Текст книги "Towers of midnight"

Автор книги: Robert Jordan

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"But—"

"I'll deal with her," Faile said, her voice more firm. It was not wise to challenge her when she smelled that way, not unless he wanted to start a full argument. She softened, taking another bite of barley. "When I said you were like a wolf, my husband, I wasn't talking about the way you eat. I was talking about the way you give your attention. You are driven. Given a problem to solve, no matter how grand, and you will see it done.

"Can't you understand? That's a wonderful trait in a leader—it is exactly what the Two Rivers will need. Assuming, of course, that you have a wife to care for some of the smaller issues." She frowned. "I wish you'd spoken to me about the banner before burning it. It will be difficult to raise it again without looking foolish."

"I don't want to raise it again," Perrin said. "That's why I had them burn it."

"But why?"

He took another bite of his ham, pointedly not watching her. She smelled curious, almost desperately so.

I can't lead them, he thought. Not until I know if I can master the wolf How could he explain? Explain that he feared the way it took control when he fought, when he wanted something too badly?

He would not rid himself of the wolves; they had become too much a part of him. But where would he leave his people, where would he leave Faile, if he lost himself to what was inside of him?

He again remembered a dirty creature, once a man, locked in a cage. There is nothing left in this one that remembers being a man…

"My husband," Faile said, resting a hand on his arm. "Please." She smelled of pain. That twisted his heart about. "It has to do with those Whitecloaks," Perrin said.

"What? Perrin, I thought I said—"

"It has to do," Perrin said firmly, "with what happened to me the first time I met with them. And what I'd begun to discover in the days before." Faile frowned. "I've told you that I killed two Whitecloaks," he said. "Before I met you."

"Yes."

"Settle back," he said. "You need to know the whole story." And so he told her. Hesitantly at first, but the words soon grew easier. He spoke of Shadar Logoth, and of their group being scattered. Of Egwene letting him take the lead, perhaps the first time he'd been forced to do that.

He'd already told her of his meeting with Elyas. She knew much about Perrin, things that he'd never told anyone else, things he'd never even spoken of with Elyas. She knew about the wolf. She knew that he feared he'd lose himself.

But she didn't know what he felt in battle. She didn't know what it had felt like to kill those Whitecloaks, to taste their blood—either in his own mouth, or through his link with the wolves. She didn't know what it had been like to be consumed by anger, fear and desperation when she'd been taken. These were the things he haltingly explained.

He told her of the frenzy he'd gone into when searching for her in the wolf dream. He spoke of Noam and what he feared would happen to him. And of how it related to how he acted when he fought.

Faile listened, sitting quietly atop the hilltop, arms wrapped around her legs, lit by candlelight. Her scents were subdued. Perhaps he should have held some things back. No woman wanted to know what a beast her husband became when he killed, did she? But now that he was speaking, he wanted to be rid of his secrets. He was tired of them.

Each word spoken made him relax more. It did what the meal—touching though it had been—hadn't been able to. In telling her of his struggles, he felt some of his burden lift.

He finished by speaking of Hopper. He wasn't certain why he'd saved the wolf for last; Hopper was part of much Perrin had told before—the Whitecloaks, the wolf dream. But it felt right to reserve Hopper until the end, so he did.

As he finished, he stared at the flame of one of the candles. Two of them had gone out, leaving others still to flicker. That wasn't dim light to his eyes. He had trouble remembering what the days had been like when his senses had been as weak as an ordinary man's.

Faile leaned against him, wrapping his arm around her. "Thank you," she said.

He let out a deep sigh, leaning back against the stump behind him, feeling her warmth.

"I want to tell you about Maiden," she said.

"You don't have to," he said. "Just because I—"

"Hush. I was quiet while you spoke. It's my turn."

"All right."

It should have been worrying for him to hear about Maiden. He lay with his back to the stump, sky crackling with energy above, the Pattern itself in danger of unraveling, while his wife spoke of being captured and beaten. Yet it was one of the most oddly relaxing things he'd ever experienced.

The events in that city had been important to her, maybe even good for her. Though he was angered at hearing how Sevanna had trussed Faile up naked and left her overnight. Someday he'd hunt that woman down.

Not today, however. Today he had his wife in his arms, and her strong voice was a comfort. He should have realized she would have planned her own escape. In fact, listening to her careful preparation, he began to feel a fool. She'd been worried that he'd get himself killed trying to rescue her—she didn't say it, but he could infer it. How well she knew him.

Faile left some things out. He didn't mind. Faile would be like a penned and caged animal without her secrets. He got a good hint of what she was hiding, though. It was something to do with that Brotherless who had captured her, something about Faile's plans to trick the man and his friends into helping her escape. Perhaps she'd felt a fondness for him, and didn't wish Perrin to regret killing him. That wasn't necessary. Those Brotherless had been with the Shaido, and they had attacked and killed men under Perrin's protection. No act of kindness would redeem that. They deserved their deaths.

That gave him pause. The Whitecloaks probably said very similar things about him. But the Whitecloaks had attacked first.

She finished. It was very late, now, and Perrin reached over to a bundle that Faile's servants had brought up, pulling out a blanket.

"Well?" Faile asked as he settled back, putting his arm around her again.

"I'm surprised that you didn't give me an earful for barreling in like a wild bull and stomping all over your plans."

That made her smell satisfied. It wasn't the emotion he'd expected, but he'd long ago stopped trying to decipher the ways of women's thought.

"I almost brought the matter up tonight," Faile said, "so that we could have a proper argument and a proper reconciliation."

"Why didn't you?"

"I decided that this night should be done in the Two Rivers way."

"And you think husbands and wives don't argue in the Two Rivers?" he asked, amused.

"Well, perhaps they do. But you, husband, always seem uncomfortable when we yell. I'm very glad you've begun to stand up for yourself, as is proper. But I have asked much from you to adapt to my ways. I thought, tonight, I would try to adapt to yours."

Those were words that he had never expected to hear from Faile. It seemed the most personal thing she could ever have given him. Embarrassingly, he felt tears in his eyes, and he pulled her tight.

"Now," she said, "I'm not a docile sheep, mind you."

"I would never think that," he said. "Never."

She smelled satisfied.

"I'm sorry I didn't give much thought to you escaping on your own," Perrin said.

"I forgive you."

He looked down at her, those beautiful dark eyes reflecting the candlelight. "Does this mean we can have the reconciliation without the argument?"

She smiled. "I will allow it, this once. And, of course, the servants have strict orders to ensure our solitude."

He kissed her. It felt so very right, and he knew that the worries he'd had—and the awkwardness that had been between them since Maiden—were gone. Whether it had been something real or something he imagined, it had passed.

He had Faile back, truly and completely.

CHAPTER 17

Partings, and a Meeting

The morning after the gholam attack, Mat woke from dreams rotten as last month's eggs, feeling stiff and aching. He had spent the night sleeping in a hollow he'd found beneath Aludra's supply wagon. He had chosen the location by random chance, using his dice.

He climbed out from under the wagon, standing and rolling his shoulder, feeling it pop. Bloody ashes. One of the best things about having money was not having to sleep in ditches. There were beggars who spent nights better than this.

The wagon smelled of sulphur and powders. He was tempted to peek under the oiled tarp that stretched over the back of, but there would be no point. Aludra and her powders were incomprehensible. So long as the dragons performed, Mat did not mind not knowing how they worked. Well, he did not mind it much. Not enough to risk irritating her.

She was not there at the wagon, fortunately for Mat. She would complain at him again for not having gotten her a bellfounder. She seemed to think him her own personal messenger boy. An unruly one, who refused to do his job properly. Most women had moments like that.

He walked through camp, brushing bits of straw from his hair. He almost went searching for Lopin to have him draw a bath, until he remembered that Lopin was dead. Bloody ashes! Poor man.

Thinking about poor Lopin put Mat in an even more dour mood as he walked toward where he'd find some breakfast. Juilin found him first. The short Tairen thief-catcher wore his flat-topped conical hat and dark blue "Mat," he said. "Is it true? You've given permission for the Aes Sedai to go back to the Tower?"

"They didn't need my permission," Mat said, wincing. If the women heard it said that way, they would tan his hide and make saddle leather from it. "I'm planning to give them horses, though."

"They have them already," Juilin said, looking in the direction of the picket lines. "Said you gave them permission."

Mat sighed. His stomach growled, but food would have to wait. He walked toward the picket lines; he would need to make sure the Aes Sedai did not make off with his best stock.

"I've been thinking I might go with them," Juilin said, joining Mat. "Take Thera to Tar Valon."

"You're welcome to leave any time," Mat said. "I won't hold you here." Juilin was a good enough fellow. A little stiff at times. Well, very stiff. Juilin could make a Whitecloak look relaxed. He was not the type you wanted to take with you dicing; he would spend the night scowling at everyone in the tavern and muttering about the crimes they had certainly committed. But he was reliable, and a good hand to have in a pinch.

"I want to get back to Tear," Juilin said. "But the Seanchan would be so close, and Thera… It worries her. She doesn't much like the idea of Tar Valon either, but we don't have many choices, and the Aes Sedai promised that if I came with them, they'd get me work in Tar Valon."

"So, this is parting, then?" Mat said, stopping and turning to him.

"For now," Juilin said. He hesitated, then held out his hand. Mat took it and shook, and then the thief-catcher was off to gather his things and his woman.

Mat thought for a moment, then changed his mind and headed for the cook tent. Juilin would slow the Aes Sedai, probably, and he wanted to fetch something.

A short time later, he arrived at the picket lines fed and carrying a cloth-wrapped bundle under his arm. The Aes Sedai had, of course, created an inordinately large caravan out of some of his best horses. Teslyn and Joline also seemed to have decided they could commandeer some pack animals and some soldiers to do the loading. Mat sighed and walked into the mess, checking over the horses.

Joline sat on Moonglow, a mare of Tairen stock that had belonged to one of the men Mat had lost in the fighting to escape the Seanchan. The more reserved Edesina had mounted Firewisp, and was glancing occasionally at two women who stood to the side. Dark-skinned Bethamin and pale, yellow-haired Seta were former sul'dam.

The Seanchan women tried very hard to look aloof as the group gathered. Mat sauntered up to them.

"Highness," Seta said, "it is true? You're going to allow these to roam free of you?"

"Best to be rid of them," Mat said, wincing at her choice of titles for him. Did they have to throw around such words that like they were wooden pennies? Anyway, the two Seanchan women had changed a great deal since beginning with the group, but they still seemed to find it odd that Mat did not wish to use the Aes Sedai as weapons. "Do you want to go, or do you want to stay?"

"We will go," Bethamin said firmly. She was determined to learn, it seemed,

"Yes,' Seta said, "though I sometimes think it might be better to simply let us die, as opposed to… Well, what we are, what we represent, means that we are a danger to the Empire."

Mat nodded. "Tuon is a sul'dam," he said.

The two women looked down.

"Go with the Aes Sedai," Mat said. "I'll give you your own horses, so you don't have to rely on them. Learn to channel. That'll be more use than dying. Maybe someday you two can convince Tuon of the truth. Help me find a way to fix this without causing the Empire to collapse."

The two women looked to him, more firm and confident, suddenly. "Yes, Highness," Bethamin said. "It is a good purpose for us to have. Thank you, Highness."

Seta actually got tears in her eyes! Light, what did they think he had just promised them? Mat retreated before they could get any more odd ideas in their heads. Flaming women. Still, he could not help feeling sorry for them. Learning that they could channel, worrying they might be a danger to everyone around them.

That's bow Rand felt, Mat thought. Poor fool. As always, the colors swirled when he thought of Rand. He tried not to do it too often, and before he could banish those colors, he caught a glimpse of Rand shaving in a fine, gilded mirror hanging in a beautiful bathing chamber.

Mat gave some orders to get the sul'dam horses, then he walked over toward the Aes Sedai. Thom had arrived and he strolled over. "Light, Mat," he said. "You look like you tangled with a briarstitch patch and came out sore.

Mat raised a hand to his hair, which was probably a real sight. "I lived the night, and the Aes Sedai are leaving. I've half a mind to dance a jig at that."

Thom snorted. "Did you know those two were going to be here?"

"The sul'dam? I figured."

"No, those two." He pointed.

Mat turned, frowning as he found Leilwin and Bayle Domon riding. Their possessions were rolled up on the backs of their horses. Leilwin—then known as Egeanin—had once been a Seanchan noblewoman, but Tuon had stripped her name away. She wore a dress with divided skirts of muted gray. Her short dark hair had grown out, and hung over her ears.

She climbed from her saddle and stalked in Mat's direction.

"Burn me," Mat said to Thom, "if I can be rid of her, too, I'll almost start thinking that life has turned fair on me."

Domon followed her as they approached. He was her so'jhin. Or… could he still be so'jhin, now that she had no title? Well, either way, he was her husband. The Illianer was thick of girth, and strong. He was not too bad a fellow, except when he was around Leilwin. Which was always.

"Cauthon," she said, stepping up to him.

"Leilwin," he replied. "You're leaving?"

"Yes."

Mat smiled. He really was going to do that dance!

"I always intended to make my way to the White Tower," she continued. "I set my mind there on the day I left Ebou Dar. If the Aes Sedai are leaving, I will go with them. A ship is always wise to join a convoy, when the right opportunity is presented."

"Too bad to see you go," Mat lied, tipping his hat to her. Leilwin was as tough as a hundred-year oak stuck with bits of axe left over from the men foolish enough to try to chop it down. If her horse threw a shoe on the road to Tar Valon, she would likely sling the animal over her shoulder and carry it the rest of the way.

But she did not like Mat, for all he had done to save her skin. Maybe it was because he had not let her take charge, or maybe because she had been forced act like his lover. Well, he had not enjoyed that part either. It had been like holding a sword by the blade and pretending that it did not sting.

Though it had been fun to watch her squirm.

"Be well, Matrim Cauthon," Leilwin said. "I don't envy the place you've put yourself in. In some ways, I think the winds that carry you may actually be rougher than the ones which have buffeted me, recently." She nodded to him, then turned to go.

Domon reached over, laying a hand on Mat's arm. "You did do as you said. By my aged grandmother! You gave a bumpy ride of it, but you did do as you said. My thanks."

The two of them moved off. Mat shook his head, waving to Thom and strolling over to the Aes Sedai. "Teslyn," Mat said. "Edesina. Joline. All' well?"

"It is," Joline said.

"Good, good," Mat said. "You have sufficient pack animals?"

"They will do, Master Cauthon," Joline said. Then, covering a wince she added, "Thank you for giving them to us."

Mat smiled broadly. My, but it was amusing to hear her trying to act respectful! She had obviously expected Elayne to welcome her and the others with open arms, not turn them away from the palace without an audience.

Joline eyed Mat, lush lips pressed together. "I would liked to have tamed you, Cauthon," she said. "I've still half a mind to return someday and see the job done properly."

"I'll wait breathlessly for that, then," he said, taking the cloth-wrapped package from under his arm. He handed it up to her.

"What is this?" she asked, not reaching for it.

Mat shook the bundle. "Parting gift," he said. "Where I come from, you never let a traveler depart without giving her something for the road. It would be rude."

Reluctantly, she accepted it and peeked inside. She was obviously surprised to find that it contained a collection of about a dozen powdered sweetbuns. "Thank you," she said, frowning.

"I'm sending soldiers with you," Mat said. "They'll bring my horses back once you arrive in Tar Valon."

Joline opened her mouth as if to complain, but then closed it. What argument could she make?

"That will be acceptable, Cauthon," Teslyn said, moving her black gelding closer.

"I'll give them orders to do as you say," Mat said, turning to her. "So you'll have people to command about and make set up your tents. But there's a condition attached."

Teslyn raised an eyebrow.

"I want you to tell the Amyrlin something," he said. "If it's Egwene, this should be easy. But even if it isn't, you tell her. The White Tower has something of mine, and it's nearly time that I reclaimed it. I don't want to, but what I want never seems to matter a whisker, these days. So I'll be coming, and I don't mean to be bloody turned away." He smiled. "Use that exact language."

Testlyn, to her credit, chuckled softly. "I'll see it done, though I doubt rumors are true. Elaida would not have given up the Amyrlin Seat."

"You might be surprised." Mat surely had been, when he had discovered women calling Egwene Amyrlin. He did not know what had happened up at the White Tower, but he had a sinking feeling that the Aes Sedai had wrapped poor Egwene up in their schemes so soundly that she would never escape. He had half a mind to ride up there himself and see if he could get her out. But he had other tasks. Egwene would have to see to herself for now. She was a capable girl; she could probably handle it without him for a while.

Thom stood to his side, looking thoughtful. He did not know for sure that Mat had blown the Horn—at least, Mat had never told him. He tried to forget about the bloody thing. But Thom had probably guessed.

"Well, I suppose you should be going," Mat said. "Where's Setalle?"

"She'll be staying here," Teslyn said. "She said that she wanted to keep you from making too many missteps." She raised an eyebrow, and Joline and Edesina nodded sagaciously. They all assumed that Setalle was a former runaway servant from the White Tower, perhaps having fled as a girl because of a misdeed.

Well, that meant he wouldn't be rid of the entire group. Still, if he had to pick one to stay, it would be Mistress Anan. She would probably be wanting to find a way to meet up with her husband and family, who had fled Ebou Dar by ship.

Juilin walked up, leading Thera. Had that frightened wisp of a woman really been the Panarch of Tarabon? Mat had seen mice that were less timid. Mat's soldiers brought out horses for the two of them. All in all, this expedition was costing him some forty animals and a file of soldiers. But it would be worth it. Besides, he intended to retrieve both men and horses—along with information about what was really happening in Tar Valon.

He nodded to Vanin. The thick-waisted horse thief had not been too pleased when Mat had ordered him to go along to Tar Valon and gather information. Mat had figured he would be ecstatic, considering how he doted on the Aes Sedai. Well, he would be even less happy when he found Juilin was along; Vanin tended to step lightly around the thief-catcher.

Vanin mounted a bay gelding. As far as the Aes Sedai knew, he was a senior Redarm and one of Mat's field scouts, but nobody to be suspicious of. He did not look very threatening, except maybe as a danger to a bowl of boiled potatoes. That might be why he was so good at what he did. Mat did not need any horses stolen, but Vanin's talents could be applied to other tasks.

"Well," Mat said, turning back to the Aes Sedai, "I won't keep you further, then." He stepped back, avoiding looking at Joline—who had a predatory cast to her eyes that reminded him all too much of Tylin. Teslyn waved and, curiously, Edesina nodded to him in respect. Juilin had a wave for him and Thom, and Mat got a nod from Leilwin. The woman chewed rocks for breakfast and nails for supper, but she was fair. Maybe he could talk to Tuon, get her reinstated or something.

Don't be a fool, he thought, giving a wave to Bayle Domon. First you'll need to convince Tuon not to make you da'covale. He was half convinced she intended to see him as her servant, husband or not. Thinking about that made him sweat around the collar.

Before long, they were making dust along the road. Thom stepped up beside Mat, watching the riders. "Sweetbuns?"

"Tradition among us Two Rivers folk."

"Never heard of that tradition."

"It's very obscure."

"Ah, I see. And what did you do to those buns?"

"Sprinklewort," Mat said. "It'll turn her mouth blue for a week, maybe two. And she won't share the sweetbuns with anyone, except maybe her Warders. Joline is addicted to the things. She must have eaten seven or eight bags' worth since we got to Caemlyn."

"Nice," Thom said, knuckling his mustache. "Childish, though."

"I'm trying to get back to my basic roots," Mat said. "You know, recapture some of my lost youth."

"You're barely twenty winters old!"

"Sure, but I did a lot of living when I was younger. Come on. Mistress Anan is staying, and that gives me an idea."

"You need a shave, Matrim Cauthon." Mistress Anan folded her arms as she regarded him.

He reached up, touching his face. Lopin had always done that, each morning. The man got as sulky as a dog in the rain when Mat did not let him do such things, though lately Mat had been growing out his beard to avoid notice. It still itched like a week-old scab.

He had found Setalle at the supply tents, overseeing the midday meal. Soldiers from the Band hunkered down, chopping vegetables and stewing beans with the furtive expression of men who had been given firm instructions. Setalle was not needed here; the Band's cooks had always been able to prepare meals without her. But there was nothing a woman liked better than finding men who were relaxing, then giving them orders. Besides, Setalle was a former innkeeper and—remarkably—a former Aes Sedai. Mat often found her supervising things that did not need supervising.

Not for the first time, he wished Tuon were still traveling with him. Setalle had usually taken Tuon's side, but staying with the Daughter of the Nine Moons had often kept her busy. Nothing was more dangerous for the sanity of men than a woman with too much time on her hands.

Setalle still wore clothing of the Ebou Dari style, which Mat found pleasant, considering the plunging neckline. That kind of outfit worked particularly well on a woman as buxom as Setalle. Not that he noticed. She had golden hoops in her ears, a stately demeanor and gray in her hair. The jeweled wedding knife worn around her neck seemed something of a warning, the way it nestled in her cleavage. Not that Mat noticed that, either.

"I've been growing the beard intentionally," Mat said to her statement. "I want to—"

"Your coat is dirty," she said, nodding to a soldier who brought her some onions he had peeled. He sheepishly poured them into a pot, not looking at Mat. "And your hair a mess. You look like you've been in a brawl, and it's not yet noon."

"I'm fine," Mat said. "I'll clean up later. You didn't go with the Aes Sedai."

"Each step toward Tar Valon would take me farther from where I need to be. I need to send word to my husband. When we parted, I didn't suspect that I'd end up in Andor of all places."

"I'm thinking I might be getting access to someone who can make gateways here soon," Mat said. "And I…" He frowned as another group of soldiers approached, carrying a few undersized quail they'd hunted. The soldiers looked ashamed of the terrible catch.

Setalle ordered them to pluck the birds without so much as a glance toward Mat. Light, he needed to get her out of his camp. Things would not be normal here until they were all gone.

"Don't look at me like that, Lord Mat," Setalle said. "Noram went into the city to see what kind of provisions he could find. I've noted that without the cook himself here to prod the men, meals don't get done at any reasonable speed. Not all of us like to take lunch when the sun is setting."

"I didn't say a thing," Mat said, keeping his voice even. He nodded to the side. "Can we talk for a moment?"

Setalle hesitated, then nodded and stepped away from the others with him. "What's going on really?" she said softly. "You look like you slept under a hay pile."

"I slept under a wagon, actually. And my tent's stained with blood. Not really looking forward to going there to change clothing right now."

Her gaze softened. "I understand your loss. But that's no excuse to go around looking like you've been living in an alleyway. You'll need to hire another serving man."

Mat scowled. "I never needed one in the first place. I can take care of myself. Look, I have a favor to ask of you. I want you to watch after Olver for a little while."

"For what purpose?"

"That thing might come back," Mat said. "And it could try to hurt him. Besides, I'm going to be leaving with Thom shortly. I might be back, I should be back. But if I don't, I… Well, I would rather he not be left alone."

She studied him. "He would not be alone. The men in camp seem to have a great deal of fondness for the child."

"Sure, but I don't like the things they're teaching him. The boy needs better examples than that lot."

She seemed amused by that for some reason. "I've already begun instructing the child in letters. I suppose I can watch after him for a time, if need be."

"Great. Wonderful." Mat let out a relieved sigh. Women were always happy for a chance to educate a boy when he was young; Mat thought they assumed they could educate him out of becoming a man if they tried hard enough. "I'll give you some money. You can go into the city and find an inn."

"I've been into the city," Setalle said. "Every inn in the place seems packed to the walls already."

"I'll find a place for you," Mat promised. "Just keep Olver safe. When the time comes, and I have someone to make gateways, I'll have them send you to Illian so you can find your husband."

"A deal," Setalle said. She hesitated, glancing northward. "The… others are gone, then?"

"Yes." Good riddance.

She nodded, looking regretful. Maybe she had not been ordering his men about for lunch because she had been offended at seeing them relax. Maybe she had been looking for something to busy herself at.

"I'm sorry," Mat said. "About whatever happened to you."

"The past is gone," she replied. "And I need to leave it be. I shoud never have even asked to see the item you wear. These last few weeks have made me forget myself."

Mat nodded, parting with her, then went searching for Olver. And after that, he really should get around to changing his coat. And burn him, he was going to shave, too. The men looking for him could bloody kill him if they wanted. A slit throat would be better than this itching.

Elayne strolled through the palace's Sunrise Garden. This smaller garden had always been a favored location of her mother's, set atop the roof of the lace's eastern wing. It was rimmed by an oval of white stonework, with a larger, curved wall at the back.

Elayne had a full view of the city below. In earlier years, she had liked the lower gardens precisely because they were a retreat. It was in those gardens that she had first met Rand. She pressed a hand to her belly. Though she felt enormous, the pregnancy was only just beginning to show. Unfortunately, she'd had to commission an entirely new set of gowns. She would probably have to do so again in the coming months. What a bother.

Elayne continued to walk the roof garden. Pink jumpups and white morningstars bloomed in planters. The blossoms weren't nearly as large as they should have been, and already they were wilting. The gardeners complained that nothing helped. Outside the city, grass and weeds were dying in swaths, and the patchwork quilt of fields and crops looked depressingly brown. It is coming, Elayne thought. She continued on her way, walking a path made of springy grass, manicured and kept short. The gardeners' efforts weren't without some results. The grass here was mostly green, and the air smelled of the roses that wove their way up the sides of the wall. Those had brown spots on them, but they had bloomed.

A tinkling stream ran through the middle of the garden, lined in carefully placed river stones. That stream ran only when she visited; water had to be carried up to the cistern.