The great hunt - By Robert Jordan Page 0,57

frightened, but more than anything else she needs sleep, now. The boy. . . .” She touched Mat as two men lifted his litter, and pulled her hand back quickly. “Take him to the Amyrlin Seat’s chambers. Find the Amyrlin wherever she is, and tell her he is there. Tell her his name is Matrim Cauthon. I will join her as soon as I am able.”

“The Amyrlin!” Liandrin exclaimed. “You think to have the Amyrlin as Healer for your—your pet? You are mad, Moiraine.”

“The Amyrlin Seat,” Moiraine said calmly, “does not share your Red Ajah prejudices, Liandrin. She will Heal a man without need of a special use for him. Go ahead,” she told the litter bearers.

Liandrin watched them leave, Moiraine and the men carrying Mat and Egwene, then turned to stare at Rand. He tried to ignore her. He concentrated on scabbarding his sword and brushing off the straw that clung to his shirt and breeches. When he raised his head, though, she was still studying him, her face as blank as ice. Saying nothing, she turned to consider the other men thoughtfully. One held the body of the hanged man up while another worked to unfasten the belt. Ingtar and the others waited respectfully. With a last glance at Rand, she left, head held like a queen.

“A hard woman,” Ingtar muttered, then seemed surprised that he had spoken. “What happened here, Rand al’Thor?”

Rand shook his head. “I don’t know, except that Fain escaped somehow. And hurt Egwene and Mat doing it. I saw the guardroom”—he shuddered—“but in here. . . . Whatever it was, Ingtar, it scared that fellow bad enough that he hung himself. I think the other one’s gone mad from seeing it.”

“We are all going mad tonight.”

“The Fade . . . you killed it?”

“No!” Ingtar slammed his sword into its sheath; the hilt stuck up above his right shoulder. He seemed angry and ashamed at the same time. “It’s out of the keep by now, along with the rest of what we could not kill.”

“At least you’re alive, Ingtar. That Fade killed seven men!”

“Alive? Is that so important?” Suddenly Ingtar’s face was no longer angry, but tired and full of pain. “We had it in our hands. In our hands! And we lost it, Rand. Lost it!” He sounded as if he could not believe what he was saying.

“Lost what?” Rand asked.

“The Horn! The Horn of Valere. It’s gone, chest and all.”

“But it was in the strongroom.”

“The strongroom was looted,” Ingtar said wearily. “They did not take much, except for the Horn. What they could stuff in their pockets. I wish they had taken everything else and left that. Ronan is dead, and the watchmen he had guarding the strongroom.” His voice became quiet. “When I was a boy, Ronan held Jehaan Tower with twenty men against a thousand Trollocs. He did not go down easily, though. The old man had blood on his dagger. No man can ask more than that.” He was silent for a moment. “They came in through the Dog Gate, and left the same way. We put an end to fifty or more, but too many escaped. Trollocs! We’ve never before had Trollocs inside the keep. Never!”

“How could they get in through the Dog Gate, Ingtar? One man could stop a hundred there. And all the gates were barred.” He shifted uneasily, remembering why. “The guards would not have opened it to let anybody in.”

“Their throats were cut,” Ingtar said. “Both good men, and yet they were butchered like pigs. It was done from inside. Someone killed them, then opened the gate. Someone who could get close to them without suspicion. Someone they knew.”

Rand looked at the empty cell where Padan Fain had been. “But that means. . . .”

“Yes. There are Darkfriends inside Fal Dara. Or were. We will soon know if that’s the case. Kajin is checking now to see if anyone is missing. Peace! Treachery in Fal Dara keep!” Scowling, he looked around the dungeon, at the men waiting for him. They all had swords, worn over feastday clothes, and some had helmets. “We aren’t doing any good here. Out! Everyone!” Rand joined the withdrawal. Ingtar tapped Rand’s jerkin. “What is this? Have you decided to become a stableman?”

“It’s a long story,” Rand said. “Too long to tell here. Maybe some other time.” Maybe never, if I’m lucky. Maybe I can escape in all this confusion. No, I can’t. Not until I know Egwene’s all right. And