“That’s a sight to soothe sore eyes,” Birgitte murmured. Small groups of Kinswomen were scouring the countryside for anyone trying to come to Elayne’s support, but it was a chancy business. Thus far, the Kinswomen had brought word of dozens and dozens of groups trying to find a way into the city, yet they had only managed to locate five bands totaling fewer than a thousand. Word had spread of how many men Arymilla had around the city, and men supporting Trakand were skittish about being found. About who might do the finding.

As soon as Elayne and the others appeared, red-clad grooms with the White Lion on their left shoulders came running. A scrawny, gap-toothed fellow with a fringe of white hair took Fireheart’s bridle while a lean, graying woman held Elayne’s stirrup for her to dismount. Ignoring the downpour, she strode toward the tall man, splashing water with every step. His hair hung every which way over his face, clinging wetly, but she could see he was young, well short of his middle years.

“The Light shine on you, Lieutenant,” she said. “Your name? How many did you bring? And from where?” Through that smaller opening she could see a line of horsemen extending out of sight among tall trees. Whenever a pair rode through, another appeared at the far end of the column. She would not have believed that many of the Guards remained anywhere.

“Charlz Guybon, my Queen,” he replied, sinking to one knee and pressing a gauntleted fist to the flagstones. “Captain Kindlin in Aringill gave me permission to try reaching Caemlyn. That was after we learned Lady Naean and the others had escaped.”

Elayne laughed. “Stand, man. Stand. I’m not Queen yet.” Aringill? There had never been so many of the Guards there.

“As you say, my Lady,” he said as he regained his feet and made a bow that was more proper for the Daughter-Heir.

“Can we continue this inside?” Birgitte put in irritably. Guybon took in her coat with its gold stripes on the cuffs and knots of rank, and offered a salute that she returned with a quick arm across her chest. If he was surprised to see a woman as Captain-General, he was wise enough not to show it. “I’m soaked to the skin, and so are you. Elayne.” Aviendha was right behind her. shawl wrapped around her head and not looking so pleased with rain now that her white blouse clung wetly and her dark skirts hung with water. The Guardswomen were leading their horses toward one of the stables, except for the eight who would remain with Elayne until their replacements arrived. Guybon made no comment on them, either. A very wise man.

Elayne allowed herself to be hustled as far as the simple colonnade that offered entrance to the palace itself. Even here the Guardswomen surrounded her, four ahead and four behind, so she felt a prisoner. Once out of the rain, though, she balked. She wanted to know. She tried again to embrace saidar-removing the moisture from her clothes would be a simple matter with the Power-but the Source skittered away once more. Aviendha did not know the weave, so they had to stand there dripping. The plain iron stand-lamps along the wall were still unlit, and with the rain, the space was dim. Guybon raked his hair into a semblance of order with his fingers. Light, he was little short of beautiful! His greenish hazel eyes were tired, but his face seemed suited to smiling. He looked as if he had not smiled in too long.

“Captain Kindlin said I could try to find men who d been discharged by Gaebril, my Lady, and they started flocking in as soon as I put out the call. You’d be surprised how many tucked their uniforms into a chest against the day they might be wanted again. A good many carried off their armor, too. which they shouldn’t have done, strictly speaking, but I’m glad they did. I feared I’d waited too long when I heard of the siege. I was considering trying to fight my way to one of the city gates when Mistress Zigane and the others found me.” A puzzled look came over his face. “She became very upset when I called her Aes Sedai. but that has to be the One Power that brought us here.’’

“It was, and she isn’t,” Elayne said impatiently. “How many, man?”

“Four thousand seven hundred and sixty-two of the Guards, my Lady. And I encountered a number of lords and ladies who were trying to reach Caemlyn with their armsmen. Be content. I made sure they were loyal to you before I let them join me. There are none from the great Houses, but they bring the total near to ten thousand, my Lady.” He said that as if it were of no moment at all. There are forty horses fit for riding in the stable. I have brought you ten thousand soldiers.

Elayne laughed and clapped her hands in delight. “Wonderful, Captain Guybon! Wonderful!” Arymilla still had her outnumbered. but not so badly as before.

“Guardsman Lieutenant, my Lady. I am a Lieutenant.”

“From this moment, you are Captain Guybon.”

“And my second.” Birgitte added, “at least for the present. You’ve shown resourcefulness, you’re old enough to have experience, and I need both.”

Guybon seemed overwhelmed, bowing and murmuring stammered thanks. Well, a man of his age would normally expect to serve at least ten or fifteen more years before being considered for captain, much less second to the Captain-General, however temporary.

“And now it’s past time for us to be getting into dry clothes,” Birgitte continued. “Especially you, Elayne.” The Warder bond carried an implacable firmness that suggested she might try dragging Elayne if she dallied.

Temper flared, hot and sharp, but Elayne fought it down. She had nearly doubled the number of her soldiers, and she would not let anything spoil this day. Besides, she wanted dry clothes, too.

Inside, the gilded stand-lamps were lit, since daylight never penetrated far into the palace, flames flickering on the lamps that lacked glass mantles. The lamps’ mirrors provided a good light in the bustling corridor, though, and bustling it was, with liveried servants scurrying in every direction, or sweeping or mopping. Serving men with the White Lion on the left breast of their red coats were up on tall ladders taking down the winter tapestries, mainly flowers and scenes of summer, and putting up the spring tapestries, many displaying the colorful foliage of fall. Always two seasons ahead for the majority of the hangings was the custom, to provide a touch of relief from winter’s cold or summer’s heat, to remind while spring’s new growth was on all the trees that the branches would grow bare and the snows come again, to remind when dead leaves were falling and the first snows, too, and days grew ever colder, that there would be a spring. There were a few battles among them, showing days of particular glory for Andor, but Elayne did not enjoy looking at those as much as she had as a girl. Still, they had their place now. as well, tokens of what battle actually was. The difference between how a child looked at things and a woman did. Glory was always bought with blood. Glory aside, necessary things were often paid for with battle and blood.

There were too few servants to carry out such tasks in a timely manner, and a fair number were white-haired pensioners with bent backs who seldom moved quickly in any case. However slow they were, she was glad they had willingly come out of retirement, to train those newly hired and take up the slack left by those who had fled while Gaebril reigned or after Rand took Caemlyn, else the palace would have taken on the aspect of a barn by this time. A dirty barn. At least all of the winter runners were up off the floors. She left a damp trail behind her on the red-and-white floor tiles, and with all the spring rains, wet runners would have been sprouting mildew before nightfall.

Servants in red-and-white hurrying about their duties looked aghast as they bowed or curtsied, which did nothing for her temper. They did not appear upset to see Aviendha or Birgitte drenched and dripping, or the Guardswomen either. Burn her, if everyone did not stop expecting her to be mollycoddled all the day long… ! Her scowl was such that the servants began making their courtesies quickly and scurrying on. Her temper was becoming the stuff of evening stories in front of the fireplace, though she tried not to unleash it on servants. On anyone, really, but more so with servants. They lacked the luxury of shouting back.