Lan wasn’t sure, exactly, what had made him say it. His words inspired a round of "Dai Shan! Dai Shan! Forward the Golden Crane!" He saw that some of the men were writing the speech down, to pass among the other men.
"You do have the soul of a leader, Dai Shan", Easar said as they rode on.
"It is not that", Lan said, eyes forward. "I cannot stand self-pity. Too many of the men looked as if they were preparing their own shrouds".
"A drum with no head", Easar said softly, flicking his horse’s reins. "A pump with no grip. A song with no voice. Still it is mine. Still it is mine".
Lan turned, frowning, but the King gave no explanation for the poem. If his people were a serious people, their king was more so. Easar had wounds deep within that he chose not to share. Lan did not fault him in this; Lan himself had done the same.
Tonight, however, he caught Easar smiling as he considered whatever it was that had brought the poem to his lips.
"Was that Anasai of Ryddingwood?" Lan asked.
Easar looked surprised. "You have read Anasai’s work?"
"She was a favorite of Moiraine Sedai. It sounded as though it might be hers".
"Each of her poems was written as an elegy", Easar said. "This was for her father. She left instructions; it can be read, but should not be spoken out loud, except when it was right to do so. She did not explain when it would be right to do so".
They reached the war tents and dismounted. No sooner had they done so, however, than the horns of alarm began to sound. Both men reacted, and Lan unconsciously touched the sword on his hip.
"Let us go to Lord Agelmar", Lan shouted as men began to yell and equipment to rattle. "If you fight beneath my banner, then I will accept the role of leader gladly".
"No hesitation at all?" Easar said.
"What am I?" Lan asked, swinging into the saddle. "Some sheepherder from a forgotten village? I will do my duty. If men are foolish enough to put me in charge of them, I’ll send them about theirs as well".
Easar nodded, then saluted, the corners of his mouth rising in another smile. Lan returned the salute, then galloped Mandarb through the center of the camp. The men at the outskirts were lighting bonfires; Ashaman had created gateways to one of the many dying forests in the south for soldiers to gather wood. If Lan had his way, those five channelers would never waste their strength killing Trollocs. They were far too useful otherwise.
Narishma saluted Lan as he passed. Lan could not be certain that the great captains had chosen Borderlander Ashaman for him on purpose, but it seemed not to be a coincidence. He had at least one from each Borderlander nation—even one born to Malkieri parents.
We fight together.
CHAPTER 8
That Smoldering City
Atop Moonshadow, her deep brown mare from the royal stables, Elayne Trakand rode through a gateway of her own making.
Those stables were now in the hands of Trollocs, and Moonshadow’s stablemates had undoubtedly found their way into cookpots by now. Elayne did not think too hard about what else—who else—might have ended up in those same pots. She set her face in determination. Her troops would not see their queen look uncertain.
She had chosen to come to a hill about a thousand paces to the northwest of Caemlyn, well out of bow range but close enough to see the city. Several mercenary bands had made their camp in these hills during the weeks following the Succession War. Those had all either joined the armies of Light or had disbanded, becoming roving thieves and brigands.
The foreguard had already secured the area, and Captain Guybon saluted as members of the Queens Guard—both male and female—surrounded Elayne’s horse. The air still smelled of smoke, and seeing Caemlyn smoldering like Dragonmount itself tossed a handful of bitter powder into the stew of emotions churning inside of her.
The once-proud city was dead, a pyre that pitched a hundred different columns of smoke toward the storm clouds above. The smoke reminded her of the spring burnings, when farmers would occasionally fire their fields to help clear them for planting. She hadn’t ruled Caemlyn for a hundred days, and already it was lost.
If dragons can do that to a city, she thought, surveying the hole that Talmanes had made in the nearest wall, the world will need to change. Everything we know about warfare will change.
"How many, would you say?" she asked the man who rode up beside her. Talmanes was only one day of rest away from the ordeal that should have cost him his life. He probably should have remained at Merrilor; he certainly wouldn’t be doing any frontline fighting in the near future.
"It is impossible to count their numbers, hidden as they are in the city, Your Majesty", he said, bowing respectfully. "Tens of thousands, but probably not hundreds of thousands".
The fellow was nervous around her, and he manifested it in a very Cairhienin way—by speaking with flowery respect. He was said to be one of Mat’s most trusted officers; she would have assumed that, by now, Mat would have corrupted the fellow far more. He didn’t curse once. Pity.
Other gateways opened nearby onto the yellow grass, and her forces came through, filling the fields and topping the hills. She had taken charge of a large army of warriors, which included many of the siswai’aman, to bolster her Queen’s Guard and the Andoran regulars under the command of Birgitte and Captain Guybon. A second contingent of Aiel—Maidens, Wise Ones and the remaining warriors—had been chosen to travel north to Shayol Ghul with Rand.
Only a handful of Wise Ones had come with Elayne, the ones who followed Perrin. Elayne would have liked more channelers than that. Still, she did have the Band and their dragons, which should make up for the fact that her only other channelers were the Kinswomen, many of whom were on the weaker side of strength in the Power.