"Egwene", Gawyn said. He covered his pain well. "The army. If Bryne has been forced to lead us toward danger, we need to change our command structure immediately".
"Bring in my commanders", Bryne said. "I will relinquish control to them".
"And if they have been corrupted as well?" Doesine asked.
"I agree", Egwene said. "This smells of one of the Forsaken, perhaps Moghedien. Lord Bryne, if you were to fall in this fight, she’d know that your commanders would be next to take charge. They might have the same faulty instincts that you do".
Doesine shook her head. "Who can we trust? Any bloody man or woman we put in command could have suffered Compulsion".
"We may have to lead ourselves", Faiselle said. "Getting to a man who cannot channel would be easier than a sister, who would sense channeling and notice a woman with the ability. We are more likely to be clean".
"But who among us has the knowledge of battlefield tactics?" Ferane asked. "I consider myself well-read enough to oversee plans, but to make them?"
"We will be better than someone who may have been corrupted", Faiselle said.
"No", Egwene said, pulling herself up on Gawyn’s arm.
"Then what?" Gawyn asked.
Egwene clenched her teeth. Then what? She knew of only one man she could trust not to have been Compelled, at least not by Moghedien. A man who was immune to the effects of saidar and saidin. "We will have to put our armies under the command of Matrim Cauthon", she said. "May the Light watch over us".
CHAPTER 32
A Yellow Flower-Spider
The damane held open a hole in the floor for Mat. It looked down on the battlefield itself.
Mat rubbed his chin, still impressed, though he’d been using these holes for the last hour or so as he countered the trap that Bryne had laid for Egwene’s armies. He had sent in additional banners of Seanchan cavalry to reinforce both flanks of his troops at the river, and additional damane to counter the Sharan channelers and stem the flood of Trollocs pressing against the defenders.
Of course, this still wasn’t as good as being down on the battlefield himself. Maybe he should go out again and do a little more fighting. He glanced at Tuon, who sat on a throne—a massive, ten-foot-tall throne—at one side of the command building. Tuon narrowed her eyes at him, as if she could see right into his thoughts.
She’s Aes Sedai, Mat told himself. Oh, she can’t channel—she hasn’t let herself learn yet. She’s bloody one of them anyway. And I married her.
She was something incredible, though. He felt a thrill each time she gave orders; she did it so naturally. Elayne and Nynaeve could take lessons. Tuon did look very nice on that throne. Mat let his gaze linger on her, and that earned him a scowl, which was downright unfair. If a man couldn’t leer at his wife, who could he leer at?
Mat turned back to the battlefield. "Nice trick", he said, stooping down to stick his hand through the hole. They were high up. If he fell, he’d have time to hum three verses of "She Has No Ankles That I Can See" before he hit. Maybe an extra round of the chorus.
"This one learned it", the suldam said, referring to her new damane, "from watching the weaves of the Aes Sedai". The suldam, Catrona, almost choked on the words "Aes Sedai". Mat couldn’t blame her. Those could be tough words to speak.
He didn’t look too hard at the damane, nor the tattoos of flowering branches on her cheeks, reaching from the back of her head like hands to cup her face. Mat was responsible for her being captured. It was better than her fighting for the Shadow, wasn’t it?
Blood and bloody ashes, he thought to himself. You are doing a fine job of persuading Tuon not to use damane, Matrim Cauthon. Capturing one yourself. . .
It was unnerving how quickly the Sharan woman had taken to her captivity. The suldam had all remarked upon it. Barely a moment of struggle, then complete subservience. They expected a newly captured damane to take months to train properly, yet this one had been ready within hours. Catrona practically beamed, as if she were personally responsible for the Sharan woman’s temperament.
That hole was remarkable. Mat stood right on the edge, looking down at the world, counting off the banners and squadrons as he marked them in his head. What would Classen Bayor have done with one of these, he wondered? Maybe the Battle of Kolesar would have turned out differently. He’d have never lost his cavalry in the marsh, that’s for certain.
Mat’s forces continued to hold back the Shadow at the eastern border of Kandor, but he was not pleased with the current situation. The nature of Bryne’s trap had been subtle, as hard to see as a yellow flower-spider crouching on a petal. That’s how Mat had known. It had taken true military genius to put the army into such a bad situation without it looking like the army was in a bad situation. That sort of thing didn’t happen by accident.
Mat had lost more men than he wanted to count. His people were pressed up against the river, and Demandred—despite continuing to rave about the Dragon Reborn—was continually testing Mat’s defenses, trying to find a weak spot, sending out a heavy cavalry raid against one side, then an attack from Sharan archers and a Trolloc charge on the other. Consequently, Mat had to keep a close eye on Demandred’s movements to be able to counter them in time.
Night was coming soon. Would the Shadow pull back? The Trollocs could fight into the darkness, but those Sharans probably couldn’t. Mat gave another sequence of orders, and messengers galloped through gateways to deliver them. It seemed like only moments passed before his troops below responded. "So fast . . Mat said.
"This will change the world", General Galgan said. "Messengers can respond instantly; commanders can watch their battles and plan in the moment".
Mat grunted in agreement, "I'll bet it still takes all bloody evening to get dinner from the mess tent, though".
Galgan actually smiled. It was like seeing a boulder crack in half.
"Tell me, General", Tuon said. "What is your assessment of our consort's abilities?"
"I don’t know where you found this one, Greatest One, but he is a diamond of great worth. I have watched him these last hours as he rescued the forces of the White Tower. For all of his . . . unconventional style, I have rarely seen a battle commander as gifted as he".
Tuon did not smile, but he could see from her eyes that she was pleased. They were nice eyes. And, actually, with Galgan not acting so gruff, perhaps this wouldn’t be such a b
