Knife of Dreams

The young Guardsman struggled to sit up until Birgitte pressed him back down. “Three or four companies of mercenaries are attacking the Far Madding Gate, my Lady,” he said, pain wracking his face and tinging his voice. “From inside the city, I mean. They placed archers to shoot anyone who tried to wave the signal flags for help, but I managed to get away, and my horse lasted just long enough.”

Birgitte growled an oath. Cordwyn. Gomaisen and Bakuvun would be among them, she was ready to wager. She should have pressed Elayne to put them out of the city as soon as they made their demands. She did not realize she had spoken aloud until the wounded Guardsman spoke up.

“No, my Lady. Leastwise, not Bakuvun. Him and a dozen or so of his men dropped by to toss… uh, to pass the time, and the lieutenant figures they’re the only reason we’ve managed to hold on. If they are still holding. They were using battering rams on the tower doors when I looked back. But there’s more, my Lady. There’s men massing in Low Caemlyn outside the gates. Ten thousand, maybe twice that. Hard to tell, the way those streets twist.”

Birgitte winced. Ten thousand men would be enough to carry an assault from the outside whether or not the mercenaries were held off unless she sent everything, and she could not. What in the Light was she to do? Burn her, she could plan a raid to rescue someone from a fortress or scout in country held by the enemy with confidence that she knew what she was doing, but this was a battle, with the fate of Caemlyn and maybe the throne in the balance. Still, she had it to do. “Mistress Harfor, take this man back to the palace and see his wounds tended, please.” There was no point in asking the Windfinders for Healing. They had already made it clear that was taking part in the war, in their view. “Dyelin, leave me all of the horse and a thousand halberdmen. You take the rest and all of the crossbowmen and archers available. And every man you can scrape together who can hold a sword. If the gate is still holding when the Kinswomen get you there, make sure it continues to hold. If it’s fallen, take it back. And hold that bloody wall till I can get there.”

“Very well,” Dyelin said as if those were the easiest orders in the world to carry out. “Conail. Catalyn. Branlet, Perival, you come with me. Your foot will fight better with you there.” Conail looked disappointed, no doubt seeing himself riding in a gallant charge, but he gathered his reins and whispered something that made the two younger boys chuckle.

“So will my horse fight better.” Catalyn protested. “I want to help rescue Elayne.”

“You came to help her secure the throne.” Dyelin said sharply, “and you’ll go where you’re needed to see to that, or you and I will have another talk later.” Whatever that meant, Catalyn’s plump face reddened, but she sullenly followed Dyelin and the others when they rode away.

Guybon looked at Birgitte, yet he said nothing, though likely he was wondering why she was not sending more. He would not challenge her publicly. The problem was. she did not know how many Black sisters would be with Elayne. She needed every Windhnder, needed them to believe they were all necessary. Had there been time, she would have stripped the sentries from the outer towers, stripped even the gates.

“Make the gateway,” she told Chanelle. “To just this side of the ridge east of the city, right on top of the Erinin Road and facing away from the city.’’

The Windfinders gathered in a circle, doing whatever they had to do to link and taking their bloody time about it. Suddenly the vertical silver-blue slash of a gateway appeared, widening into an opening, five paces tall and covering the whole width of the cleared ground, that showed a wide road of hard-packed clay climbing the gentle slope of the ten-span high ridge on its way to the River Erinin. Arymilla had camps beyond that ridge. Given the news, they might be empty-with luck, they were- but she could not concern herself with them now in any event.

“Forward and deploy as ordered!” Guybon shouted, and spurred his tall bay through followed by the gathered nobles and the Guardsmen ten abreast. The Guardsmen began curling off to the left and out of sight while the nobles took a position a little up the ridge. Some began peering toward the city through looking glasses. Guybon dismounted and ran, crouching, to peer over the crest through his. Birgitte could almost feel the impatience of the Guardswomen waiting behind her.

“You did not need a gateway this large,” Chanelle said, frowning at the column of horsemen flowing into the gateway. “Why-?”

“Come with me.” Birgitte said, taking the Windfinder by her arm. “I want to show you something.” Pulling the dun along by his reins, she began drawing the woman toward the gateway. “You can come back once you’ve seen it.” If she knew the least thing about Chanelle, she was the one guiding the circle. For the rest, she was counting on human nature. She did not look back, yet she nearly sighed with relief when she heard the other Windfinders murmuring among themselves behind her. Following.

Whatever Guybon had seen, it was good news, because he straightened up before ru

When she reached Guybon. who was back on his bay, the Guardswomen arrayed themselves in three lines behind Caseille off to one side. The whole hundred-pace width of the gateway was filled with men and horses now. trotting as they hurried left and right to join the others already forming in three ranks that grew to either side of the road. Good. There would be no easy way for the Windfinders to duck back through for a little while. A wagon with an arched canvas cover and a four-horse team, surrounded by a small mounted party, was halted in the road just beyond the last buildings of Low Caemlyn. perhaps a mile distant. Beyond it, people bustled in the open brick markets that lined the road, going about their lives as best they could, but they might as well not have existed. Elayne was in that wagon. Birgitte raised her hand without taking her eyes from the vehicle, and Guybon put his brass-mounted looking glass in her palm. Wagon and riders leaped closer when she raised the tube to her eye.

“What did you want me to see?” Chanelle demanded.

“In a moment,” Birgitte replied. There were four men, three of them mounted, but more important were the seven women on horseback. It was a good looking glass, but not good enough for her to make out an ageless face at that distance. Still, she had to assume all seven were Aes Sedai. Eight against seven might have seemed almost even odds, but not when the eight were linked. Not if she could make the eight take part.

What were the Darkfriends thinking, seeing thousands of soldiers and armsmen appear from behind what would seem to them a heat haze hanging in the air? She lowered the glass. Noblemen were begi

However surprised the Darkfriends were, they did not dither long. Lightning began flashing down out of a clear sky, silver-blue bolts that struck the ground with thunderous crashes and threw men and horses like splashed mud. Horses reared and plunged and screamed, but men fought to control their mounts, to hold their places. No one ran. The booming thunder that accompanied those blasts struck Birgitte like blows, staggering her. She could feel her hair stirring, trying to rise out of her braid. The air smelled… sharp. It seemed to tingle. Again lightning lashed the ranks. In Low Caemlyn, people were ru