“I am that, Mat. I brought half the scouts, and I also signed some Altarans who were fighting the Seanchan. Well, most of them seem to have been stealing horses more than anything else, but some were willing to give that up for a chance to really fight them. I think I know where most of the Seanchan camps are from the Malvide Narrows south to here.”
Suddenly a man began to sing in a deep voice, and others joined in, the song spreading rapidly.
There’re some delight in ale and wine, and some in girls with ankles fine, but my delight, yes, always mine, is to dance with Jak o’ the Shadows.
Every man in the camp was singing, now, thousands of voices roaring the song.
We’ll toss the dice however they fall, and snuggle the girls be they short or tall, then follow Lord Mat whenever he calls, to dance with Jak o’ the Shadows.
They finished with shouts, laughing and clapping one another on the shoulder. Who under the Light was this Jak o’ the Shadows?
Reining in, Toy raised the hand holding his odd spear. That was all, yet silence spread through the soldiers. So he was not soft with discipline. There were a few other reasons for soldiers to be fond of their officers, but the most common seemed unlikely to apply to Toy, of all people.
“Let’s not let them know we’re here until we want them to know,” Toy said loudly. He was not orating, just making sure his voice carried. And the men heard, repeating his words over their shoulders to be passed back to men beyond the sound of his voice. “We’re a long way from home, but I mean to get us home. So be ready to move, and move fast. The Band of the Red Hand can move faster than anybody else, and we’re going to have to prove it.” There was no cheering, but plenty of nods. Turning to Talmanes, he said, “Do you have maps?”
“The best to be found,” Talmanes replied. “The Band has its own mapmaker, now. Master Roidelle already had good maps of everything from the Aryth Ocean to the Spine of the World, and since we crossed the Damonas, he and his assistants have been making new maps of the country we crossed. They even marked a map of eastern Altara with what we have learned of the Seanchan. Most of those camps are temporary, though. Soldiers heading somewhere else.”
Selucia shifted in her saddle, and Tuon signed PATIENCE in high imperative form, a command. She kept her face smooth, but inside, she was furious. Knowing where soldiers were gave clues to where they were going. There had be some way to burn that map. That would be as important as laying hands on one of the crossbow cranks.
“I’ll want to talk with Master Roidelle, too,” Toy said.
Soldiers came to take the horses, and for a while all seemed confusion and milling about. A gap-toothed fellow took Akein’s reins, and Tuon gave him explicit instructions on caring for the mare. He returned her a sour look along with his bow. Commoners in these lands seemed to believe themselves equal to everyone. Selucia gave the same sort of instructions to the lanky young man who took Rosebud. She thought that an appropriate name for a dresser’s horse. The young man stared at Selucia’s chest, until she slapped him. Hard. He only grinned and led the dun away rubbing his cheek. Tuon sighed. That was all very well for Selucia, but for herself, striking a commoner would lower her eyes for months.
Soon enough, though, she was settled on a folding stool with Selucia at her back, and stout Lopin presented them with tin cups full of dark tea, bowing quite properly to Selucia as well as to her. Not deeply enough, but the balding man did try. Her tea was honeyed to perfection, lightly, but then, he had served her often enough to know how she liked it.
Activity bustled about them. Talmanes had a brief reunion with gray-haired Nerim, who apparently was his serving man, and happy to be reunited with him. At least, the thin man’s normally mournful countenance actually flashed a momentary smile. That sort of thing should have been done in private.
Leilwin and Domon allowed Master Charin to lead Olver off to explore the camp with Juiiin and Thera—Thom and Aludra went too, to stretch their legs—then deliberately took stools close by. Leilwin even went so far as to stare unblinking at Tuon for a long moment. Selucia made a low sound very like a growl, but Tuon ignored the provocation and gestured Mistress Anan to bring her stool over beside her. Eventually, the traitors would be punished, and the thief, the property restored to its rightful owners, and the marath’damane leashed, but those things had to wait on what was more important.
Three more officers appeared, young noblemen with that red hand on their dark silk coats, and had their own reunion with Toy, with a great deal of laughing and hitting each other on the shoulder, which they seemed to take as a sign of fondness. She soon had them sorted out. Edorion was the dark, lean man with the serious expression except when smiling, Reimon the broad-shouldered fellow who smiled a great deal, and Carlomin the tall, slender one. Edorion was cleanshaven, while Reimon and Carlomin both had dark beards that were trimmed to points and glistened as if oiled. All three made much over the Aes Sedai, bowing deeply. They even bowed to Bethamin and Seta! Tuon shook her head.
“I’ve told you often enough it’s a different world than you’re used to,” Mistress Anan murmured, “but you still don’t quite believe it, do you?”
“Just because a thing is a certain way.” Tuon replied, “doesn’t mean it should be that way, even if it has been for a long time.”
“Some might say the same of your people, my Lady.”
“Some might.” Tuon let it rest there, though she usually enjoyed her private conversations with the woman. Mistress Anan argued against leashing marath’damane, as might be expected, and even against keeping da’covale, of all things, yet they were discussions rather than arguments, and Tuon had made her concede a few points. She had hopes of bringing the woman around eventually. Not today, though. She wanted her mind focused on Toy.
Master Roidelle appeared, a graying, round-faced man whose bulk strained his dark coat, followed by six fit-appearing younger men each carrying a long, cylindrical leather case. “I brought all the maps of Altara I have, my Lord,” he told Talmanes in a musical accent as he bowed. Did everyone in these lands speak as if racing to get the words out? “Some cover the whole country, they do, some no more than a hundred square miles. The best are my own, of course, those I made these past weeks.”
“Lord Mat will tell you what he wants to see,” Talmanes said. “Shall we le
