Текст книги "Towers of midnight"

Автор книги: Robert Jordan

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Elayne had chosen Chesmal with calculation. The woman had seemed to have some authority among the Black, and she was powerful enough that most of the others would bow to her. But she also had seemed more passionate than logical, when Elayne had last encountered her. That would be important.

The tall, handsome woman spun as soon as Elayne entered the cell. Elayne held her breath. Blessedly, the act worked. Chesmal threw herself to the straw-covered floor of the cell.

"Great One," the woman hissed. "I had—"

"Silence!" Elayne shouted, her voice booming.

Chesmal cringed, then glanced to the side, as if waiting for the Guards outside to peek in. There would be Kinswomen there to hold Chesmal's shield; Elayne could feel them. Nobody came, despite the sound. The Kin were following Elayne's orders, odd though those orders were.

"You are less than a rat," Elayne said with her disguised voice. "You were sent to see to the Great Lord's glory, but what have you done? Allowed yourself to be captured by these fools, these children?"

Chesmal wailed, bowing herself further. "I am dust, Great One. I am nothing! We have failed you. Please, do not destroy me!"

"And why shouldn't I?" Elayne barked. "The work of your particular group has been marked with failure after failure! What have you done that would possibly persuade me to allow you to live?"

"We have killed many of these fools who work against the Great Lord!" Chesmal wailed.

Elayne winced, then, steeling herself, created a whip of Air and lashed it across the woman's back. It was no more than Chesmal deserved. "You?" Elayne said. "You had nothing to do with their deaths! Do you think me stupid? Do you think me ignorant!"

"No, Great One," Chesmal wailed, curling up further. "Please!"

"Then give me reason to let you live."

"I have information, Great One," Chesmal said quickly. "One of those we were told to seek, the two men that must be killed at all costs… one is here in Caemlyn!"

What's this? Elayne hesitated. "Tell me more."

"He rides with a mercenary group," Chesmal said, sounding relieved to have information that was wanted. "He is the man with the keen eyes who wears the hat and carries the spear marked by ravens!"

Mat? The Darkfriends were hunting Mat? He was friends with Rand, true, and ta'veren. But what had Mat done to gain the ire of the Forsaken themselves? More disturbing was that Chesmal knew of Mat's presence in the city. He hadn't arrived until after the Black sisters had been captured! That meant…

That meant Chesmal and the others were in contact with other Darkfriends. But who? "And how did you discover this? Why was this not reported earlier?"

"I got news this very day, Great One," Chesmal said, sounding more self-assured now. "We are planning an assassination."

"And how can you do that while imprisoned?" Elayne demanded.

Chesmal looked up briefly, her square face showing confusion. She said nothing.

I've tipped her off that I don't know as much as I should. Elayne gritted her teeth behind her mask of shadows.

"Great One," Chesmal said. "I have been following my orders carefully. We are almost in a position to begin the invasion, as commanded. Soon, Andor will be awash with the blood of our enemies and the Great Lord shall reign in fire and ash. We will see it done."

What was this? An invasion, of Andor? Impossible! How would it happen? How could it happen? And yet, dared she ask the questions? Chesmal seemed to suspect that something was wrong.

"You are not the Chosen who visited me before, are you, Great One?" Chesmal asked.

"Our ways are not to be questioned by one such as you," Elayne growled, punctuating the remark with another switch of Air across the woman's back. "I need to know how much you have been told. So that I can judge the gaps in your understanding. If you are ignorant of… Well, that is to be seen. First, explain to me how much you know of the invasion."

"I know that the deadline nears, Great One," Chesmal said. "If we had longer, perhaps we could plan more extensively. If you could see me freed from these confines, then I could…"

She trailed off, glancing to the side.

Deadline. Elayne opened her mouth to demand more, but hesitated. What? She could no longer feel the Kin outside. Had they retreated? And what of Chesmal's shield?

The door rattled, the lock spun, then the door flew open, revealing a group of people on the other side. And they were not the group of Guards Elayne had been expecting. At their head was a man with short black hair, thinning at the sides, and huge mustaches. He wore brown trousers and a black shirt, his coat long, almost an open-fronted robe.

Sylvase's secretary! Behind him were two women. Temaile and Eldrith. Both of the Black Ajah. Both holding to the Source. Light!

Elayne stifled her surprise, meeting their gaze and not giving ground. If she could convince one Black sister that she was of the Forsaken, then perhaps she could convince three. Temaile's eyes opened wide, and she threw herself to her knees, as did the secretary. Eldrith, however, hesitated. Elayne couldn't be certain if it was her stance, her disguise, or her reaction to seeing the three newcomers. Perhaps it was something else entirely. Either way, Eldrith wasn't taken in. The round-faced woman began to channel.

Elayne cursed to herself, forming weaves of her own. She slammed a shield at Eldrith right as she felt one come for her. Fortunately, she was holding Mat's ter'angreal. The weave unraveled, and the medallion grew cold in Elayne's hand. Elayne's own weave slid evenly between Eldrith and the Source, cutting her off. The glow of the Power winked out around her.

"What are you doing, you idiot!" Chesmal screeched. "You try to overthrow one of the Chosen? You'll see us all dead!"

"That's not one of the Chosen," Eldrith yelled back. Elayne belatedly thought to weave a gag of Air. "You've been duped! It—"

Elayne got the gag in her mouth, but it was too late. Temaile—who had always looked too delicate to be a Black sister—embraced the Source and looked up. Chesmal's expression turned from horror to anger.

Elayne quickly tied off Eldrith's shield and began weaving another one. A weave of Air hit her. The foxhead medallion grew cold, and—blessing Mat for his timely loan—Elayne placed a shield between Chesmal and the Source.

Temaile gaped at Elayne, obviously stunned to see her weaves fail. Sylvase's secretary wasn't so slow, however. He threw himself forward unexpectedly, ramming Elayne back against the wall with a great deal of force.

Pain laced out from her shoulder, and she felt something crack. Her shoulder bone? The babes! she thought immediately. It was a primal flash of horror and instant terror that defied all thoughts about Min and viewings. In her surprise, she let go of the gateway leading back to her room above. It winked out.

"She has a ter'angreal of some kind," Temaile cried. "Weaves fall off her."

Elayne scrambled, pushing against the secretary and beginning a weave of Air to thrust him back. As she did, however, he clawed at her hand, perhaps having noticed a flash of silvery metal there. The secretary got his long fingers around the medallion just as Elayne's burst of Air hit him.

The secretary flew backward, clinging to the medallion. Elayne growled, still furious. Temaile grinned maliciously, and weaves of Air sprang up around her. She threw them forward, but Elayne met them with her own.

The two weaves of Air slammed against one another, causing the air to churn in the small room. Bits of straw blew up in a flurry. Elayne's ears protested the sudden pressure. The dark-haired secretary scrambled back from the battle, clutching the ter'angreal. Elayne reached a weave toward him—but it unraveled.

Elayne yelled in anger, pain throbbing in her shoulder where she'd hit the wall. The small room was cramped with so many people in it, and Temaile stood in the doorway, unintentionally blocking the secretary from getting away. Or maybe it was intentional; she probably wanted that medallion. The other two Black sisters hunkered down, air blasting around them, still shielded.

Elayne drew as much through the angreal as she dared, forcing her weave of Air forward, shoving aside the one Temaile was using to push. The two held for a moment; then Elayne's burst through, crashing into Temaile and tossing her out of the cell and against the stone wall outside. Elayne followed with a shield, though it appeared that Temaile had been knocked unconscious by the blast. The secretary bolted for the nearby doorway. Elayne felt a stab of panic, She did the only thing she could think of. She picked up Chesmal in a weave of Air and threw her at the secretary.

Both went down in a heap. A metallic ping sounded in the air as the foxhead medallion slipped free and hit the ground, rolling through the door.

Elayne took a deep breath, pain flaring across her chest, her arm falling slack. She could no longer hold it up properly. She cradled it in her other arm, angry, clinging to the Source. The sweetness of saidar was a comfort.

She wove Air and tied up Chesmal, the secretary and Eldrith, who had been trying to crawl toward Elayne unobtrusively.

Calming herself, Elayne pushed past them out of the small cell to check on Temaile in the hallway outside. The woman was still breathing, but was indeed unconscious. Elayne tied her in Air, too, to be certain, then carefully picked up the foxhead medallion. She winced at the pain of her other arm. Yes, she'd broken a bone for certain.

The dark hallway was empty, set with four doorways for cells, lit by only a single stand-lamp. Where were the Guards and Kin? She reluctantly released the weaves that formed her disguise—she wouldn't want any soldiers arriving and mistaking her for one of the Darkfriends. Certainly someone had heard some of that racket! In the back of her mind, she could sense concern from Birgitte, who was getting closer. The Warder had undoubtedly felt Elayne's injury.

Almost, Elayne preferred the pain of her shoulder to the lecture she'd get from Birgitte. She winced again, considering that, as she turned and inspected her captives. She'd need to check the other cells.

Of course her babes would be all right. She would be all right. She'd overreacted to the pain; she hadn't really been afraid. Still, best to– "Hello, my Queen," a man's voice whispered in her ear right before a second pain blossomed in her side. She gasped, stumbling forward. A hand reached out and yanked the medallion from her fingers.

Elayne spun, and the room seemed blurry. Something warm ran down her side. She was bleeding! She was so stunned, she felt the Source slip away from her.

Doilin Mellar stood behind her in the hallway, holding a bloodied knife in his right hand, hefting the medallion in his left. His hatchetlike face was broken by a deep smile, almost a leer. Though he wore only rags, he looked as self-assured as a king on his throne.

Elayne hissed and reached for the Source. But nothing happened. She heard chuckling behind her. She'd hadn't tied off Chesmal's shield! As soon as Elayne released the Source, the weaves would have vanished. Sure enough, Elayne glanced and found weaves cutting her off from the Source.

Chesmal, handsome face flushed, smiled at her. Light! There was blood pooling at Elayne's feet. So much of it.

She stumbled back against the wall of the hallway, Mellar to one side, Chesmal the other.

She couldn't die. Min had said… We could be misinterpreting. Birgitte's voice returned to her. Any number of things could still go wrong.

"Heal her," Mellar said.

"What?" Chesmal demanded. Behind her, Eldrith was dusting herself off inside the cell doorway. She'd fallen to the ground when Elayne's weavings of Air dissipated, but her shield was still there. That one Elayne had tied in place.

Think, Elayne told herself, blood dribbling between her fingers. There has to be a way out. There has to be! Oh, Light! Birgitte, hurry!

"Heal her," Mellar said again. "The knife wound was to make her drop you."

"Fool," Chesmal said. "If the weaves had been tied off, a wound wouldn't have released us!"

"Then she would have died," Mellar said, shrugging. He eyed Elayne; those handsome eyes of his shone with lust. "And that would have been a pity. For she was promised to me, Aes Sedai. I won't have her die here in this dungeon. She doesn't die until I have had time to… enjoy her." He looked at the Black sister. "Besides, you think those whom we serve would be pleased if they knew you'd let the Queen of Andor die without yielding her secrets?"

Chesmal looked dissatisfied, but she apparently saw the wisdom in his words. Behind them, the secretary slipped out of the cell and—after glancing both ways—slunk down the hallway toward the steps and hurried up them. Chesmal crossed the hallway toward Elayne. Blessedly. Elayne was getting fuzzy-headed. She rested her back against the wall, barely feeling the pain of her broken shoulder, and slid down until she was sitting.

"Idiot girl," Chesmal said. "I saw through your ploy, of course. I was leading you on, knowing that help was coming."

The words were hollow; she was lying for the benefit of the others. The Healing. Elayne needed… that… Healing. Her mind was growing dull, her vision darkening. She held her hand to her side, terrified for herself, for her children.

Her hand slipped. She felt something through the fabric in the pocket of her dress. The foxhead medallion copy.

Chesmal put her hands on Elayne's head, crafting Healing weaves. Elayne's veins became ice water, her body overwhelmed by a wave of Power. She drew in a deep breath, the agony in her side and shoulder vanishing.

"There," Chesmal said. "Now, quickly, we need to—"

Elayne whipped free the other medallion and held it up. By reflex, Chesmal grabbed it. That made the woman unable to channel. Her weaves vanished, including Elayne's shield.

Chesmal cursed, dropping the medallion. It hit and rolled as Chesmal wove a shield.

Elayne didn't bother with a shield. This time, she wove Fire. Simple, direct, dangerous. The Dark sister's clothing burst into flame before she could finish weaving, and she cried out.

Elayne hauled herself to her feet. The hallway shook and spun—the Healing had taken a lot out of her—but before things stopped spinning, she wove another thread of Fire, lashing it at Mellar. He had risked the life of her children! He had stabbed her! He…

The weaves unraveled the moment they touched him. He smiled up at her, stopping something with his foot. The second medallion. "Here now," he said, scooping it up. "Another one? If I shake you, will a third fall free?"

Elayne hissed. Chesmal was still screaming, afire. She fell to the ground, kicking, the hallway growing pungent with the scent of burned flesh. Light! Elayne hadn't meant to kill her. But there wasn't time to spare. She wove Air, snatching up Eldrith again before the woman could escape. Elayne pushed her forward, between herself and Mellar, just in case. He watched with keen eyes, edging forward, holding the two medallions in one hand and his dagger in the other. It still glistened with Elayne's blood. "We aren't finished, my Queen," he said in a soft voice. "These others were promised power. But my reward was always to be you. I always collect what I am owed." He watched Elayne with care, expecting some trick.

If only she had one! She could barely stand upright. Holding the Source was difficult. She backed away, keeping Eldrith between herself and Mellar. His eyes flicked to the statuesque woman; she stood with arms tied to her sides by Air, floating an inch above the ground. With a jerking motion, he jumped forward and slit Eldrith's throat. Elayne started, scrambling backward.

"Sorry," Mellar said, and it took Elayne a moment to realize he was addressing Eldrith. "But orders are orders." With that, he ducked, plunging his dagger into Temaile's unconscious body.

He couldn't escape with the medallions! With a surge of strength, Elayne drew in the One Power and wove Earth. She pulled at the ceiling above Mellar as he stood up. Stones shattered, blocks falling downward, causing him to yell and cover his head as he ducked away. Something rang in the air. Metal on stone.

The hallway shook, and dust sprayed in the air. The rain of rocks drove Mellar away, but kept her from chasing. He vanished up the stairwell to the right. Elayne sank down to her knees, feeling drained. But then she saw something glittering among the rubble of the ceiling blocks she'd pulled down. A bit of silvery metal. One of the medallions.

Holding her breath, she grabbed it. Blessedly, the Source didn't leave her. Mellar had escaped with the copy, it seemed, but she still had the original.

She sighed, allowing herself to sit back against the cold stone wall. She wanted to lapse into unconsciousness, but forced herself to tuck away the medallion, then remain awake until Birgitte appeared in the hallway. The Warder panted heavily from having run, her red coat and golden braid wet with rainwater.

Mat stepped down into the hallway after her, wearing a scarf up around his face, his wet brown hair plastered to his head. His eyes darted from side to side, a quarterstaff held at guard.

Birgitte knelt by Elayne's side. "Are you all right?" she asked urgently.

Elayne nodded in exhaustion. "I got myself out of this one." In a way. "Did you happen to do the world a favor and kill Mellar on your way in?"

"Mellar?" Birgitte asked, alarmed. "No. Elayne, there's blood on your dress!"

"I'm fine," she said. "Really, I've been Healed."

So Mellar was free. "Quickly," she said. "Search the hallways. The Guards and the Kin who were guarding this place—"

"We found them," Birgitte said. "Stuffed into the bottom of the stairwell. Dead. Elayne, what happened?" To the side, Mat poked at Temaile's corpse, noting the dagger wound in her chest.

Elayne pressed her hands to her abdomen. Her babes would be all right, wouldn't they? "I did something very rash, Birgitte, and I know that you are going to scream at me for it. But would you first please take me to my rooms? I think we should have Melfane look at me. Just in case."

***

An hour after the failed assassination attempt on Egwene, Gawyn stood alone in a small room that was part of the Amyrlin's chambers. He'd been released from the weaves that had held him, then told to stay put. Egwene finally strode into the room. "Sit," she said.

He hesitated, but her fierce eyes could have set candles aflame. He sat down on the stool. This small room held several dressers and trunks for clothing. The doorway led out to the larger sitting room where he'd been captured in weaves; a doorway off of that room led to Egwene's bedchamber. Egwene shut the door, sequestering the two of them from the many guards, Warders and Aes Sedai milling about in the rooms outside. Their conversations made a low hum through the door. Egwene still wore red and gold and she had golden threads woven into her dark hair. Her cheeks were flushed with anger at him. That made her even more beautiful than usual.

"Egwene, I—"

"Do you realize what you have done?"

"I checked to see if the woman I love was safe, following the discovery of an assassin outside her door."

She folded her arms beneath her breasts. He could almost feel the heat of her anger. "Your yelling has drawn half of the White Tower. They saw you captured. The assassin probably knows, now, about my weaves."

"Light, Egwene! You talk as if I did it on purpose. I was only trying to protect you."

"I didn't ask for your protection! I asked for your obedience! Gawyn, don't you see the opportunity we've missed? If you hadn't scared Mesaana away, she'd have walked into my traps!"

"It wasn't one of the Forsaken," Gawyn said. "It was a man."

"You said you couldn't see the face or make out the figure because it was blurred."

"Well, yes," Gawyn said. "But he fought with the sword."

"And a woman couldn't use a sword? The size of the person you saw indicated a woman."

"Maybe, but one of the Forsaken? Light, Egwene, if it had been Mesaana, then she'd have used the Power to burn me to dust!"

"Another reason," Egwene said, "that you should not have disobeyed me. Perhaps you're right—perhaps this was one of Mesaana's minions. A Darkfriend or Gray Man. If that were the case, I'd have them captive and be able to learn about Mesaana's plots. And Gawyn, what if you had found Mesaana? What could you have done?"

He looked down at the floor.

"I told you that I had taken precautions," she continued. "And still you disobeyed! And now, because of what you've done, the murderer knows that I was anticipating her. She'll be more careful next time. How many lives do you think you just cost us?"

Gawyn kept his hands in his lap, trying to hide the fists that they had formed. He should have felt ashamed, but all he could feel was anger. A rage he couldn't explain—frustration at himself, but mostly at Egwene for turning an honest mistake into a personal affront.

"It seems to me," he said, "that you don't want a Warder at all. Because I'll tell you, Egwene, if you can't stand being looked after, then no man will do."

"Perhaps you are right," she said curtly. Her skirts rustled as she pulled open the door to the hall, went out and then pulled it closed behind her. Not quite a slam.

Gawyn stood up and wanted to kick the door. Light, what a mess this had become!

He could hear Egwene through the door, sending the gawkers back to their beds, ordering the Tower Guard to be extra vigilant tonight. That was likely for show. She knew that the assassin wouldn't try again so soon.

Gawyn slipped out of the room and left. She noted his departure, but said nothing to him, instead turning to speak softly with Silviana. The Red had a glare for Gawyn that would have made a boulder wince.

Gawyn passed several guards who—for their parts—seemed respectful of Gawyn. As far as they knew, he'd foiled an attempt on the Amyrlin's life. Gawyn nodded to their salutes. Chubain stood nearby, inspecting the knife that had nearly taken Gawyn in the chest.

Chubain held up the knife to him. "Have you ever seen anything like this?"

Gawyn took the narrow, sleek knife. It was balanced for throwing, with a fine steel blade that looked something like an elongated candle's flame. Set into the center were three bits of blood-colored rock. "What kind of stone is that?" Gawyn asked, holding the knife up to the light.

"I've never seen it before."

Gawyn turned the knife over a few times. There weren't any inscriptions or carvings. "This came within half a breath of claiming my life."

"You can take it, if you wish," Chubain said. "Maybe you can ask Bryne's men if they've ever seen one like it. We have a second one we found down the hallway."

"It was also intended for my heart," Gawyn said, tucking the knife into his belt. "Thank you. I have a gift for you in return."

Chubain raised an eyebrow.

"You've been complaining of the men you lost," Gawyn said. "Well, I've a group of soldiers I can recommend strongly."

"From Bryne's army?" Chubain asked, lips downturned. Like many of the Tower Guard, he still regarded Bryne's army as a rival force.

"No," Gawyn said. "Men loyal to the Tower. Some of those who trained to be Warders and who fought with me on Elaida's side. They're feeling displaced now, and they would rather be soldiers than Warders. I'd appreciate it if you'd give them a home. They're solid men and excellent warriors."

Chubain nodded. "Send them to me."

"They'll come to you tomorrow," Gawyn said. "I only ask one thing. Try not to break the group apart. They've been through much together. Their bond gives them strength."

"Shouldn't be difficult," Chubain said. "The Tenth Tower Company was destroyed nearly to a man by those flaming Seanchan. I'll set some veteran officers over your lads and form the new company out of them."

"Thank you," Gawyn said. He nodded toward Egwene's quarters. "Watch over her for me, Chubain. I think she's determined to see herself dead."

"It is ever my duty to defend and uphold the Amyrlin. But where will you be?"

"She made it clear that she wants no Warder," Gawyn said, his mind drifting back to the things Bryne had said to him earlier. What did he want, aside from Egwene? Perhaps it was time to find out. "I think it's past time I went to visit my sister."

Chubain nodded, and Gawyn took his leave. He visited the barracks and gathered his possessions—little more than a change of clothing and a winter cloak—then made his way to the stables and saddled Challenge.

Then he led the horse to the Traveling ground. Egwene maintained a sister on duty there at all times. Tonight's Aes Sedai—a petite, drowsy—eyed Green named Nimri—didn't question him. She made him a gateway to a hillside about an hour's travel from Caemlyn.

And so he left Tar Valon—and Egwene al'Vere—behind.

"What is that?" Lan demanded.

The aged Nazar looked up from his saddlebags, leather hadori holding down his powdery white hair. A small stream gurgled near their camp in the middle of a forest of highland pines. Those pines shouldn't have borne half so many brown needles.

Nazar had been tucking something into his saddlebags, and Lan had happened to spot a bit of gold peeking out. "This?" Nazar asked. He pulled the cloth out: a brilliant white flag with a golden crane embroidered in the center. It was a fine work, with beautiful stitching. Lan nearly grabbed it out of Nazar's fingers and ripped it in half.

"Now, I see that expression on your face, Lan Mandragoran," Nazar said. "Well, don't you be getting all self-centered about this. A man has a right to carry his kingdom's flag with him."

"You're a baker, Nazar."

"I'm a Borderlander first, son," the man said, tucking the banner away. "This is my heritage."

"Bah!" Lan said, turning away. The others were breaking up camp. He'd grudgingly allowed the three newcomers to join him—they were stubborn as boars, and in the end, he had had to succumb to his oath. He'd promised that he'd accept followers. These men, technically, hadn't asked to ride with him—they'd simply started doing it. That was enough. Besides, if they were going to travel in the same direction, then there was little sense in making two camps.

Lan continued to wipe his face dry from the morning's washing. Bulen was getting bread ready for breakfast. This grove of pines was in eastern Kandor; they were getting close to the border into Arafel. Perhaps he could– He froze. There were several new tents in their camp. A group of eight men were chatting with Andere. Three of them looked plump around the waist—not warriors, judging by their soft clothing, though they did appear to be Malkieri. The other five were all Shienarans, topknots on their heads, leather bracers on their arms, and horsebows stored in cases on their backs beside long, two-handed swords.

"What is this?" Lan demanded.

"Weilin, Managan and Gorenellin," Andere said, gesturing to the Malkieri. "These others are Qi, Joao, Merekel, Ianor, Kuehn—"

"I didn't ask who," Lan said, voice cold. "I asked what. What have you done?"

Andere shrugged. "We met them before running into you. We told them to wait along the southern roadway for us. Rakim fetched them last night, while you were sleeping."

"Rakim was supposed to be on watch!" Lan said.

"I watched in his stead," Andere said. "I figured we'd want these fellows."

All three of the plump merchants looked to Lan, then went down on their knees. One was weeping openly. "Tai'shar Malkier." The five Shienarans saluted Lan.

"Dai Shan," one said.

"We have brought what we could to the cause of the Golden Crane," another of the merchants added. "All that we could gather in a little time."

"It is not much," said the third. "But we lend you our swords as well. We may look to have grown soft, but we can fight. We will fight."

"I don't need what you brought," Lan said, exasperated. "I—"

"Before you say too much more, old friend," Andere said, laying a hand on Lan's shoulder, "perhaps you should have a look at that." He nodded to the side.

Lan frowned, hearing a rattling sound. He stepped past a patch of trees to look upon the path to the camp. Two dozen wagons were approaching, each piled high with supplies—weapons, sacks of grain, tents. Lan opened his eyes wide. A good dozen warhorses were hitched in a line, and strong oxen pulled the wagons. Teamsters and servants walked alongside them.

"When they said they sold what they could and brought supplies," Andere said, "they meant it."

"We will never be able to move quietly with all of this!" Lan said.

Andere shrugged.

Lan took a deep breath. Very well. He would work with it. "Moving quietly appears to be failing anyway. From now on, we will pose as a caravan delivering supplies to Shienar."

"But—"

"You will swear to me," he said, turning toward the men. "Each of you will swear not to reveal who I am or send word to anyone else who might be looking for me. You will swear it."

Nazar looked like he would object, but Lan silenced him with a stern look. One by one, they swore.

The five had become dozens, but it would stop there.