The great hunt - By Robert Jordan Page 0,193

alone as it was. If they’ve had word from Stedding Shangtai. . . . Well, I will just rest here and read, I think.”

Rand shook his head. He often forgot that Loial had run away from home, in effect, to see the world. “What about you, Hurin? There’s music in the Foregate, and people laughing. I’ll wager no one is playing Daes Dae’mar there.”

“I would not be so certain of that myself, Lord Rand. In any case, I thank you for the invitation, but I think not. There’s so many fights—and killings, too—in Foregate, that it stinks, if you know what I mean. Not that they’re likely to bother a lord, of course; the soldiers would be down on them if they did. But if it pleases you, I would like to have a drink in the common room.”

“Hurin, you don’t need my permission for anything. You know that.”

“As you say, my Lord.” The sniffer gave a suggestion of a bow.

Rand took a deep breath. If they did not leave Cairhien soon, Hurin would be bowing and scraping left and right. And if Mat and Perrin saw that, they would never let him forget it. “I hope nothing delays Ingtar. If he doesn’t come quickly, we’ll have to take the Horn back to Fal Dara ourselves.” He touched Selene’s note through his coat. “We will have to. Loial, I’ll come back so you can see some of the city.”

“I’d rather not risk it,” Loial said.

Hurin accompanied Rand downstairs. As soon as they reached the common room, Cuale was bowing in front of Rand, pushing a tray at him. Three folded and sealed parchments lay on the tray. Rand took them, since that was what the innkeeper seemed to intend. They were a fine grade of parchment, soft and smooth to his touch. Expensive.

“What are these?” he asked.

Cuale bowed again. “Invitations, of course, my Lord. From three of the noble Houses.” He bowed himself away.

“Who would send me invitations?” Rand turned them over in his hand. None of the men at the tables looked up, but he had the feeling they were watching just the same. He did not recognize the seals. None was the crescent moon and stars Selene had used. “Who would know I was here?”

“Everyone by now, Lord Rand,” Hurin said quietly. He seemed to feel eyes watching, too. “The guards at the gate would not keep their mouths closed about an outland lord coming to Cairhien. The hostler, the innkeeper . . . everybody tells what they know where they think it will do them the most good, my Lord.”

With a grimace, Rand took two steps and hurled the invitations into the fire. They caught immediately. “I am not playing Daes Dae’mar,” he said, loudly enough for everyone to hear. Not even Cuale looked at him. “I’ve nothing to do with your Great Game. I am just here to wait for some friends.”

Hurin caught his arm. “Please, Lord Rand.” His voice was an urgent whisper. “Please don’t do that again.”

“Again? You really think I’ll receive more?”

“I’m certain. Light, but you mind me of the time Teva got so mad at a hornet buzzing round his ears, he kicked the nest. You’ve likely just convinced everyone in the room you are in some deep part of the Game. It must be deep, as they’ll see it, if you deny playing at all. Every lord and lady in Cairhien plays it.” The sniffer glanced at the invitations, curling blackly in the fire, and winced. “And you have surely made enemies of three Houses. Not great Houses, or they’d not have moved so quickly, but still noble. You must answer any more invitations you receive, my Lord. Decline if you will—though they’ll read things into whose invitations you do decline. And into whose you accept. Of course, if you decline them all, or accept them all—”

“I’ll have no part of it,” Rand said quietly. “We are leaving Cairhien as soon as we can.” He thrust his fists into his coat pockets, and felt Selene’s note crumple. Pulling it out, he smoothed it on his coat front. “As soon as we can,” he muttered, putting it back in his pocket again. “Have your drink, Hurin.”

He stalked out angrily, not sure whether he was angry with himself, or with Cairhien and its Great Game, or Selene for vanishing, or Moiraine. She had started it all, stealing his coats and giving him a lord’s clothes instead. Even now that he called himself free