Rianna glared, but Liandrin only sniffed. “Do not be a complete fool, wilder. You are wanted alive. Dead bait will catch nothing.”
Bait? For what? For who? “You are the fool, Liandrin! Do you think we are here alone? Only three of us, and not even full Aes Sedai? We are bait, Liandrin. And you have walked into the trap like a fat grouse.”
“Do not tell her that!” Elayne said sharply, and Nynaeve blinked before she realized Elayne was helping her fabrication. “If you let your anger get the best of you, you will tell them what they must not hear. They must take us inside the Stone. They must — ”
“Be quiet!” Nynaeve snapped. “You are letting your tongue run away with you!” Elayne managed to look abashed behind her bruises. Let them chew on that, Nynaeve thought.
But Liandrin only smiled. “Once your time as bait is done, you will tell us everything. You will want to. They say you will be very strong one day, but I will make sure you will always obey me, even before the Great Master Be'lal works his plans for you. He is sending for Myrddraal. Thirteen of them.” Those rosebud lips laughed the final words.
Nynaeve felt her stomach twist. One of the Forsaken! Her brain numbed with shock. The Dark One and all the Forsaken are bound in Shayol Ghul, bound by the Creator in the moment of creation. But the catechism did not help; she knew too well how much of it was false. Then the rest of it came home to her. Thirteen Myrddraal. And thirteen sisters of the Black Ajah. She heard Elayne screaming before she realized she was screaming herself, jerking uselessly in those invisible bonds of Air. It was impossible to say which was louder, their despairing screams, or the laughter from Liandrin and Rianna.
Chapter 52
(Harp)
In Search of a Remedy
Slumped on the stool in the gleeman's room, Mat grimaced as Thom coughed again. How are we going to keep looking if he's so bloody sick he can't walk? He was ashamed as soon as he thought it. Thom had been as assiduous in searching as he had, pushing himself day and night, when he had to know he was coming down sick. Mat had been so absorbed in his hunt that he had paid too little attention to Thom's coughing. The change from constant rain to steamy heat had not helped it.
“Come on, Thom,” he said. “Lopar says there's a Wise Woman not far. That is what they call a Wisdom here — a Wise Woman. Wouldn't Nynaeve like that!”
“I do not need... any foultasting... concoctions... poured down my throat, boy.” Thom stuffed a fist through his mustaches in a vain attempt to stop his hacking. “You go ahead looking. Just give me... a few hours... on my bed... and I'll join you.” The wracking wheezes doubled him over till his head was almost on his knees.
“So I am supposed to do all the work while you take your ease?” Mat said lightly. “How can I find anything without you? You learn most of what we hear.” That was not exactly true; men talked as freely over dice as they did while buying a gleeman a cup of wine. More freely than they did with a gleeman hacking so hard they feared contagion. But he was beginning to think that Thom's cough was not going to go away by itself. If the old goat dies on me, who will I play stones with? he told himself roughly. “Anyway, your bloody coughing keeps me awake even in the next room.”
Ignoring the whitehaired man's protests, he pulled Thom to his feet. He was shocked at how much of the gleeman's weight he had to support. Despite the damp heat, Thom insisted on his patchcovered cloak. Mat had his own coat unbuttoned completely and all three ties of his shirt undone, but he let the old goat have his way. No one in the common room even looked up as he half carried Thom out into the muggy afternoon.
The innkeeper had given simple directions, but when they reached the gate, and faced the mud of the Maule, Mat almost turned back to ask after another Wise Woman. There had to be more than one in a city this size. Thom's wheezing decided him. With a grimace Mat stepped off into the mud, half carrying the gleeman.
He had thought from the directions that they must have passed the Wise Woman's house on their way up from the dock that first night, and when he saw the long, narrow house with bunches of herbs hanging in the windows, right next to a potter's shop, he remembered it. Lopar had said something about going to the back door, but he had had enough of mud.
And the stink of fish, he thought, frowning at the barefoot men squelching by with their baskets on their backs. There were tracks of horses in the street, too, just beginning to be obliterated by feet and oxcarts. Horses pulling a wagon, or maybe a carriage. He had seen nothing but oxen drawing carts or wagons either one in Tear—the nobles and the merchants were proud of their fine stock, and never let one be put to anything like work—but he had not seen any carriages since leaving the walled city, either.
Dismissing horses and wheel tracks from his mind, he took Thom to the front door and knocked. After a time he knocked again. Then again.
He was on the point of giving up and returning to The White Crescent despite Thom coughing on his shoulder when he heard shuffling footsteps inside.
The door opened barely more than a crack, and a stout, grayhaired woman peered out. “What do you want?” she asked in a tired voice.
Mat put on his best grin. Light, but I am getting sick myself at all these people who sound like there's no bloody hope. “Mother Guenna? My name is Mat Cauthon. Cavan Lopar told me you might do something for my friend's cough. I can pay well.”
She studied them a moment, seemed to listen to Thom's wheezes, then sighed. “I suppose I can still do that, at least. You might as well come in.” She swung the door open and was already plodding toward the back of the house before Mat moved.
Her accent sounded so much like the Amyrlin's that he shivered, but he followed, all but carrying Thom.
“I don't... need this,” the gleeman wheezed. “Bloody mixtures... always taste like... dung!”
“Shut up, Thom.”
Leading them all the way to the kitchen, the stout woman rummaged in one of the cupboards, taking out small stone pots and packets of herbs while muttering to herself.
Mat sat Thom down in one of the highbacked chairs, and glanced through the nearest window. There were three good horses tied out back; he was surprised the Wise Woman had more than one, or any for that matter. He had not seen anyone in Tear riding except nobles and the wealthy, and these animals looked as if they had cost more than a little silver. Horses again. I don't car