There was little time for congratulations, however, as I could already hear the sounds of trumpets and snare drums coming from up the street to my left. A mere moment afterwards, I heard the sound of thousands of Andormen and travelers cheering as they saw the captured False Dragon. And the roar was getting louder.
First came the trumpeters and drummers, scores of each leading the procession with a triumphant march cadence. After these, row upon row of cavalry, flanked with pikemen and archers, made their way past my friends and I. All were dressed in the red and white of Andor; those in the first ranks carried their nation’s banner—a white lion, rampant, on a field of red. Every link of mail shone brilliantly and lances were held perfectly vertical, with red banners trailing from the tips.
Finally, the subject of the parade came into view: an enormous wagon that needed sixteen large draft horses to pull it. Set on top was a large steel cage that held a king as its prisoner—at least Logain looked as if he was a monarch. The man held himself as if this parade was in celebration of his coronation, or his victory in a great battle. Indeed, even the eight Aes Sedai who sat outside the cage on the wagon bed could not match his majesty. As the False Dragon’s gaze swept over me, I was in awe of his tremendous power; even Ronan muttered an oath under his breath. Thank the Light that he had been caged, a man that great was capable of the greatest wrong, though perhaps he also could have done great good as well. It was too late for any of that now; Logain was condemned to be gentled once he reached the White Tower of Tar Valon. Thank the Light.
When I could tear my eyes away from the False Dragon, I saw that he had even more protection. A dozen men, each different in size and appearance, surrounded the wagon on their heavy warhorses. Their cloaks, which blew behind them in the cold breeze, seemed to disappear as they blended in with the crowd on the other side of the road. Those cloaks marked these men as Warders, men somehow tied to their Aes Sedai mistresses using the One Power. By all accounts, each Warder was so well trained that even a veteran Defender of the Stone would give one little pause. Seeing their grace, even in doing something so insignificant as to ride and scan the crowd, I could almost believe it. These men acted as if the hundreds of Andoran soldiers that surrounded them did not exist—they were ready to take on all of Caemlyn if the need arose.
After the tail end of the parade passed us by, the crowd began to disperse; a buzz of the False Dragon was on their lips.
“We’re being watched,” Ronan said, his steady gaze was aimed at a short man with the face of a weasel some 20 paces down the street from us. As we all turned to look, the man’s face narrowed and he vanished down an alleyway.
“After recent events, I wonder if he’s a Whitecloak spy or a Darkfriend sent to watch us,” Tarlan said pensively, giving no thought that some passersby might be interested in a conversation concerning either. Still, I had to wonder along the same lines.
“Either way he must be someone’s toady, and no one of importance alone. We’ll find out what we can about him, though...leave that to me,” Resara looked almost amused that we were being watched. I wish I could have taken the situation as lightly. Still, we needed to find out whom this man was working for.
“Fine, though perhaps you should take someone along for protection?” I said. There was no need to see that pretty face harmed, after all. And if she chose me to protect her...
“What a marvelous idea!” she exclaimed, flashing a smile one could die for. “Tarlan, would you care to accompany me?” Well there goes that plan. The two of them went off to find out what they could, while Ronan and I headed back towards the Golden Stag. Tarlan actually had the nerve to stick out his tongue at me! It seems I have some competition, though I do not worry—I naturally possess the greater charm and looks.
And so, Ronan and I made our way back to the Golden Stag. There, I wiled away the time dicing with the inn’s other patrons. Ronan just sat there, never touching his ale, seeming to be in deep thought. Understandably, I was overjoyed to see Resara and Tarlan return; commoners lack the coin for proper gambling. Then again, any of the High Lords could make me seem like one of these merchants’ guards, gambling only for silver pennies.
“What news of the toady, Resara?” I asked, though I was almost certain the man was a Whitecloak spy.
“I found out his name, Grom Fetchit, and where the man lives. But when Tarlan and I tried to, uh, interview him, he wasn’t at home.” Resara looked most displeased that the man had escaped her, I suppose she was trying to prove her worth to the group, as it certainly was outside of combat. As if I would ever dismiss a woman like that…
“I suppose it does not matter now, Resara, the Whitecloaks would not dare show their faces to me again. I know too many people in Caemlyn for them to risk my displeasure,” I boldly stated. Light! I am getting more full of myself every moment it seems—the things a pretty woman can make one do.
Soon after the four of us were seated, discussing this Fetchit person, one of the inn’s servants approached me apprehensively.
“Please excuse me, Lord Reimon, but that awful beggar is here again. He claims that a lieutenant from the Queen’s Guards has sent him to you with a message.” The woman’s tone indicated that she felt it was highly unlikely that any guardsman would use this despicable creature for a messenger. Mentally, I agreed with her assessment.
“I suppose we shall have to go and speak with the awful creature. Let us get on with it.” The sooner we escaped the foul vermin’s stench, the better.
That smell had certainly not improved since our last meeting, and I had to purposefully keep myself from covering my nose with a handkerchief. “Well beggar, what is your message?” I demanded. I did my best not to tremble before the look he gave me in response. Despite his dress, that was a look any king would be proud to give.
“A lieutenant from the Queen’s Guards asks for you to join him. I can show you the way,” he said, pointing towards the New City gates. Curious, I thought the fellow had a Lugarder accent the day before, now it was Andoran.
“And why would a lieutenant guardsman use you as his courier, you odious little man?” I asked as I sneered at him. Blood and ashes this man put me into a foul temper! I believe the man muttered some nonsense about this supposed lieutenant being too busy from the parade, but I just wanted to be done with this. “Fine, then let us be off.”
We followed the beggar up the street and through the gate leading into the New City. Garbage and debris from the parade were everywhere. At least there were less people about, making it easy to arrive at a plain, two-story building that had the red banner of Andor hanging in its window. The bundle of rags that was our guide pointed through the door at a man in a red tabard sitting at a desk inside, and then mercifully left us.
“Please come in,” the guardsman said, “the cap’n wants to see you.” Captain? I thought we were here to see a lieutenant. No doubt the beggar muddled up the man’s rank. We followed the man into the next room, where two more guardsmen were waiting for us. Waiting with drawn swords.
Resara had turned to flee the way we came, but a fourth guardsman had come down the stairs to block the exit. It seemed we were destined to fight, and Tarlan had already leapt towards the man who had led us to the ambush. Tarlan’s sword flashed once, and the man was now quite dead. Ronan moved to help Resara fend off the man from the stairs, while I charged at the man closest to me. The fourth man moved to intercept Tarlan and his bloodied Warder’s Sword.
The fight was over almost before it had begun. Tarlan had dispatched his second thug by the time I ran through the man I had charged. Ronan had hit the other man in the head with his morningstar, and the man gave up quickly thereafter. Now it was time to see why these men had been prepared for us.
