The Dragon Reborn - By Robert Jordan Page 0,258

little more than sick up, as he called it, and moan all night.

Barefoot, shirtless sailors were tossing lines to men on the stone dock that thrust out into the river; the dockmen seemed to be wearing long leather vests in place of shirts. The sweeps had already been drawn in, except for a pair fending the ship off from coming against the dock too hard. The flat stones of the dock were wet; the air had a feel of rain not long gone, and that was a little soothing. The twisting motion had ceased some time since, she realized, but her stomach remembered. The sun was falling toward the west. She tried not to think of supper.

“Very good, Captain Canin,” she said with all the dignity she could summon. He’d not sound like that if I were wearing my ring, not even if I were sick on his boots. She shuddered at the picture in her mind.

Her Great Serpent ring and the twisted ring of the ter’angreal hung on a leather cord about her neck, now. The stone ring felt cool against her skin—almost enough to counteract the damp warmth of the air—but aside from that, she had found that the more she used the ter’angreal, the more she wanted to touch it, without pouch or cloth between it and her.

Tel’aran’rhiod still showed her little of immediate use. Sometimes there had been glimpses of Rand, or Mat, or Perrin, and more in her own dreams without the ter’angreal, but nothing of which she could make any sense. The Seanchan, who she refused to think about. Nightmares of a White-cloak putting Master Luhhan in the middle of a huge, toothed trap for bait. Why should Perrin have a falcon on his shoulder, and what was important about him choosing between that axe he wore now and a blacksmith’s hammer? What did it mean that Mat was dicing with the Dark One, and why did he keep shouting, “I am coming!” and why did she think in the dream that he was shouting at her? And Rand. He had been sneaking through utter darkness toward Callandor, while all around him six men and five women walked, some hunting him and some ignoring him, some trying to guide him toward the shining crystal sword and some trying to stop him from reaching it, appearing not to know where he was, or only to see him in flashes. One of the men had eyes of flame, and he wanted Rand dead with a desperation she could nearly taste. She thought she knew him. Ba’alzamon. But who were the others? Rand in that dry, dusty chamber again, with those small creatures settling into his skin. Rand confronting a horde of Seanchan. Rand confronting her, and the women with her, and one of them was a Seanchan. It was all too confusing. She had to stop thinking about Rand and the others and put her mind to what was right ahead of her. What is the Black Ajah up to? Why don’t I dream something about them? Light, why can’t I learn to make it do what I want?

“Have the horses put ashore, Captain,” she told Canin. “I will tell Mistress Maryim and Mistress Caryla.” That was Nynaeve—Maryim—and Elayne—Caryla.

“I have sent a man to tell them, Mistress Joslyn. And your animals will be on the dock as soon as my men can rig a boom.”

He sounded very pleased to be rid of them. She thought about telling him not to hurry, but rejected it immediately. The Darter’s corkscrewing might have stopped, but she wanted dry land under her feet again. Now. Still, she stopped to pat Mist’s nose and let the gray mare nuzzle her palm, to let Canin see she was in no great rush.

Nynaeve and Elayne appeared at the ladder from the cabins, laden with their bundles and saddlebags, and Elayne almost as laden with Nynaeve. When Nynaeve saw Egwene watching, she pushed herself away from the Daughter-Heir and walked unaided the rest of the way to where men were setting a narrow gangplank to the dock. Two crewmen came to fasten a wide canvas sling under Mist’s belly, and Egwene hurried below for her own things. When she came back up, her mare was already on the dock and Elayne’s roan dangled in the canvas sling halfway there.

For a moment after her feet were on the dock, all she felt was relief. This would not pitch and roll. Then she began to look