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Loial was watching them dice, rubbing his chin thoughtfully with a finger thicker than a man's thumb, his head almost reaching the rafters nearly two spans up. None of the dicers gave him a glance. Ogier were not exactly common in the Borderlands, or anywhere else, but they were known and accepted here, and Loial had been in Fal Dara long enough to excite little comment. The Ogier's dark, stiff-collared tunic was buttoned up to his neck and flared below the waist over his high boots, and one of the big pockets bulged and sagged with the weight of something. Books, if Rand knew him. Even watching men gamble, Loial would not be far from a book. In spite of everything, Rand found himself grinning. Loial often had that effect on him. The Ogier knew so much about some things, so little about others, and he seemed to want to know everything. Yet Rand could remember the first time he ever saw Loial, with his tufted ears and his eyebrows that dangled like long mustaches and his nose that was almost as wide as his face--saw him and thought he was a Trolloc. It still shamed him. Ogier and Trollocs. Myrddraal, and things from the dark corners of midnight tales. Things out of stories and legends. That was how he had thought of them before he left Emond's Field. But since leaving home he had seen too many stories walking in the flesh ever to be so sure again. Aes Sedai, and unseen watchers, and a wind that caught and held. His smile faded. "All the stories are real," he said softly. |
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She was shorter than Loial -- which meant she stood head and shoulders taller than Rand -- but with the same broad nose and big eyes, the same wide mouth and tufted ears. Her eyebrows were not so long as Loial's, though, and her features seemed delicate beside his, the tufts on her ears finer. She wore a long green dress and a green cloak embroidered with flowers, and carried a bunch of silverbell blossoms as if she had been gathering them. She looked at them calmly, waiting. Loial scrambled down from his tall horse and bowed hastily. Rand and the others did the same, if not so quickly as Loial; even Verin inclined her head. Loial gave their names formally, but he did not mention the name of his stedding. For a moment the Ogier girl -- Rand was sure she was no older than Loial -- studied them, then smiled. "Be welcome to Stedding Tsofu." Her voice was a lighter version of Loial's, too; the softer rumble of a smaller bumblebee. "I am Erith, daughter of Iva daughter of Alar. Be welcome. We have so few human visitors since the stonemasons left Cairhien, and now so many at once. Why, we even had some of the Traveling People, though, of course, they left when the... Oh, I talk too much. I will take you to the Elders. Only..." She searched among them for the one in charge, and settled finally on Verin. "Aes Sedai, you have so many men with you, and armed. Could you please leave some of them Outside? Forgive me, but it is always unsettling to have very many armed humans in the stedding at once." |
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Elder of Stedding Shangtai Apply now! AIM: ... ICQ: ... |
The Ogier man said, "Your name sings in my ears, Rand al'Thor," in a voice like rumbling thunder and gravely made introductions. He was Haman, son of Dal son of Morel. The older woman was Covril, daughter of Ella daughter of Soong, and the younger was Erith, daughter of Iva daughter of Alar. Rand remembered seeing Erith once, in Stedding Tsofu, a hard two-day ride from the city of Cairhien. He could not imagine what she was doing in Caemlyn. The Orgier made the Aiel seem small; they made the courtyard seem small. Haman stood over half again as tall as Rand and broad in proportian, Corvil less than a head--an Ogier head--shorter than that, and even Erith topped Rand by nearly a foot and a half. Yet that was the smallest difference between Ogier and humans. Haman's eyes were as large and round as teacups, his broad nose nearly covered his face, his ears stood up through his hair, tipped with white tufts. He wore long drooping white mustaches and a narrow beard beneath his chin, and his eyebrows hung down to his cheeks. "Elder Haman," Covril said politely, "if we may stick to the matter at hand?" This bumblebee rumbled at a higher pitch. Elder Haman. Where had Rand heard that before? Each stedding had its Council of Elders. |
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Speaker Apply now! AIM: ... ICQ: ... |
"A mother has some right to be anxious," Covril said, tufted ears quivering. She seemed to be battling between the respect due an Elder and a most un-Ogier-like impatience. When she turned to Rand, she drew herself up, ears standing straight and chin firm. "What have you done with my son?" Rand gaped. "Your son?" "Loial!" She stared as if he were mad. Erith was peering at him anxiously, hands clutched to her breast. "You told the Eldest of the Elders of Stedding Tsofu that you would look after him," Covril marched on. "They told me you did. You did not call yourself Dragon then, but it was you. Wasn't it, Erith? Did Alar not say Rand al'Thor?" She did not give the younger woman time for more than a nod. As her voice picked up speed, Haman began to look pained. "My Loial is too young to be Outside, too young to be running across the world, doing the things you no doubt have him doing. Elder Alar told me about you. What has my Loial to do with the Ways and Trollocs and the Horn of Valere? You will hand him over to me now, please, so I can see him properly married to Erith. She will settle his itchy feet." |