The great hunt - By Robert Jordan Page 0,248

inside.

“The Great Game,” the man said quickly. His accent was of the streets, and his clothes as well, but they were a shade too fine, too unworn; he had more coin to spend than any Foregater should. “Nothing against you personal, you see? It is just the Game.”

“The Game? I’m not mixed up in Daes Dae’mar! Who would want to kill me for the Great Game?” The man hesitated. Thom moved his blade closer. If the fellow blinked, his eyelashes would brush the point. “Who?”

“Barthanes,” came the hoarse answer. “Lord Barthanes. We would not have killed you. Barthanes wants information. We just wanted to find out what you know. There can be gold in it for you. A nice, fat golden crown for what you know. Maybe two.”

“Liar! I was in Barthanes’s manor last night, as close to him as I am to you. If he wanted anything of me, I’d never have left alive.”

“I tell you, we have been looking for you, or anyone who knows about this Andoran lord, for days. I never heard your name until last night, downstairs. Lord Barthanes is generous. It could be five crowns.”

The man tried to pull his head away from the knife in Thom’s hand, and Thom pushed him harder against the wall. “What Andoran lord?” But he knew. The Light help him, he knew.

“Rand. Of House al’Thor. Tall. Young. A blademaster, or at least he wears the sword. I know he came to see you. Him and an Ogier, and you talked. Tell me what you know. I might even throw in a crown or two, myself.”

“You fool,” Thom breathed. Dena died for this? Oh, Light, she’s dead. He felt as if he wanted to cry. “The boy’s a shepherd.” A shepherd in a fancy coat, with Aes Sedai around him like bees around honeyroses. “Just a shepherd.” He tightened his grip in the man’s hair.

“Wait! Wait! You can make more than any five crowns, or even ten. A hundred, more like. Every House wants to know about this Rand al’Thor. Two or three have approached me. With what you know, and my knowing who wants to know it, we could both fill our pockets. And there has been a woman, a lady, I have seen more than once while asking after him. If we can find out who she is . . . why, we could sell that, too.”

“You’ve made one real mistake in it all,” Thom said.

“Mistake?” The man’s far hand was beginning to slide down toward his belt. No doubt he had another dagger there. Thom ignored it.

“You should never have touched the girl.”

The man’s hand darted for his belt, then he gave one convulsive start as Thom’s knife went home.

Thom let him fall over away from the door and stood a moment before bending tiredly to tug his blades free. The door banged open, and he whirled with a snarl on his face.

Zera jerked back, a hand to her throat, staring at him. “That fool Ella just told me,” she said unsteadily, “that two of Barthanes’s men were asking after you last night, and with what I’ve heard this morning. . . . I thought you said you didn’t play in the Game anymore.”

“They found me,” he said wearily.

Her eyes dropped from his face and widened as they took in the bodies of the two men. Hastily she stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her. “This is bad, Thom. You’ll have to leave Cairhien.” Her gaze fell on the bed, and her breath caught. “Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, Thom, I’m so sorry.”

“I cannot leave yet, Zera.” He hesitated, then tenderly drew a blanket over Dena, covering her face. “I have another man to kill, first.”

The innkeeper gave herself a shake and pulled her eyes away from the bed. Her voice was more than a little breathy. “If you mean Barthanes, you’re too late. Everybody’s talking about it already. He is dead. His servants found him this morning, torn to pieces in his bedchamber. The only way they knew it was him was his head stuck on a spike over the fireplace.” She laid a hand on his arm. “Thom, you can’t hide that you were there last night, not from anybody who wants to know. Add these two in, and there’s nobody in Cairhien who won’t believe you were involved.” There was a slight questioning note in her last words, as if she, too, were wondering.

“It doesn’t matter, I suppose,” he said dully.