly he gave himself a shake, and his voice regained almost its normal tone. “You’ll have to stay out of sight until I can get you out of the city.” With a careful look back into the common room, he pushed Rand deeper into the hall. “That lot will be back, or else a few spies wearing red for the day. After that little show I put on, I doubt they’ll care whether you’re here or not, but they’ll act as though you are.”

“That’s crazy,” Rand protested. At the innkeeper’s gesture he lowered his voice. “The Whitecloaks don’t have any reason to be after me.”

“I don’t know about reasons, lad, but they’re after you and Mat for certain sure. What
have
you been up to? Elaida
and
the Whitecloaks.”

Rand raised his hands in protest, then let them fall. It made no sense, but he had heard the Whitecloak. “What about you? The Whitecloaks will make trouble for you even when they don’t find us.”

“No worries about that, lad. The Queen’s Guards still uphold the law, even if they do let traitors strut around showing white. As for the night . . . well, Lamgwin and his friends might not get much sleep, but I could almost pity anybody who tries to put a mark on my door.”

Gilda appeared beside them, dropping a curtsy to Master Gill. “Sir, there’s . . . there’s a lady. In the kitchens.” She sounded scandalized at the combination. “She’s asking for Master Rand, sir, and Master Mat, by name.”

Rand exchanged a puzzled look with the innkeeper.

“Lad,” Master Gill said, “if you’ve actually managed to bring the Lady Elayne down from the Palace to my inn, we’ll all end up facing the headsman.” Gilda squeaked at the mention of the Daughter-Heir and gave Rand a round-eyed stare. “Off with you, girl,” the innkeeper said sharply. “And keep quiet about what you’ve heard. It’s nobody’s business.” Gilda bobbed
again and darted down the hallway, flashing glances over her shoulder at Rand as she went. “In five minutes”—Master Gill sighed—“she will be telling the other women you’re a prince in disguise. By nightfall it will be all over the New City.”

“Master Gill,” Rand said, “I never mentioned Mat to Elayne. It can’t be—” Suddenly a huge smile lit up his face, and he ran for the kitchens.

“Wait!” the innkeeper called behind him. “Wait until you know. Wait, you fool!”

Rand threw open the door to the kitchens, and there they were. Moiraine rested her serene eyes on him, unsurprised. Nynaeve and Egwene ran laughing to throw their arms around him, with Perrin crowding in behind them, all three patting his shoulders as if they had to be convinced that he was really there. In the doorway leading to the stableyard Lan lounged with one boot up on the doorframe, dividing his attention between the kitchen and the yard outside.

Rand tried to hug the two women and shake Perrin’s hand, all at the same time, and it was a tangle of arms and laughter complicated by Nynaeve trying to feel his face for fever. They looked somewhat the worse for wear—bruises on Perrin’s face, and he had a way of keeping his eyes downcast that he had never had before—but they were alive, and together again. His throat was so tight he could barely talk. “I was afraid I’d never see you again,” he managed finally. “I was afraid you were all. . . .”

“I knew you were alive,” Egwene said against his chest. “I always knew it. Always.”

“I did not,” Nynaeve said. Her voice was sharp for just that moment, but it softened in the next, and she smiled up at him. “You look well, Rand. Not overfed by any means, but well, thank the Light.”

“Well,” Master Gill said behind him, “I guess you know these people after all. Those friends you were looking for?”

Rand nodded. “Yes, my friends.” He made introductions all around; it still felt odd to be giving Lan and Moiraine their right names. They both eyed him sharply when he did.

The innkeeper greeted everyone with an open smile, but he was properly impressed at meeting a Warder, and especially at Moiraine. At her he gaped openly—it was one thing knowing an Aes Sedai had been helping the boys, quite something else having her appear in the kitchen—then bowed deeply. “You are welcome to The Queen’s Blessing, Aes Sedai, as my guest. Though I suppose you will be staying at the Palace with Elaida
Sedai, and the Aes Sedai who came with the false Dragon.” Bowing again, he gave Rand a quick, worried look. It was all very well to say he did not speak ill of Aes Sedai, but that was not the same as saying he wanted one sleeping under his roof.

Rand nodded encouragingly, trying to tell him silently that it was all right. Moiraine was not like Elaida, with a threat hidden behind every glance, under every word.
Are you sure? Even now, are you sure?

“I believe I will stay here,” Moiraine said, “for the short time I remain in Caemlyn. And you must allow me to pay.”

A calico cat sauntered in from the hallway to strop the innkeeper’s ankles. No sooner had the calico begun than a fuzzy gray sprang from under the table, arching its back and hissing. The calico crouched with a threatening growl, and the gray streaked past Lan into the stableyard.

Master Gill began apologizing for the cats at the same time he protested that Moiraine would honor him by being his guest, and was she sure she would not prefer the Palace, which he would quite understand, but he hoped she would accept his best room as a gift. It made a jumble to which Moiraine seemed to pay no attention at all. Instead she bent down to scratch the orange-and-white cat; it promptly left Master Gill’s ankles for hers.

“I’ve seen four other cats here, so far,” she said. “You have a problem with mice? Rats?”

“Rats, Moiraine Sedai.” The innkeeper sighed. “A terrible problem. Not that I don’t keep a clean place, you understand. It’s all the people. The whole city is full of people and rats. But my cats take care of it. You’ll not be troubled, I promise.”

Rand exchanged a fleeting look with Perrin, who put his eyes down again right away. There was something odd about Perrin’s eyes. And he was so silent; Perrin was almost always slow to speak, but now he was saying nothing at all. “It could be all the people,” he said.

“With your permission, Master Gill,” Moiraine said, as if she took it for granted. “It is a simple matter to keep rats away from this street. With luck, the rats will not even realize they are being kept away.”

Master Gill frowned at that last, but he bowed, accepting her offer. “If you are sure you don’t want to stay at the Palace, Aes Sedai.”

“Where is Mat?” Nynaeve said suddenly. “
She
said he was here, too.”

“Upstairs,” Rand said. “He’s . . . not feeling well.”

Nynaeve’s head came up. “He’s sick? I’ll leave the rats to
her,
and I’ll attend to him. Take me to him now, Rand.”

“All of you go up,” Moiraine said. “I will join you in a few minutes. We are crowding Master Gill’s kitchen, and it would be best if we could all be somewhere quiet for a time.” There was an undercurrent in her voice.
Stay out of sight. The hiding is not done yet.

“Come on,” Rand said. “We’ll go up the back way.”

The Emond’s Field folk crowded after him to the back staircase, leaving the Aes Sedai and the Warder in the kitchen with Master Gill. He could not get over being back together. It was nearly as if he were home again. He could not stop grinning.

The same relief, almost joyous, seemed to be affecting the others. They chuckled to themselves, and kept reaching out to grip his arm. Perrin’s voice seemed subdued, and he still kept his head down, but he began to talk as they climbed.

“Moiraine said she could find you and Mat, and she did. When we rode into the city, the rest of us couldn’t stop staring—well, all except Lan, of course—all the people, the buildings, everything.” His thick curls swung as he shook his head in disbelief. “It’s all so big. And so many people. Some of them kept staring at us, too, shouting ‘Red or white?’ like it made some kind of sense.”

Egwene touched Rand’s sword, fingering the red wrappings. “What does it mean?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing important. We’re leaving for Tar Valon, remember?”

Egwene gave him a look, but she removed her hand from the sword and took up where Perrin had left off. “Moiraine didn’t look at anything any more than Lan did. She led us back and forth through all those streets so many times, like a dog hunting a scent, that I thought you couldn’t be here. Then, all of a sudden, she took off down a street, and the next thing I knew we were handing the horses to the stablemen and marching into the kitchen. She never even asked if you were here. Just told a woman who was mixing batter to go tell Rand al’Thor and Mat Cauthon that someone wanted to see them. And there you were”—she grinned—“like a ball popping into the gleeman’s hand out of nowhere.”