rj.thepathofdaggers-第65部分
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o whether I ever saw him again。〃 Once more； those eyes focused on Cadsuane； green augers。 Not trying to see what lay inside her head。 The woman knew。 Some； at least。 Enough； or too much。
Still； Cadsuane felt a rising thrill of possibility。 If she had had any doubts that Sorilea wanted to feel her out； they were gone。 And you did not feel out someone in this manner unless you hoped for some agreement。 〃Do you believe a man must be hard？〃 she asked。 She was taking a chance。 〃Or strong？〃 By her tone； she left no doubt she saw a difference。
Again Sorilea touched the tray； the smallest of smiles might have quirked her lips for an instant。 Or not。 〃Most men see the two as one and the same； Cadsuane Melaidhrin。 Strong endures； hard shatters。〃
Cadsuane drew breath。 A chance she would have scoured anyone else for taking。 But she was not anyone else； and sometimes chances had to be taken。 〃The boy confuses them；〃 she said。 〃He needs to be strong； and makes himself harder。 Too hard； already； and he will not stop until he is stopped。 He has forgotten how to laugh except in bitterness； there are no tears left in him。 Unless he finds laughter and tears again； the world faces disaster。 He must learn that even the Dragon Reborn is flesh。 If he goes to Tarmon Gai'don as he is； even his victory may be as dark as his defeat。〃
Sorilea listened intently； and kept silent even after Cadsuane finished。 Those green eyes studied her。 〃Your Dragon Reborn and your Last Battle are not in our prophecies；〃 Sorilea said at last。 〃We have tried to make Rand al'Thor know his blood； but I fear he sees us as only another spear。 If one spear breaks in your hand； you do not pause to mourn before taking up another。 Perhaps you and I aim at targets not too far apart。〃
〃Perhaps we do；〃 Cadsuane said cautiously。 Targets even a hand apart might be not at all alike。
Abruptly； the glow of saidar surrounded the leather…faced woman。 She was weak enough to make Daigian look at least moderately strong。 But then； Sorilea's strength did not lie in the Power。 〃There is a thing you may find useful；〃 she said。 〃I cannot make it work； but I can weave the flows to show you。〃 She did just that； laying feeble skeins that fell into place and melted； too poor to do what they were intended for。 〃It is called Traveling；〃 Sorilea said。
This time； Cadsuane's jaw dropped。 Alanna and Kiruna and the rest denied teaching the Wise Ones how to link； or a number of other skills they suddenly seemed to have； and Cadsuane had assumed the Aiel had managed to wring them out of the sisters held in the tents。 But this was。。。
Impossible； she would have said； yet she did not believe Sorilea was lying。 She could hardly wait to try the weave herself。 Not that it was of much use immediately。 Even if she knew exactly where the wretched boy was； she had to make him e to her。 Sorilea was right about that。 〃A very great gift；〃 she said slowly。 〃I have nothing I can give you to pare。〃
This time； there was no doubt of the brief smile that flashed across Sorilea's lips。 She knew very well that Cadsuane was in her debt。 Taking up the heavy golden pitcher with both hands； she carefully filled the small white cups。 With plain water。 She did not spill a drop。
〃I offer you water oath；〃 she said solemnly； picking up one of the cups。 〃By this； we are bound as one； to teach Rand al'Thor laughter and tears。〃 She sipped； and Cadsuane imitated her。
〃We are bound as one。〃 And if their targets turned out not to be the same at all？ She did not underestimate Sorilea as ally or opponent； but Cadsuane knew which target had to be struck； at any cost。
Chapter 13
（Dragon）
Floating Like Snow
The northern horizon was purple with the fierce rain that had hammered the east of Illian through the night。 Overhead； a morning sky of dark boiling clouds threatened； and strong winds flung cloaks about； made banners snap and crack like whips on the crest of the ridge； the white Dragon Banner and the crimson Banner of Light； and the bright standards of nobility from Illian and Cairhien and Tear。 The nobles kept to their own kind； three widely spaced knots awash in gilt and silver…plated steel； silks and velvets and laces； but in mon they looked around uneasily。 Even the best…trained of their horses tossed heads and stamped hooves on the muddy ground。 The wind was cold； and colder seeming for the heat it had replaced so abruptly； just as the rain had been a shock after so long without。 From whatever nation； they had prayed for the baking drought to break； but none knew what to make of unrelenting storms in answer to their prayers。 Some glanced at Rand when they thought he would not notice。 Perhaps wondering if he had answered them so。 The thought made him laugh softly； bitterly。
He patted his black gelding's neck with a leather…gauntleted hand； glad that Tai'daishar did not show nerves。 The massive animal might have been a statue； awaiting the pressure of reins or knees to move。 It was good that the Dragon Reborn's horse seemed as cold as he did； as though they floated in the Void together。 Even with the One Power raging through him； fire and ice and death； he was barely aware of the wind； though it flailed his gold…embroidered cloak about and cut through his coat； green silk thickly worked with gold and not intended for wear in such weather。 The wounds in his side ached and throbbed； the old and the new cutting across it； the wounds that would never heal； but that was distant； too； another man's flesh。 The Crown of Swords might have been pricking someone else's temples with the sharp points of the tiny blades among its golden laurel leaves。 Even the filth woven through saidin seemed less obtrusive than it once had； still vile； still loathsome； but no longer worth notice。 The nobles' eyes on his back were palpable； though。
Shifting his sword hilt； he leaned forward。 He could see the tight cluster of low； wooded hills half a mile to the east as clearly as if he were using a looking glass。 The land was flat； here； the only prominences those forested hills and this long ridge； thrusting up from the heath。 The next thicket dense enough to truly deserve the name lay close to ten miles off。 Only storm…battered half…leafless trees and tangles of undergrowth were visible on the hills； but he knew what they hid。 Two； perhaps three thousand of the men Sammael had gathered to try to stop him from taking Illian。
That army had disintegrated once they learned that the man who had summoned them was dead； that Mattin Stepaneos had vanished； perhaps into the grave as well； and that there was a new king in Illian。 Many had scattered back to their homes； yet just as many clung together。 Usually no more than twenty here； thirty there； but a great army if they came together again； and countless armed bands otherwise。 Either way； they could not be allowed to roam the countryside。 Time weighed down on his shoulders like lead。 There was never enough time； but maybe this once。。。 Fire and ice and death。
What would you do？ he thought。 Are you there？ And then； doubtfully； hating the doubt； Were you ever there？ Silence answered； deep and dead in the emptiness that surrounded him。 Or was there mad laughter somewhere in the recesses of his mind？ Did he imagine it； like the feel of someone looking over his shoulder； someone just on the brink of touching his back？ Or the colors that swirled just out of sight； more than colors； and were gone？ A thing of madmen。 His gloved thumb slid along the carvings that serpentined the Dragon Scepter。 The long green…and…white tassels below the polished spearpoint fluttered in the wind。 Fire and ice； and death would e。
〃I will go talk to them myself；〃 he announced。 Which produced a furor。
Lord Gregorin； the green sash of the Council of Nine slanted across his ornately gilded breastplate； hurried his fine…ankled white gelding forward from the Illianers； followed closely by Demetre Marcolin； First Captain of the panions； on a solid bay。 Marcolin was the only man among them without silk or a speck of lace； the only man in plain if brightly burnished armor； though the conical helmet resting on his saddle's high pommel did bear three thin golden plumes。 Lord Marac lifted his reins； then let them fall uncertainly when he saw no others of the Nine move。 A wide man with a stolid manner； and new to the Council； he often seemed more craftsman than lord despite the rich silks beneath his lavish armor and the falls of lace spilling over。 High Lords Weiramon and Tolmeran spurred together from the Tairens； as crusted with gold and silver as any of the Nine； and Rosana； newly raised to High Lady and wearing a breastplate worked with the Hawk…and…Stars of her House。 There； too； others half made as if to follow then hung back； looking worried。 Blade…slender Arae and blue…eyed Maraconn and bald…headed Gueyam were dead men； they did not know that； but however much they wanted to be at the center of power； they feared Rand would kill them。 Only Lord Semaradrid came from the Cairhienin； on a gray that had seen better days； his armor battered； its gilding chipped。 His face was gaunt and hard； the front of
