Yarin entered. “We're beyond the breakwater, Captain.”
Domon felt a flash of surprise, then anger with himself. He should never have gotten so engrossed that he failed to feel Spray lifting on the swells. “Make west, Yarin. See to it.”
“Ebou Dar, Captain?”
No far enough. No by five hundred leagues. “We'll put in long enough for me to get charts and top the water barrels, then we do sail west.”
“West, Captain? Tremalking? The Sea Folk are tight with any traders but their own.”
“The Aryth Ocean, Yarin. Plenty of trade between Tarabon and Arad Doman, and hardly a Taraboner or Domani bottom to worry about. They do no like the sea, I have heard. And all those small towns on Toman Head, every one holding itself free of any nation at all. We can even pick up Saldaean furs and ice peppers brought down to Bandar Eban.”
Yarin shook his head slowly. He always looked at the dark side, but he was a good sailor. “Furs and peppers'll cost more there than running upriver for them, Captain. And I hear there's some kind of war. If Tarabon and Arad Doman are fighting, there may be no trade. I doubt we'll make much off the towns on Toman Head alone, even if they are safe. Falme's the largest, and it is not big.”
“The Taraboners and the Domani have always squabbled over Almoth Plain and Toman Head. Even if it has come to blows this time, a careful man can always find trade. West, Yarin.”
When Yarin had gone topside, Domon quickly added the blackandwhite disk to the cubbyhole, and stowed the rest back in the bottom of his chest. Darkfriends or Aes Sedai, I'll no run the way they want me. Fortune prick me, I'll no.
Feeling safe for the first time in months, Domon went on deck as Spray heeled to catch the wind and put her bow west into the nightdark sea.
Chapter 10
(Horn)
The Hunt Begins
Ingtar set a fast pace for the beginning of along journey, fast enough that Rand worried a little about the horses. The animals could keep up the trot for hours, but there was still most of the day ahead, and likely days more beyond that. The way Ingtar's face was set, though, Rand thought he might intend to catch those who had stolen the Horn in the first day, in the first hour. Remembering his voice when he swore his oath to the Amyrlin Seat, Rand would not have been surprised. He kept his mouth shut, though. It was Lord Ingtar's command; as friendly as he had been to Rand, he still would not appreciate a shepherd giving advice.
Hurin rode a pace behind Ingtar, but it was the sniffer who led them south, pointing the way for Ingtar. The land was rolling, forested hills, thick with fir and leatherleaf and oak, but the path Hurin set led almost straight as an arrow, never wavering except to go around a few of the taller hills, where the way was clearly quicker around than over. The Gray Owl banner rippled in the wind.
Rand tried to ride with Mat and Perrin, but when Rand let his horse drop back to them, Mat nudged Perrin, and Perrin reluctantly galloped to the head of the column with Mat. Telling himself there was no point riding at the back by himself, Rand rode back to the front. They fell to the rear again, Mat again urging Perrin.
Burn them. I only want to apologize. He felt alone. It did not help that he knew it was his own fault.
Atop one hill, Uno dismounted to examine ground churned by hooves. He poked at some horse droppings and grunted. “Bloody well moving fast, my Lord.” He had a voice that sounded as if he were shouting when he was just speaking. “We've not made up an hour on them. Burn me, we may have lost a flaming hour. They'll kill their bloody horses, the way they're going.” He fingered a hoofed track. “No horse, that. Bloody Trolloc. Some flaming goat feet over there.”
“We will catch them,” Ingtar said grimly.
“Our horses, my Lord. Does no good to ride them into the bloody ground before we do catch up, my Lord. Even if they do kill their horses, bloody Trollocs can keep going longer than horses.”
“We will catch them. Mount, Uno.”
Uno looked at Rand with his one eye, then shrugged and climbed into his saddle. Ingtar took them down the far slope at a run, half sliding all the way to the bottom, and galloped up the next.
Why did he look at me that way, Rand wondered. Uno was one of those who had never shown much friendliness toward him. It was not like Masema's open dislike; Uno was not friendly with anyone except a few veterans as grizzled as himself. Surely he doesn't believe that tale about me being a lord.
Uno spent his time studying the country ahead, but when he caught Rand looking at him, he gave back stare for stare, and never said a word. It did not mean much. He would stare Ingtar in the eye, too. That was Uno's way.
The path chosen by the Darkfriends — And what else, Rand wondered; Hurin kept muttering about “something worse” — who had stolen the Horn never came close to any village. Rand saw villages, from one hilltop to another, with a mile or more of upanddown country between, but there was never one close enough to make out the people in the streets. Or close enough for those people to make out a party heading south. There were farms, too, with loweaved houses and tall barns and smoking chimneys, on hilltops and on hillsides and in the bottoms, but never one close enough for the farmer to have seen their quarry.
Eventually even Ingtar had to realize that the horses could not keep on as they were going. Rand heard muttered curses, and Ingtar pounded his thigh with a gauntleted fist, but finally he ordered everyone to dismount. They trotted, leading their horses, uphill and down, for a mile, then mounted and rode again. Then it was down again and trot. Trot a mile, then ride a mile. Trot, then ride.
Rand was surprised to see Loial grinning when they were down on the ground, toiling up a hill. The Ogier had been uneasy about riding and horses when they first met, preferring to trust to his own feet, but Rand thought he had long gotten over that.
“Do you like to run, Rand?” Loial laughed. “I do. I was the fastest in Stedding Shangtai. I outran a horse, once.”
Rand only shook his head. He did not want to waste breath on talk. He looked for Mat and Perrin, but they were still at the back, too many men between for Rand to make them out. He wondered how the Shienarans could manage this in their armor. Not a one of them slowed or voiced a complaint. Uno did not even look as if he were breaking a sweat, and the bannerman never let the Gray Owl waver.
It was a quick pace, but twilight began to close without any sight of those they hunted except their tracks. At last, reluctantly, Ingtar called a halt to make camp for the night in the forest. The Shienarans went about getting fires started and setting picketlines for the horses with a smooth economy of effort born of long experience. Ingtar posted six guards, in pairs, for the first watch.