rj.thepathofdaggers-第88部分

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would　at　least　not　be　too　much　brighter　than　Semaradrid　or　Gregorin。　With　luck；　no　one　who　mattered　would　learn　before　it　was　too　late。
　　　　　　　Settling　in　to　wait；　Rand　thought　it　would　only　be　another　day　or　so；　but　as　the　days　stretched　out；　he　began　to　wonder　whether　he　might　be　nearly　as　big　a　fool　as　Weiramon。
　　　　　　　Most　of　the　Asha'man　were　out　searching　across　Illian　and　Tear　and　the　Plains　of　Maredo　for　the　rest　of　those　Rand　wanted。　Searching　through　the　cemaros。　Gateways　and　Traveling　were　all　very　well；　but　even　Asha'man　took　time　to　find　who　they　sought　when　downpours　hid　anything　fifty　paces　away　and　quagmires　dragged　rumor　to　a　near　halt。　Searching　Asha'man　passed　within　a　mile　of　their　quarry　in　ignorance；　and　turned　only　to　learn　the　men　had　moved　on　again。　Some　had　farther　to　go；　seeking　people　not　necessarily　eager　to　be　found。　Days　passed　before　the　first　brought　news。
　　　　　　　The　High　Lord　Sunamon　joined　Weiramon；　a　fat　man　with　an　unctuous　manner　…　toward　Rand；　at　least。　Smooth　in　his　fine　silk　coat；　always　smiling；　he　was　voluble　in　his　declarations　of　loyalty；　but　he　had　plotted　against　Rand　so　long　that　he　probably　did　so　in　his　sleep。　The　High　Lord　Torean　came；　with　his　lumpy　farmer's　face　and　his　vast　wealth；　stammering　about　the　honor　of　riding　once　more　at　the　Lord　Dragon's　side。　Gold　concerned　Torean　more　than　anything　else；　except　possibly　the　privileges　Rand　had　taken　away　from　the　nobles　in　Tear。　He　seemed　particularly　dismayed　to　learn　there　were　no　serving　girls　in　the　camp；　and　not　so　much　as　a　village　nearby　where　pliant　farmgirls　might　be　found。　Torean　had　schemed　against　Rand　every　bit　as　often　as　Sunamon。　Maybe　even　more　than　Gueyam；　or　Maraconn；　or　Arae。
　　　　　　　There　were　others。　There　was　Bertome　Saighan；　a　short；　ruggedly　handsome　man　with　the　front　of　his　head　shaved。　He　supposedly　did　not　mourn　the　death　of　his　cousin　Colavaere　too　greatly；　both　because　that　made　him　the　new　High　Seat　of　House　Saighan　and　because　rumor　said　Rand　had　executed　her。　Or　murdered　her。　Bertome　bowed　and　smiled；　and　his　smile　never　reached　his　dark　eyes。　Some　said　he　had　been　very　fond　of　his　cousin。　Ailil　Riatin　came；　a　slim　dignified　woman　with　big　dark　eyes；　not　young　but　quite　pretty；　protesting　that　she　had　a　Lance…captain　to　lead　her　armsmen　and　no　desire　to　take　the　field　in　person。　Protesting　her　loyalty　for　the　Lord　Dragon；　too。　But　her　brother　Toram　claimed　the　throne　Rand　meant　for　Elayne；　and　it　was　whispered　that　she　would　do　anything　for　Toram；　anything　at　all。　Even　join　with　his　enemies；　to　hamper　or　to　spy　or　both；　of　course。　Dalthanes　Annallin　came；　and　Amondrid　Osiellin；　and　Doressin　Chuliandred；　lords　who　had　supported　Colavaere's　seizure　of　the　Sun　Throne　when　they　thought　Rand　would　never　return　to　Cairhien。
　　　　　　　Cairhienin　and　Tairen；　they　were　brought　in　one　by　one；　with　fifty　retainers；　or　at　most　a　hundred。　Men　and　women　he　trusted　even　less　than　he　did　Gregorin　or　Semaradrid。　Most　were　men；　not　because　he　thought　the　women　any　less　dangerous　…　he　was　not　that　big　a　fool；　a　woman　would　kill　you　twice　as　fast　as　a　man；　and　usually　for　half　the　reason！　…　but　because　he　could　not　bring　himself　to　take　any　woman　except　the　most　dangerous；　where　he　was　going。　Ailil　could　smile　warmly　while　she　calculated　where　to　plant　the　knife　in　your　ribs。　Anaiyella；　a　willowy　simpering　High　Lady　who　gave　a　fair　imitation　of　a　beautiful　goosebrain；　had　returned　to　Tear　from　Cairhien　and　openly　begun　talking　of　herself　for　the　as…yet…nonexistent　throne　of　Tear。　Perhaps　she　was　a　fool；　but　she　had　managed　to　gain　a　great　deal　of　support；　both　among　nobles　and　in　the　streets。
　　　　　　　So　he　gathered　them　in；　all　the　folk　who　had　been　too　long　out　from　under　his　eye。　He　could　not　watch　all　of　them　all　the　time；　but　he　could　not　afford　to　let　them　forget　that　he　did　watch　sometimes。　He　gathered　them；　and　he　waited。　For　two　days。　Gnashing　his　teeth；　he　waited。　Five　days。　Eight。
　　　　　　　Rain　was　beating　a　diminishing　drum　on　his　tent　when　the　last　man　he　was　waiting　for　finally　arrived。
　　　　　　　Shaking　a　small　torrent　from　his　oiled…cloth　cape；　Davram　Bashere　blew　out　his　thick；　gray…streaked　mustaches　in　disgust　and　tossed　the　cape　over　a　barrel　chair。　A　short　man　with　a　great　hooked　beak　of　a　nose；　he　seemed　larger　than　he　was。　Not　because　he　strutted；　but　because　he　assumed　that　he　was　as　tall　as　any　man　present；　and　other　men　took　him　so。　Wise　men　did。　The　wolf…headed　ivory　baton　of　the　Marshal…General　of　Saldaea；　tucked　carelessly　behind　his　sword　belt；　had　been　earned　on　scores　of　battlefields　and　at　as　many　council　tables。　He　was　one　of　the　very　few　men　Rand　would　trust　with　his　life。
　　　　　　　〃I　know　you　don't　like　explaining；〃　Bashere　muttered；　〃but　I　could　use　a　little　illumination。〃　Adjusting　his　serpentine　sword；　he　sprawled　in　another　chair　and　flung　a　leg　over　the　arm　of　it。　He　always　seemed　at　his　ease；　but　he　could　uncoil　faster　than　a　whip。　〃That　Asha'man　fellow　wouldn't　say　more　than　you　needed　me　yesterday；　yet　he　said　not　to　bring　more　than　a　thousand　men。　I　only　had　half　that　with　me；　but　I　brought　them。　It　can't　be　a　battle。　Half　the　sigils　I　saw　out　there　belong　to　men　who'd　bite　their　tongues　if　they　saw　a　fellow　behind　you　with　a　knife；　and　most　of　the　rest　to　men　who'd　try　to　hold　your　attention。　If　they　hadn't　paid　the　knife　man　in　the　first　place。〃
　　　　　　　Seated　behind　his　writing　table　in　his　shirtsleeves；　Rand　wearily　pressed　the　heels　of　his　palms　against　his　eyes。　With　Boreane　Carivin　left　behind；　the　lamp　wicks　needed　proper　trimming；　and　a　faint　haze　of　smoke　hung　in　the　air。　Besides；　he　had　been　awake　most　of　the　night　poring　over　the　maps　scattered　across　the　table。　Maps　of　southern　Altara。　No　two　agreed　on　very　much。
　　　　　　　〃If　you're　going　to　fight　a　battle；〃　he　told　Bashere；　〃who　better　to　pay　the　butcher's　bill　than　men　who　want　you　dead？　Anyway；　it　isn't　soldiers　who'll　win　this　battle。　All　they　have　to　do　is　keep　anybody　from　sneaking　up　on　the　Asha'man。　What　do　you　think　of　that？〃
　　　　　　　Bashere　snorted　so　hard　that　his　heavy　mustaches　stirred。　〃I　think　it's　a　deadly　stew；　is　what　I　think。　Somebody's　going　to　choke　to　death　on　it。　The　Light　send　it　isn't　us。〃　And　then　he　laughed　as　if　that　were　a　fine　joke。
　　　　　　　Lews　Therin　laughed；　too。
　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　
Chapter　22　
（A'dam）　
Gathering　Clouds　
　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　Under　a　steady　drizzle　Rand's　small　army　formed　columns　across　the　low　folded　hills　facing　the　Nemarellin　peaks；　dark　and　sharp　against　the　western　sky。　There　was　no　real　need　to　face　the　direction　you　intended　to　Travel；　but　it　always　felt　askew　to　Rand　otherwise。　Despite　the　rain；　rapidly　thinning　gray　clouds　let　through　startlingly　bright　sunshine。　Or　maybe　the　day　only　seemed　bright；　after　all　the　recent　gloom。
　　　　　　　Four　of　the　columns　were　headed　by　Bashere's　Saldaeans；　bandy…legged　unarmored　men　in　short　coats　standing　patiently　beside　their　mounts　beneath　a　small　forest　of　shining　lance　heads；　the　other　five　by　blue…coated　men　with　the　Dragon　on　their　chests；　manded　by　a　short　stocky　fellow　named　Jak　Masond。　When　Masond　moved；　it　was　always　with　surprising　quickness；　but　he　was　utterly　still　now；　feet　planted　astride　and　hands　folded　behind　his　back。　His　men　were　in　place；　and　so　were　the　Defenders　and　panions；　grumpy　about　being　behind　infantry。　It　was　the　nobles　and　their　folk；　mainly；　who　milled　about　as　if　unsure　where　to　go。　Thick　mud　sucked　at　hooves　and　boots；　and　mired　cart　wheels；　shouted　curses　rose。　It　took　time　to　line　up　nearly　six　thousand　soaked　men；　getting　wetter　by　the　minute。　And　that　was　not　counting　the　supply　carts；　and　the　remounts。
　　　　　　　Rand　had　donned　his　finest；　so　he　would　stand　out　at　a　glance。　A　lick　with　the　Power　had　polished　the　Dragon　Scepter's　spearhead　to　mirror　brightness；　and　another　had　burnished　the　Crown　of　Swords　so　the　gold　gleamed。　The　gilded　Dragon　buckle　of　his　sword　belt　caught　the　light；　and　so　did　the　thread…of…gold　embroidery　that　covered　his　blue　silk　coat。　For　a　moment；　he　regretted　giving　away　the　gems　that　once　had　decked　his　sword's　hilt　and　scabbard。　The　dark　boarhide　was　serviceable；　but　any　armsman　could　have　worn　that。　Let　men　know　who　he　was。　Let　the　Seanchan　know　who　had　e　to　destroy　them。
　　　　　　　Sitting　Tai'daishar　on　a　broad　flat；　he　impatiently　watched　the　nobles　roil　about　on　the　hills。　A　little　way　off　on　the　flat；　Gedwyn　and　Rochaid　sat　their　saddles　in　front　of　their　men；　all　formed　into　a　precise　box；　Dedicated　in　the　front　rank；　Soldiers　lined　up　behind。　They　looked　ready　to　parade。　As　many　had　gray　hair　or　nearly　none　as　were　young　…　several　were　as　young　as　Hopwil　or　Morr　…　but　every　one　was　strong　enough　to　make　a　gateway。　That　had　been　a　requirement。　Flinn　and　Dashiva　waited　behind　Rand　in　a　casual　cluster　with　Adley　and　Morr；　Hopwil　and　Narishma。　And　a　rigid　pair　of　mounted　bannermen；　one　Tairen　and　one　Cairhienin；　their　breastplates　and　helmets　and　even　their　steel…backed　gauntlets　buffed　and　polished　till　they　shone。　The　crimson　Banner　of　Light　and　the　long　white　Dragon　Banner　hung　limp　and　dripping。　Rand　had　assumed　the　Power　in　his　tent；　where　his　momentary　stagger　would　not　be　seen；　and　the　sparse　rain　failed　by　an　inch　to　touch　him　or　his　horse。
　　　　　　　The　taint　on　saidin　felt　especially　heavy　today；　a　thick　foul　oil　that　oozed　into　his　pores　and　stained　his　bones　deep。　Stained　his　soul。　He　had　thought　himself　accustomed　to　the　vileness；　after　a　fashion；　yet　today　it　was　nauseating；　stronger　than　the　frozen　fire　and　molten　cold　of　saidin　itself。　He　held　on　to　the　Source　as　often　as　possible　now；　accepting　the　vileness　to　avoid　the　new　sickness　of　seizing　it。　It　could　be　deadly；　if　he　let　sickness　distract　him　from　that　struggle。　Maybe　it　was　connected　to　the　dizzy　spells；　somehow。　Light；　he　could　not　go　mad　yet；　and　he　could　not　die。　Not　yet。　There　was　too　much　still　to　be　done。
　　　　　　　He　pressed　his　left　leg　against　Tai'daishar's　flank　just　to　feel　the　long　bundle　strapped　between　stirrup　leather　and　scarlet　saddle　cloth。　Every　time　he　did　that；　something　wriggled　across　the　outside　of　the　Void。　Anticipation；　and　maybe　a　touch　of　fear。　Well　trained；　the　gelding　started　to　turn　left；　and　Rand　had　to　rein　him　back。　When　would　the　nobles　sort　themselves　out？　He　ground　h