Chapter 2 – 969 NE, late summer
Luc Mantear lounged in his high-backed chair, his feet propped on the desk in front of him. "More wine!" he shouted again to no one in particular. Eventually a servant would hear him and bring another carafe. If he was lucky he might get a smart servant who would bring him two. Luc held his empty goblet in front of him and feigned studying the lines of engraving and jewels. His thoughts were elsewhere. Luc Mantear was thinking of ways he might kill Taringail Damodred.
Taringail Damodred was a skilled practitioner of Daes Dae'mar. Only weeks after the Cairhienin had married Tigraine the man had her dancing on strings. Luc feared for Andor. Should Mother die and Taringail live it will be Cairhien that rules Andor, not my sister. No matter how many plots Luc played out in his head he couldn't find one that avoided another war with Cairhien. Should Taringail suffer an 'accident' Luc was sure Laman would assume the truth. The little schemers in Cairhien would not be fooled easily. A knock on the door broke Luc's concentration.
"My Lord, the Queen summons you to the Blue Reception Room."
Luc gave the servant a long stare. The Blue Room was the smallest of the Royal Palace's halls. For Luc to be summoned there was an insult, and his mother knew that. "Is this some sort of a jest? I'll have your tongue if you think to fool me."
The servant gulped. "No, my lord. The Queen gave me the order directly. She waits for you now."
Luc took his time getting to his feet and even more time making his way to the Blue Room. If his mother was going to insult him, Luc was going to insult her. Luc found only his mother, Queen Mordrellen, and her Aes Sedai advisor, Gitara Moroso, sitting in front of one of the Blue Room's hearths.. The Queen had a parchment held delicately in one hand. When she saw Luc she folded the parchment and placed it in her lap.
"My son, House Damodred has sent you a fine gift today." Somewhere, Luc thought he heard a baby crying. "They say he was born to a servant some months ago. A servant who had only known the passions of one man." The crying was getting louder now. "I present you with your son." Luc spun on his heel to find a servant woman with House Damodred colors sewn onto her dress. "They named him Taringail in honor of your brother-in-law. Dalresin hopes you will do the honorable thing and see the child raised correctly. I hope you will do the smart thing and ensure this bastard never bears the name Mantear. I'll not have a low-born bastard as the future High Seat of my House."
Gitara Sedai brought her gaze from the fire to Luc. "I have Foretold this child will save Andor one day. Treat him well."
998 NE, Adar 18th
Hours west of the village of Carysford, Tarin Mantear's troop rode on in silence. Everyman of the Queen's Guards was loyal to Andor and dutiful to the end, and the men Tarin had selected all respected him as a leader. However, no man of the Queen's Guards was accustomed to traveling under secret orders. Rumors had spread amongst the men the first night they made camp. Tarin had let the rumors spread. Stamping them out would have made matters worse, and a little tale telling usually kept spirits high. The Queen's Guards were not the type to assume the worst. Tarin himself was not immune to the urge to speculate. His hand slipped to the pouch at his belt where the tiny scroll bearing the royal seal rested. Soon now, Tarin thought. At camp tonight we'll know why we have ridden out in haste.
At first Tarin had thought they were to escort the Ghealdanin's False Dragon through Andor. However, Gareth Bryne mentioned nothing of taking the road to Lugard. Certainly the Captain-General knew the troop would pass that road in two days ride. What then? Are we to travel to Four Kings then south to meet the Aes Sedai caravan? Tarin knew that didn't make any sense. The Aes Sedai would likely take the more direct route to Caemlyn and Tarin's troop would miss them if they took the longer route to the Lugard road. Tarin also weighed the possibility that they were on a mission to collect taxes from the far western fringes of Andor. As far as Tarin knew such a thing had not happened in generations. Unless Queen Morgase expected armed resistance in the lands around the Manetherendrelle they were over-manned for such an operation.
Tarin eyed the line of travelers moving east down the road. Perhaps they are why we're here. A Queen's Guard presence on the road would certainly reduce the number of thefts and assaults amongst the travelers, but if that's the case why the secrecy? Tarin feared their purpose was much more dangerous. Perhaps Whitecloaks or supporters of the False Dragon were riding from the west to cause trouble. Perhaps Tarin should have brought more men.
A wagon caught Tarin's attention. Most of the travelers making for Caemlyn were on foot. Any merchants wanting to make money off the presentation of the False Dragon were already in the city and had stalls setup, or were heading back west with empty carts having already sold out of supplies. The driver of the wagon had the weathered look of a farmer, probably a local. Tarin assumed the lanky figure beside the driver to be the farmer's son. He assumed it was a boy based on height and build, but it was hard to tell the way the lad had his head wrapped in a scarf. The only thing Tarin could see of his face was his eyes, and not much of those. Tarin gave the farmer a friendly nod, which was returned in kind.
As the wagon passed by something compelled Tarin to look in the back. The wagon's rear was lined with hay. Another boy hunkered there, a cloak pulled tightly around his shoulders. Perhaps, boy was not the correct term. Although the person had a youthful appearance he was far too tall to be called anything less than a man. For an instant Tarin gaped. The youth had the same unruly dark hair as Tarin himself. Standing, the boy's was easily as tall as Tarin. Taller even, though not as heavily muscled. The youth's cloak shifted and he quickly pulled it closed around him but not before Tarin glimpsed the heron-marked hilt of a sword at the lad's waste. By the Light! Tarin felt a twisting of emotion inside him. It was like looking at a reflection of himself or a little brother. Panic almost overwhelmed him as the possibilities flashed through his head. If this is another bastard of Luc Mantear maybe he knows where our father is! Shaking his head Tarin ended that train of thought. You bull-goose fool, imagining long lost family. What do you expect? Are you going to run off together and rescue your father from the Blight? Bloody lot of good that did you last time. Tarin heeled his horse and picked up the pace a little. You probably imagined the whole thing.
"Odd place to find an Aielman."
The statement caught Tarin off guard. After a few heartbeats' time he managed a reply. "What?"
Bogdan nodded toward the wagon. "I said this is an odd place to find an Aielman. The boy in the back of that wagon. Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. I saw you gawking at him. Thought you were about to draw your sword and order the attack, from the look of you."
Tarin realized his palms were sweating and hastily dried them on his trousers. "I saw him, but I didn't think he was an Aielman."
"With that height and hair what else could he be?"
Tarin was relieved when Bogdan hadn't noticed the same family similarities as he. "I was far too young to fight in the Aiel War, but I did see some Aielmen up close. They all had hands and faces darkened by the sun. Most looked like an old boot."
"Aye, that's true, Captain, but I image that boy was probably some stray taken in after the war. Likely that farmer or his wife took pity on a little orphan boy not knowing he was an Aielman. Either that, or he's your long lost brother."
The statement hit Tarin like a blow to the stomach. "Why do you say that?"
"There aren't many families in Andor producing tall, red-haired sons. The boy certainly didn't look like the farmer's offspring." Bogdan gave Tarin a long measuring look. "If I have offended I apologize."
Tarin sighed. "No, Bogdan. Do not apologize. The subject of my family and parentage has always been touchy. Let's forget it. There are many strange folk travelling the roads these days."
Tarin spent the rest of the day in silence, and Bogdan never tried to break it. His thoughts were consumed by the red-haired youth in the wagon. His own reaction to the boy and Bogdan's comments were troubling. Tarin's father and aunt had disappeared before he was old enough to remember them. All his life he had been a ward of the palace. The Queen's Guard had been his father and the Queen's servants his mother. He hadn't even known he was a cousin of Gawyn and Elayne until recently, and that had been a shock for everyone.
Long into the night Tarin thought about the potential ramifications of another Mantear bastard in Andor. He lay in his tent and reexamined every detail of the day in his mind. Tarin was sure it was too much of a coincidence the youth bore heron-marked sword. As far as Tarin knew there were only a few dozen blademasters in the word. Finding another blademaster who shared such a strong resemblance to himself seemed impossible. The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills, Tarin tried to tell himself. It was a small comfort. Desperately Tarin wanted to take his horse and gallop east after the boy, but his mission was too important. Queen Morgase had entrusted him with a mission that could propel Andor in chaos if he failed.
Hours before, while the men set up tents around him, Tarin had pulled the scroll from his pouch. Breaking the seal, he unrolled the parchment and read the orders. The handwriting was that of Queen Morgase herself. She detailed how an unknown enemy had hired a pair of thugs to assassinate the High Seat of House Haevin. This unknown enemy had provided the would-be assassins with documents stating Queen Morgase had given the orders to kill. Probably by design the assassins had been killed by household guards while trying to infiltrate House Haevin's mansion. Fearing for their lives the Lady Catalyn Haevin and her guardian, the Lord Arendor, had fled. Queen Morgase believed they would hide in Whitebridge as House Haevin owned a manse there and had investments with local merchants.
Tarin knew the courts well enough to know this could destroy Andor as he knew it. The streets of Caemlyn were full of white-cockaded people already unhappy with Queen Morgase and her continued use of an Aes Sedai advisor. If those people were led to believe the Queen had ordered the assassination of one of the High Seats of another House it would be chaos. The resulting riot would probably kill thousands and destroy half the city. Tarin's mission was to find Lady Haevin and tell her the assassins were not actually operatives of the crown. Tarin was to protect the Lady Haevin and keep her safe, in Whitebridge, until he received orders stating otherwise.
Tarin had passed the parchment to Bogdan. The Warder had barely lifted an eyebrow at the contents before handing it back to him. "We should keep this to ourselves for now. One wrong word by any of the men could give the next assassin all the information he needs."
The parchment was safe once again, back in its pouch on Tarin's belt. Tarin hoped the document would help convince the Lady Haevin of the Queen's good intentions. From what he remembered of Catalyn he doubted it. Sleep was a long time coming, and when it did Tarin dreamed of standing back-to-back with another red-haired blademaster as they fought off wave after wave of assassins.