The great hunt - By Robert Jordan Page 0,251

surrendered their swords and daggers before going inside. Anything he could learn of these people, however small, might help, though he was confident of his plan already. He was always confident, but never more than where lords feared an assassin’s knife from their own followers.

As they went through the door, the officer frowned at him, and for a moment Fain wondered why. Of course. The beasts. Whatever they were, they were certainly no worse than Trollocs, nothing at all beside a Myrddraal, and he had not given them a second look. It was too late to pretend to be afraid of them now. But the Seanchan said nothing, only led him deeper into the house.

And so Fain found himself on his face, in a room bare of furnishings except for folding screens that hid its walls, while the officer told the High Lord Turak of him and his offering. Servants brought a table on which to set the chest so the High Lord would have no need to stoop; all Fain saw of them were scurrying slippers. He bided his time impatiently. Eventually there would come a time when he was not the one to bow.

Then the soldiers were dismissed, and Fain told to rise. He did so slowly, studying both the High Lord, with his shaven head and his long fingernails and his blue silk robe brocaded with blossoms, and the man who stood beside him with the unshaven half of his pale hair in a long braid. Fain was sure the fellow in green was only a servant, however great, but servants could be useful, especially if they stood high in their master’s sight.

“A marvelous gift.” Turak’s eyes lifted from the chest to Fain. A scent of roses wafted from the High Lord. “Yet the question asks itself; how did one like you come by a chest many lesser lords could not afford? Are you a thief?”

Fain tugged at his worn, none-too-clean coat. “It is sometimes necessary for a man to appear less than he is, High Lord. My present shabbiness allowed me to bring this to you unmolested. This chest is old, High Lord—as old as the Age of Legends—and within it lies a treasure such as few eyes have ever seen. Soon—very soon, High Lord—I will be able to open it, and give you that which will enable you to take this land as far as you wish, to the Spine of the World, the Aiel Waste, the lands beyond. Nothing will stand against you, High Lord, once I—” He cut off as Turak began running his long-nailed fingers over the chest.

“I have seen chests such as this, chests from the Age of Legends,” the High Lord said, “though none so fine. They are meant to be opened only by those who know the pattern, but I—ah!” He pressed among the ornate whorls and bosses, there was a sharp click, and he lifted back the lid. A flicker of what might have been disappointment passed across his face.

Fain bit the inside of his mouth till blood came to keep from snarling. It lessened his bargaining position that he was not the one who had opened the chest. Still, all the rest could go as he had planned if he could only make himself be patient. But he had been patient so long.

“These are treasures from the Age of Legends?” Turak said, lifting out the curled Horn in one hand and the curved dagger with the ruby in its golden hilt in the other. Fain clutched his hands in fists at his sides so he would not grab the dagger. “The Age of Legends,” Turak repeated softly, tracing the silver script inlaid around the golden bell of the Horn with the tip of the dagger’s blade. His brows rose in startlement, the first open expression Fain had seen from him, but in the next instant Turak’s face was as smooth as ever. “Do you have any idea what this is?”

“The Horn of Valere, High Lord,” Fain said smoothly, pleased to see the mouth of the man with the braid drop open. Turak only nodded as if to himself.

The High Lord turned away. Fain blinked and opened his mouth, then, at a sharp gesture from the yellow-haired man, followed without speaking.

It was another room with all the original furnishings gone, replaced by folding screens and a single chair facing a tall round cabinet. Still holding the Horn and the dagger, Turak looked at the cabinet, then away. He