The Gathering Storm - By Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson Page 0,249

working for the same goals. She didn’t want to tell him what to do; she just wanted him to stop acting like a fool. And, beyond that, she just wanted him to be safe. She’d also like him to be a leader that people respected, not one that people feared. He seemed incapable of seeing that the path he was on was that of a tyrant.

Being a king really wasn’t all that different from being mayor in the Two Rivers. The mayor needed to be respected and liked. The Wisdom and the Women’s Circle could do the difficult tasks, such as punishing those who overstepped their bounds. The mayor, however, needed to be loved. That led to a civil and a safe town.

But how to show that to Rand? She couldn’t force him; she needed to get him to listen to her in another way. A plan began to take root in her head. By the time she reached the mansion, she had an idea of what to do.

The gate to the mansion grounds was guarded by Saldaeans; the Aiel preferred to stay closer to Rand, watching the rooms and the hallways of the mansion itself. Haster Nalmat, the officer on duty, gave Nynaeve a bow as she approached; some people still knew how to treat Aes Sedai. The grounds beyond the gate were ornamental and cultivated. Nynaeve’s lantern cast strange shadows on the grass as its light shone through the trees trained and trimmed in the shapes of fanciful animals. The shadows moved in concert with her lantern, the phantom shapes lengthening and merging with the greater blackness of the night around her. Like rivers of shadow.

A larger group of Saldaean soldiers stood guard at the front of the mansion; far more than were necessary. Whenever men stood on guard, their friends tended to gather, no doubt to gossip. Nynaeve strode up to the group, causing several of them to stop leaning lazily against the mansion’s gallery of pillars.

“Who of you are not on duty right now?” she asked.

Sure enough, three of the nine soldiers raised their hands, looking somewhat sheepish.

“Excellent,” Nynaeve said, handing her lantern to one of them. “You three, come with me.” She strode into the mansion, the three soldiers scrambling in behind.

It was late—the ghost procession appeared only at midnight—and the mansion slumbered. The intricate chandelier in the entryway had been extinguished, and the hallways were dark. Testing her memory, she picked a direction and walked down it. The whitewashed walls were as immaculate here as they were in other sections of the mansion, but they were unornamented. Her instinct proved correct as she soon entered a small pantry, where servants would prepare platters of food before taking them to the dining room. The hallway she had chosen led out to the mansion sitting rooms; another hallway at the back led to the kitchens. The room was furnished with a big sturdy wooden table and some tall stools. Those were occupied by a group of men playing a game of dice, wearing green and white linen shirts—the livery of Milisair’s house—with thick work trousers.

They looked up with shock as Nynaeve strode into the room; one of the men actually leaped to his feet, his stool toppling to the floor behind him. He pulled off his hat—a lopsided brown thing that even Mat would have been embarrassed to wear—looking like a child caught poking his finger into the pie before dinner.

Nynaeve didn’t care what they were doing; she had found some servants of the mansion, and that was all that mattered. “I must see the dosun,” she said, using the local term for the head housekeeper. “Fetch her for me.”

Her soldiers entered the room behind her. All three were Saldaeans, and if they were somewhat oafish, they walked with the swaggers of men who intimately understood fighting. She doubted that these simple servants needed any more intimidation than an Aes Sedai, but the soldiers would likely prove useful later.

“The dosun?” the worker with the hat finally said. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather see the steward or—”

“The dosun,” Nynaeve said. “Bring her to me now. Give her time to throw on a robe, but no more.” She pointed at one of her soldiers. “You, go with him. Make sure he doesn’t speak to anyone else or give the woman a chance to escape.”

“Escape?” the worker yelped. “Why would Loral want to do that? What did she do, my Lady?”

“Nothing, I hope. Go!”

The two men—one worker, one