The Fires of Heaven (110 page)

Juilin flung up his hands, and Thom laughed out loud. “Did you ever know a woman who listened to sense when she didn’t want to?” the gleeman replied. He grunted as Elayne pulled his compress away and began dabbing at his split scalp with perhaps a bit more force than was strictly necessary.

Uno shook his head. “Well, if I’m to be cozened, I suppose I’ll be cozened. But mark this. Masema’s people found the ship—
Riversnake,
or something like—not an hour after it docked, but Whitecloaks seized it. That’s what started this little row. The bad news is the Whitecloaks still hold the docks. The worse is, Masema may have forgotten the ship—I went to see him, and he wouldn’t hear of ships; all he can talk about is hanging Whitecloaks, and making Amadicia bend knee to the Lord Dragon if he has to put the whole land to the torch—but he hasn’t bothered to tell all of his people. There’s been fighting near the river, and may still be. Getting you through the riots will be bad enough, but if there’s a battle at the docks, I make no promises. And how I’m to put you on a ship in Whitecloak hands, I don’t begin to know.” Letting out a long breath, he scrubbed sweat from his forehead with the back of a scarred hand. The strain of so long a speech without cursing was plain on his face.

Nynaeve might have relented on his language at that moment—if she had not been too stunned to speak. It had to be coincidence.
Light, I said anything for a ship, but I didn’t mean this. Not this!
She did not know why
Elayne and Birgitte were staring at her with such blank expressions. They had known everything she had, and neither had brought up this possibility. The three men exchanged frowns, obviously aware that something was going on and just as obviously unaware what it was, for which thank the Light. Much better when they did not know everything. It just had to be coincidence.

In one way, she was more than happy to focus on another man making his way through the wagons; it gave an excuse to pull her eyes away from Elayne and Birgitte. In another way, the sight of Galad made her stomach settle right to her shoes.

He wore plain brown and a flat velvet cap instead of his white cloak and burnished mail, but his sword still rested on his hip. He had not been to the wagons before, and the effect of his face was dramatic. Muelin took an unconscious step toward him, and the two slender acrobats leaned forward, mouths open. The Chavanas were plainly forgotten, and scowling for it. Even Clarine smoothed her dress as she watched him, until Petra took his pipe from his mouth and said something. Then she went over to where he sat, laughing, and snuggled his face to her plump bosom. But her eyes still followed Galad over her husband’s head.

Nynaeve was in no mood to be affected by a handsome face; her breath hardly quickened at all. “It was you, wasn’t it?” she demanded before he even reached her. “You seized the
Riversnake,
didn’t you? Why?”

“Riverserpent,”
he corrected, eyeing her incredulously. “You did ask me to secure you passage.”

“I didn’t ask you to start a riot!”

“A riot?” Elayne put in. “A war. An invasion. All begun over this vessel.”

Galad answered calmly. “I gave Nynaeve my word, sister. My first duty is to see you safely on your way to Caemlyn. And Nynaeve, of course. The Children would have had to fight this Prophet soon or late.”

“Couldn’t you simply have let us know the ship was here?” Nynaeve asked wearily. Men and their word. It was all very admirable, sometimes, but she should have listened when Elayne said he did what he saw as right no matter who was hurt.

“I don’t know what the Prophet wanted the ship for, but I doubt it was so you could take passage downriver.” Nynaeve flinched. “Besides which, I paid the captain your passage while he was still unloading his cargo. An hour later, one of the two men I left to make sure he did not sail without you came to tell me the other man was dead and the Prophet had taken the
ship. I don’t understand what you are so upset about. You wanted a ship, needed a ship, and I got you one.” Frowning, Galad addressed Thom and Juilin. “What is the matter with them? Why do they keep staring at one another?”

“Women,” Juilin said simply, and got slapped on the back of the head by Birgitte for his trouble. He glared at her.

“Horseflies have a nasty bite,” she grinned, and his glower faded into uncertainty as he readjusted his cap.

“We can sit here all day discussing right and wrong,” Thom said dryly, “or we can take this vessel. Passage has been paid, and there’s no getting the price back now.”

Nynaeve flinched again. However he meant it, she knew how she heard it.

“There may be trouble reaching the river,” Galad said. “I donned this clothing because the Children are not popular in Samara at the moment, but the mobs can set on anyone.” He eyed Thom doubtfully, with his white hair and long white mustaches, and Juilin a little less so—even disheveled, the Tairen looked hard enough to pound posts—then turned to Uno. “Where is your friend? Another sword might be useful until we reach my men.”

Uno’s smile was villainous. Clearly, there was no more love between them than at their first meeting. “He’s about. And maybe one or two more. I’ll see them to the ship, if your Whitecloaks can hold on to it. Or if they can’t.”

Elayne opened her mouth, but Nynaeve spoke up quickly. “That’s enough, both of you!” Elayne would just have tried honeyed words again. They might have worked, but she wanted to lash out. At something, anything. “We need to move quickly.” She should have considered, when she flung two madmen at the same target, what might happen if they both hit at once. “Uno, gather the rest of your men, as fast as you can.” He tried to tell her they were already waiting on the other side of the menagerie, but she plowed on. They
were
madmen,
both
of them.
All
men were! “Galad, you—”

“Rouse and rise!” Luca’s shout cut into her words as he trotted between the wagons, limping, and with a bruise discoloring the side of his face. His scarlet cape was soiled and torn. It seemed Thom and Juilin were not the only ones to have entered the town. “Brugh, go tell the horse handlers to hitch the teams! We’ll have to abandon the canvas,” he grimaced at the words, “but I mean to be on the road in under an hour! Andaya, Kuan, pull your sisters out! Wake anybody still asleep, and if they’re washing, tell them to
dress dirty or come naked! Hurry, unless you’re ready to proclaim the Prophet and march to Amadicia! Chin Akima’s lost his head already, along with half his performers, and Sillia Cerano and a dozen of hers were flogged for being too slow! Move!” By that time, everybody except those around Nynaeve’s wagon were at the run.

Luca’s limp slowed as he approached, eyeing Galad warily. And Uno, for that matter, though he had seen the one-eyed man twice before. “Nana, I want to talk to you,” he said quietly. “Alone.”

“We will not be going with you, Master Luca,” she told him.

“Alone,” he said, and seized her arm, hauling her away.

She looked back to tell the others not to interfere and found there was no need. Elayne and Birgitte were hurrying off toward the canvas wall that encompassed the menagerie, and except for a few glances at her and Luca, the four men were engrossed in conversation. She sniffed loudly. Fine men they were, to watch a woman manhandled and do nothing.

Jerking her arm free, she strode along beside Luca, silk skirts swishing her displeasure. “I suppose you want your money, now that we are going. Well, you shall have it. One hundred gold marks. Though I think you should allow something for the wagon and horses we’re leaving behind. And for what we’ve brought in. We have certainly increased the number of your patrons. Morelin and Juilin with their highwalking, me with the arrows, Thom—”

“Do you think I want the gold, woman?” he demanded rounding on her. “If I did, I’d have asked for it the day we crossed the river! Have I asked? Did you ever think why not?”

In spite of herself, she took a step back, crossing her arms beneath her breasts sternly. And immediately wished she had not; that stance more than emphasized what she was exposing. Stubbornness kept her arms where they were—she was not about to let him think she was flustered, especially since she was—but surprisingly, his eyes remained on hers. Maybe he was ill. He had never avoided looking at her bosom before, and if Valan Luca was not interested in bosoms
or
gold . . . “If not about the gold, then why do you want to talk to me?”

“All the way back here from the town,” he said slowly, following her, “I kept thinking that now you would finally go.” She refused to back away again, even when he was standing over her and staring down intently. At least he was still looking at her face. “I don’t know what you are running from, Nana. Sometimes, I almost believe your story. Morelin certainly has a noblewoman’s manner about her, at least. But you were never a lady’s
maid. The last few days, I’ve half expected to find the pair of you rolling on the ground tearing one another’s hair. And maybe Maerion in the pile.” He must have seen something on her face, because he cleared his throat and hurried on. “The point is, I can find someone else for Maerion to shoot at. You do scream so beautifully, anyone would think you were truly terrified, but—” He cleared his throat again, even more hastily, and drew back. “What I am trying to say is that I want you to stay. There’s a wide world out there, a thousand towns waiting for a show like mine, and whatever is chasing you will never find you with me. A few of Akima’s people, and some of Sillia’s who haven’t been marched off across the river—they’re joining me. Valan Luca’s show will be the greatest the world has ever seen.”

“Stay? Why should I stay? I told you from the first we only wanted to reach Ghealdan, and nothing has changed.”

“Why? Why, to have my children, of course.” He took one of her hands in both of his. “Nana, your eyes drink my soul, your lips inflame my heart, your shoulders make my pulse race, your—”

She cut in hurriedly. “You want to marry me?” she said incredulously.

“Marry?” He blinked. “Well . . . uh . . . yes. Yes, of course.” His voice picked up strength again, and he pressed her fingers to his lips. “We will be wed at the first town where I can arrange it. I’ve never asked another woman to marry me.”

“I can quite believe it,” she said faintly. It took some effort to pull her hand free. “I am sensible of the honor, Master Luca, but—”

“Valan, Nana. Valan.”

“But I must decline. I am betrothed to another.” Well, she was, in a way. Lan Mandragoran might think his signet ring just a gift, but she saw it differently. “And I am going.”

“I should bundle you up and carry you with me.” Dirt and rips somewhat spoiled the grandiloquent flourish of his cape as he drew himself up. “With time, you would forget the fellow.”

“You try it, and I’ll have Uno make you wish you had been sliced for sausage.” That barely deflated the fool man at all. She drove a finger hard against his chest. “You do not know me, Valan Luca. You don’t know anything about me. My enemies, the ones you dismiss so easily, would make you take off your skin and dance in your bones, and you would be grateful if that was all they did. Now, I am going, and I don’t have time to listen to your drivel. No, don’t say any more! My mind is set, and you will not change it, so you might as well stop blathering.”

Luca sighed heavily. “You are the only woman for me, Nana. Let other
men choose boring flutterers with their shy sighs. A man would know he had to walk through fire and tame a lioness with his bare hands every time he approached you. Every day an adventure, and every night . . .” His smile almost earned him boxed ears. “I will find you again, Nana, and you will choose me. I know it in here.” Thumping his chest dramatically, he gave his cape an even more pretentious swirl. “And you know it, too, my dearest Nana. In your fair heart, you do.”

Nynaeve did not know whether to shake her head or gape. Men
were
mad.
All
of them.

He insisted on escorting her back to her wagon, holding her arm as if they were at a ball.

Stalking though the turmoil of horse handlers rushing to hitch teams, the din of men shouting, horses whickering, bears growling, leopards coughing, Elayne found herself muttering under her breath to match any of the animals. Nynaeve had no room to talk about her showing her legs. She had seen the way the woman stood up straighter when Valan Luca appeared. And breathed deeper, too. For Galad as well, for that matter. It was not as if she
enjoyed
wearing breeches. They
were
comfortable, true, and cooler than skirts. She could see why Min chose to wear men’s clothes. Almost. There was the problem of getting past the feeling that the coat was really a dress that barely covered your hips. She had just managed that, so far. Not that she intended to let Nynaeve know, her and her viperish tongue. The woman should have realized Galad would ignore the cost of keeping his promise. It was not as if Elayne had not told her about him often enough. And involving the Prophet! Nynaeve just acted without thinking about what she was doing.

“Did you say something?” Birgitte asked. She had gathered her skirts over one arm to keep up, unashamedly baring her legs from blue brocaded slippers to
well
above her knees, and those sheer silk stockings did not hide as much as breeches.

Elayne stopped dead. “What do you think of how I am dressed?”

“It allows freedom of movement,” the other woman said judiciously. Elayne nodded. “Of course, it’s good that your bottom isn’t too big, as tight as those—”

Striding on furiously, Elayne tugged the coat down with sharp yanks. Nynaeve’s tongue had nothing on Birgitte’s. She really should have required some oath of obedience, or at least some show of proper respect. She would have to remember that once it came time to bond Rand. When Birgitte
caught up to her, wearing a sour expression as if
she
were driven almost beyond endurance, neither of them spoke.

Dressed in green sequins, the pale-haired Seanchan woman was using her goad to guide the huge bull
s’redit
as his head pushed the heavy wagon holding the black-maned lion’s cage. A horse handler in a shabby leather vest held the wagon tongue, steering the wagon around to where its horses could be hitched more easily. The lion stalked back and forth, lashing his tail and now and then giving a hoarse cough that sounded like the beginning of a roar.