The Seanchan Spy

[Eidolon]

It transpired that his name was Kasimir Navaren, of Seanchan and Altaran parentage, although he had lived all his life in Ebou Dar. He told them that his old man was a prickly bore and his mother not much better, so he had left to find his fortune elsewhere and ended up in Arad Doman. Taking the opportunity to boast his skills with the dagger shamelessly, he also said he had taken his father’s armour and blade in the hopes of impressing some ladies with a half-baked story of having vanquished a Seanchan soldier (who knew he resembled the old man so much they would think he was Seanchan?!) Then he thanked them profusely for ‘rescuing’ him from the Domani authorities, but that there was no need to take him home because he swore to the truth of it…

All this he told in rapid fire as they emerged from the silvery gate, he floating on tendrils of Air. Eithne Sedai listened politely and nodded in the right places, but when he had finished said: “What an interesting tale, Kasimir Nevaren.  You have surely missed a calling as a Gleeman. Now, if you would be so kind as to provide us directions so that we might be on our way?”

Kasimir Nevaren’s face fell and he grew sullen.

Malaika did not pay this interaction much mind, bar to keep the flows of Air about his body. Her thoughts were spinning at the turn of events that had led her to Arad Doman and now Altara, and she could not stop herself from glancing about at the countryside in dreamy awe; the trees, the plants, and even the way the sunlight struck everything in a cool winter glow was somehow new and infinitely beautiful for it. The foliage here was all different from what was found in Tar Valon, and though the Aes Sedai (being themselves from all across the continent) often brought back or cultivated foreign things, it was an entirely different experience to see it in its natural habitat. 

Then her eyes drew to the city; Ebou Dar loomed ahead, though all she could see from here was the great, thick white wall that surrounded it.

Ebou Dar…

As they continued, making their way through the guards at the Three Towers Gate and then in to the city itself, Malaika reflected on the irony. This place she had never seen had been somewhat of a catalyst to her freedom, when all those years ago she was to be traded between handlers and shipped across the Eastern Ocean (the Aryth, that was what the mainlanders called it). She had been destined for Ebou Dar as a leashed one and now, years upon years later, she arrived with the shawl and her own bound captive in tow.

For his own part, Kasimir looked vastly uncomfortable being trussed about in bonds of saidar (especially when the gate guards had sneered down at him as if he really was a criminal), but appeared to have enough sense to hold his tongue unless spoken to. Now that she could see closely, in stark daylight, she realised that though his tilted eyes clearly pointed to Seanchan ancestry, his colouring was off and his features were slightly more angular than those of her kin. Of that much he clearly did speak the truth, and in a way, she was relieved that he was not pure-blooded.

Upon passing the security at the city’s walls, Eithne paused, beckoning that Malaika bring the young man closer. 

“I trust you have no intentions of running, dear?” She spoke to him so pleasantly it was as though they were on some delightful outing, rather than escorting an exile from Arad Doman. A line of consternation on the young man’s face revealed his thoughts to be similarly confused, but he assented with a nod. He had grown quiet, and despite his bravado in the interrogation cell he no longer seemed as eager to ‘prove’ the innocence he insisted so fervently upon. Lying, then?  Malaika wondered. Else afraid of something. Regardless, Eithne appeared not to notice, else to deign it unimportant for the moment.

“Very good. For I assure you, an Aes Sedai’s wrath is far worse than a few angry Domani. You may release his legs, sister.”

As bid, Malaika set him down gently on his feet, and melted the threads binding them together.  His arms she left as a reminder of authority, if his miserable expression suggested he needed no such thing.  Eithne nodded, pleased.

“Onwards then.” 

At her Aes Sedai’s words, Anura gave the man a quick prod in the back for good measure, a wicked smile on her exotic lips. “You heard my Aes Sedai, now hop to.”

The city about them was beautiful, but far different from the vibrancy, colour and spice of Arad Doman. The buildings were large and pale and there were as many canals as walkways, and dozens more bridges besides. As they travelled, men would drive their long, thin oar-sticks down into the water and call to them amidst the lapping waves, offering transport to wherever it was they were going, but Eithne waved them passed with a smile. Little other encouragement was needed to get them moving again, with Anura standing by her shoulder with that hard onyx stare.

Above the white stone buildings and into the distance, Malaika could see great spires and domes banded with gold and crimson. Sometimes she saw flags bearing the two golden leopards of Altara, but more often the fluttering symbols were of individual noble houses. Often the roads they followed would convene upon marble courtyards, where haughty eyed nobles would eye them on their way. The people were colder than the Domani; less inclined to trust and more to suspect, but they were markedly polite and Malaika found no qualms with them. All carried weapons, of course, and occasionally Anura had to steer them another path to avoid an ongoing duel.

Kasimir trudged on in brooding silence, eyes cast down at the floor like a petulant teenager. If Malaika had any doubts that he could be working for the Seanchan Empire, then by now they were truly dashed. She realised that she was inclined to believe what he had said, though she was sure that there was slightly more to it than he was saying. Eithne Sedai did not appear to find him a threat, though, and Anura Gaidar seemed to find amusement in the youth, for that wicked smile did not seem to be leaving her lips any time soon.

“Kasimir Nevaren!” 

Kasimir’s head shot up and his eyes widened.  He cast them away as a tall, olive-skinned woman stepped from a doorway. “Mother,” he sighed, as the woman threw her arms about him, kissing him five times in quick succession on the forehead. Then she drew back and proceeded to whack him about the head, the marriage knife swinging about her neck. Kasimir ducked as best he could, but with his arms strapped to his sides found himself utterly defenceless.

“Where in the bloody light have you been, boy?  You disappear off in the night and I hear no word?  Wait ‘til your father hears of this!--”

Kasimir winced, head lowered and shoulders hunched under the blows.

“--Mistress Nevaren.”  Eithne stepped forward, hands clasped in front of her colourful, sateen skirts. “Your son has found himself in a… spot of bother.  I should appreciate some time to speak with you and your husband.”

The Altaran woman noticed them as if for the first time. She stopped, black eyes roaming over the two Aes Sedai and their tall Sea Folk companion. Then they narrowed. She pushed her son behind her, unsheathing a jewelled dagger from her belt.

“Witches,” she spat. “You’re not welcome here.”

This was not the reception Malaika had anticipated - none of the literature she had read suggested Altarans were particularly hostile towards the White Tower, but then this woman had chosen to marry a Seanchan man. She stiffened, threads of saidar ready at her call, and glanced at the older Brown for direction. Eithne, though, was immeasurably calm, if her green eyes had hardened behind her serene mask. Anura lay a warning hand on her blade, frowning.

But Kasimir intervened, nudging his mother with his shoulder and sighing heavily. “I promised them, mother. I probably would have hanged without their interference.”

The woman spun on her heel, skirts swinging around her legs. “You what?!  Fool boy, fool fool fool boy.”  She clouted him once more about the head, then turned back around slowly, returning the blade to her belt.  Those black eyes measured them all, and the thin line of her lips told the tale of her feelings clearly. “Then I suppose you had best come this way,” she said coldly, signalling the doorway from whence she had come.