Only fools let themselves be ruled by a king or a queen, by one man or woman. “Except Queen Morgase, of course,” he put in hastily. “She is a fine woman, so I've heard. Beautiful, I'm told.” All those fools bowing to one fool. The High Lords ruled Tear together, reaching decisions in concert, and that was how things should be. The High Lords knew what was right and good and true. Especially the High Lord Samon. No man could go wrong obeying the High Lords. Especially the High Lord Samon.
Beyond kings and queens, beyond even Illian, lay a bigger hatred Mallia attempted to keep hidden, but he talked so much in trying to find out what they were up to, and grew so carried away by the sound of his own voice, that he let more slip than he intended.
They must travel a great deal, serving a great Queen like Morgase. They must have seen many lands. He dreamed of the sea because then he could see lands he had only heard of, because then he could find the Mayener oilfish shoals, could outtrade the Sea Folk and the filthy Illianers. And the sea was far from Tar Valon. They must understand that, forced as they were to travel among odd places and people, places and people they could not have stomached if they were not serving Queen Morgase.
“I never liked docking there, never knowing who might be using the Power.” He almost spat the last word. Since he had heard the High Lord Samon speak, though ... “Burn my soul, it makes me feel like hullworms are burrowing into my belly just looking at their White Tower, now, knowing what they plan.”
The High Lord Samon said the Aes Sedai meant to rule the world. Samon said they meant to crush every nation, put their foot on every man's throat. Samon said Tear could no longer hold the Power out of its own lands and believe that was enough. Samon said Tear had its rightful day of glory coming, but Tar Valon stood between Tear and glory.
“There's no hope for it. Sooner or later they will have to be hunted down and killed, every last Aes Sedai. The High Lord Samon says the others might be saved — the young ones, the novices, the Accepted — if they're brought to the Stone, but the rest must be eradicated. That's what the High Lord Samon says. The White Tower must be destroyed.”
For a moment Mallia stood in the middle of his cabin, arms full of clothes and books and rolled charts, hair almost brushing the deck beams overhead, staring at nothing with pale blue eyes while the White Tower tumbled into ruin. Then he gave a start as if realizing what he had just said. His pointed beard waggled uncertainly.
“That is... that's what he says. I... I think that may be going too far, myself. The High Lord Samon... He speaks so that he carries a man beyond his own beliefs. If Caemlyn can make covenants with the Tower, why, so can Tear.” He shivered and did not seem to know it. “That is what I say.”
“As you say,” Mat told him, and felt mischief bubble inside. “I think your suggestion is the right one, Captain. But don't stop with a few Accepted, though. Ask a dozen Aes Sedai to come, or two. Think what the Stone of Tear would be like with two dozen Aes Sedai in it.”
Mallia shuddered. “I will send a man for my money chest,” he said stiffly, and stalked out.
Mat frowned at the closed door. “I think I shouldn't have said that.”
“I don't know why you might think that,” Thom said dryly. “Next you could try telling the Lord Captain Commander of the Whitecloaks he should marry the Amyrlin Seat.” His brows drew down, like white caterpillars. “High Lord Samon. I never heard of any High Lord Samon.”
It was Mat's turn to be dry. “Well, even you cannot know everything about all the kings and queens and nobles there are, Thom. One or two might just have escaped your notice.”
“I know the names of the kings and queens, boy, and the names of all the High Lords of Tear, too. I suppose they could have raised a Lord of the Land, but I'd think I would have heard of the old High Lord dying. If you had settled for booting some poor fellows out of their cabin instead of taking the captain's, we'd each have a bed to ourselves, narrow and hard as it might be. Now we have to share Mallia's. I hope you don't snore, boy. I cannot abide snoring.”
Mat ground his teeth. As he recalled, Thom had a snore like a woodrasp working on an oak knot. He had forgotten that.
It was one of the two large men — Sanor or Vasa; he did not give his name — who came to pull the captain's ironbound money chest from under the bed. He never said a word, only made sketchy bows, and frowned at them when he thought they were not looking, and left.
Mat was beginning to wonder if the luck that had been with him all night had deserted him at last. He was going to have to put up with Thom's snoring, and truth to tell, it might not have been the best luck in the world to jump onto this particular ship waving a paper signed by the Amyrlin Seat and sealed with the Flame of Tar Valon. On impulse he pulled out one of his cylindrical leather dice cups, popped off the tightfitting lid, and upended the dice onto the table.
They were spotted dice, and five single pips stared up at him. The Dark One's Eyes, that was called in some games. It was a losing toss in those, a winning in other games. But what game am I playing? He scooped the dice up, tossed them again. Five pips. Another toss, and again the Dark One's Eyes winked at him.
“If you used those dice to win all that gold,” Thom said quietly, “no wonder you had to leave by the first ship sailing.” He had stripped down to his shirt, and had that half over his head when he spoke. His knees were knobby and his legs seemed all sinew and stringy muscle, the right a little shrunken. “Boy, a twelveyearold girl would cut your heart out if she knew you were using dice like that against her.”
“It isn't the dice,” Mat muttered. “It's the luck.” Aes Sedai luck? Or the Dark One's luck? He pushed the dice back into the cup and capped it.
“I suppose,” Thom said, climbing into the bed, “you aren't going to tell me where all that gold came from, then.”
“I won it. Tonight. With their dice.”
“Uhhuh. And I suppose you're not going to explain that paper you were waving around — I saw the seal, boy! — or all that talk about White Tower business, or why the dockmaster had your description from an Aes Sedai, either.”
“I am carrying a letter to Morgase for Elayne, Thom,” Mat said a good deal more patiently than he felt. “Nynaeve gave me the paper. I don't kno