rj.theshadowrising-第167部分
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It was the country that held his mind； but not the rebels。 They could be dealt with easily enough； after word began to spread that this one or that was a Darkfriend。 And once he managed to turn a few of them over to the Hand of the Light； they would stand up before everyone and confess to worshipping the Dark One； eating children； anything and everything they were told。 The rebels could not last long after that； the pretenders still in the field would wake to find themselves alone。 But the Dragonsworn； the men and women who had actually declared for the Dragon Reborn； would not fall away for a charge of being Darkfriends。 Most people already considered them so； swearing to follow a man who could channel。
It was the man they had sworn to follow who was the problem； the man whose name they did not even know。 Rand al'Thor。 Where was he？ A hundred bands of Dragonsworn out there； at least two large enough to be called armies； fighting the King's army … such of it as still held allegiance to Andric … fighting the rebels … who were busy fighting each other as often as Andric or the Dragonsworn … yet Carridin had no clue to which band sheltered Rand al'Thor。 He could be on Almoth Plain or in Arad Doman； where the situation was the same。 If he was； Jaichim Carridin was a dead man in all likelihood。
At the palace on the Verana he had mandeered for the Children's headquarters； he tossed his reins to one of the white…cloaked guards and stalked inside without returning their salutes。 The owner of this ornate mass of pale domes and lacy spires and shaded gardens had put forward a claim to the Throne of the Light； and no one plained at the occupation。 Least of all the owner； what was left of his head still adorned a spike above the Traitors' Steps； on the Maseta。
For once Carridin barely glanced at fine Tarabon carpets； or furnishings worked with gold and ivory； or fountained courts where splashing water made a cool sound。 Broad hallways with golden lamps and high ceilings covered in delicate gold…work scrolls interested him not at all。 This palace could match the finest in Amadicia； if not the largest； yet foremost in his mind right then was the strong brandy in the room he had taken for a study。
He was halfway across a priceless carpet； all patterned blue and scarlet and gold； eyes fixed on the carved cabinet that held a silver flask of double…distilled brandy； when suddenly he realized he was not alone。 A woman in a clinging； pale…red gown stood near the tall； narrow windows overlooking one of the tree…shaded gardens； her honey…colored hair in braids that brushed her shoulders。 A misty scrap of veil did nothing to hide her face。 Young and pretty； with a rosebud mouth and large brown eyes； she was no servant； not dressed like that。
〃Who are you？〃 he demanded irritably。 〃How did you get in here？ Leave at once； or I'll have you tossed into the street。〃
〃Threats； Bors？ You should be more weling to a guest； yes？〃
That name jolted him to his heels。 Before he thought； he had his sword out； lunging for her throat。
Something seized him … the air turned to crawling jelly … something forced him to his knees； encased him from the neck down。 It tightened around his wrist until bones grated； his hand popped open； and his sword fell。 The Power。 She was using the One Power on him。 A Tar Valon witch。 And if she knew that name。。。
〃Do you remember；〃 she said； ing closer； 〃a meeting where Ba'alzamon himself appeared； and showed us the faces of Matrim Cauthon； and Perrin Aybara； and Rand al'Thor？〃 She practically spat the names； especially the last； her eyes could have drilled holes in steel。 〃You see？ I know who you are； yes？ You pledged your soul to the Great Lord of the Dark； Bors。〃 Her sudden laugh was a tinkling of bells。
Sweat popped out on his face。 Not just a despised Tar Valon witch。 Black Ajah。 She was Black Ajah。 He had thought it would be a Myrddraal that came for him。 He had thought there was time yet。 More time。 Not yet。 〃I have tried to kill him；〃 he babbled。 〃Rand al'Thor。 I have tried！ But I cannot find him。 I cannot！ I was told my family would be killed if I failed； one by one。 I was promised I would be last！ I have cousins； yet。 Nephews。 Nieces。 I have another sister！ You must give me more time！〃
She stood there； watching him with those sharp brown eyes； smiling with that plump little mouth； listening to him spew out where Vanora could be found； where her bedchamber lay； how she liked to ride alone in the forest beyond Carmera。 Perhaps if he shouted some of the guards would e。 Perhaps they could kill her。 He opened his mouth wider … and that thick invisible jelly oozed in； forcing his jaws apart until they creaked in his ears。 Nostrils flaring； he sucked air in frantically。 He could still breathe； but he could not scream。 All that came out were muffled groans； like a woman wailing behind walls。 He wanted to scream。
〃You are very amusing；〃 the honey…haired woman said finally。 〃Jaichim。 That is a good name for a dog； I think。 Would you like to be my dog； Jaichim？ If you are a very good dog； I may allow you to watch Rand al'Thor die one day； yes？〃
It took a moment for what she was saying to sink in。 If he was to see Rand al'Thor die； she was not。。。 She was not going to kill him； skin him alive； do the things his mind had conjured that would make flaying a release。 Tears rolled down his face。 Sobs of relief shook him； as much as he could shake； trapped as he was。 That trap abruptly vanished； and he collapsed on hands and knees； still weeping。 He could not stop。
The woman knelt beside him and tangled a hand in his hair； pulled his head up。 〃Now you will listen to me； yes？ The death of Rand al'Thor is for the future； and you will see it only if you are a good dog。 You are going to move your Whitecloaks to the Panarch's Palace。〃
〃H…how do y…you know that？〃
She shook his head from side to side； not gently。 〃A good dog does not question his mistress。 I throw the stick； you fetch the stick。 I say kill； you kill。 Yes？ Yes。〃 Her smile was just a flash of teeth。 〃There will be difficulty in taking the Palace？ The Panarch's Legion is there； a thousand men； sleeping in the hallways； the exhibition rooms； the courtyards。 You do not have so many of your Whitecloaks。〃
〃They。。。。〃 He had to stop and swallow。 〃They will make no trouble。 They will believe Amathera has been chosen by the Assembly。 It is the Assembly that …〃
〃Do not bore me； Jaichim。 I do not care if you kill the entire Assembly so long as you hold the Panarch's Palace。 When will you move？〃
〃It。。。 it will take three or four days for Andric to deliver sureties。〃
〃Three or four days；〃 she murmured half to herself。 〃Very well。 A little longer delay should cause no harm。〃 He was wondering what delay she meant when she cut away the little ground remaining under his feet。 〃You will keep control of the Palace； and you will send the Panarch's fine soldiers away。〃
〃That is impossible；〃 he gasped； and she jerked his head back so hard he did not know if his neck would break or his scalp tear loose first。 He did not dare resist。 A thousand invisible needles pricked him； on his face； his chest； his back； arms； legs； everywhere。 Invisible； but he was sure no less real for that。
〃Impossible； Jaichim？〃 she said softly。 〃Impossible is a word I do not like to hear。〃
The needles twisted deeper； he groaned； but he had to explain。 What she wanted was impossible。 He panted with haste。 〃Once Amathera is invested as Panarch； she will control the Legion。 If I try to hold the Palace； she will turn them on me； and Andric will help her。 There is no way I can hold against the Panarch's Legion； and against whatever Andric can strip from the Ring forts。〃
She studied him so long he began to sweat。 He did not dare to flinch； hardly even to blink； those thousand biting little stabs did not allow it。
〃The Panarch will be dealt with；〃 she said finally。 The needles vanished； and she stood。
Carridin stood； too； trying to steady himself。 Perhaps some bargain could be reached； the woman seemed willing to listen to reason now。 His leg
