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slashes crisscrossing their chests； so different from the markings anyone else wore。 The Altarans did not know those indicated irregulars of doubtful reliability。 Among the Seanchan soldiers； named regiments with proud honors were represented； from every corner of the Empire； pale…eyed men from Alqam； honey…brown men from N'Kon； men black as coal from Khoweal and Dalenshar。 There were morat'torm on their sinuous bronze…scaled mounts that made horses whicker and dance in fright； and even a few morat'grolm with their squat； beak…mouthed charges； but one thing that always acpanied a Seanchan army was conspicuous by it absence。 The sul'dam and damane were still in their tents。 Captain…General Kennar Miraj thought of sul'dam and damane a great deal。
From his seat on the dais he could see the map table clearly； where helmetless under…lieutenants checked the reports and placed markers to represent the forces in the field。 A small paper banner stood above each marker； inked symbols giving the size and position of the force。 Finding decent maps in these lands was next to impossible； but the map copied atop the large table was sufficient。 And worrying； in what it told him。 Black discs for outposts overrun or dispersed。 Far too many of those； dotting the whole eastern half of the Venir range。 Red wedges； for mands on the move； marked the western end as thickly； all pointed back toward Ebou Dar。 And scattered among the black discs； seventeen stark white。 As he watched； a young officer in the brown…and…black of a morat'torm carefully placed an eighteenth。 Enemy forces。 A few might be the same group seen twice； but for the most part they were much too far apart； the timing of the sightings wrong。
Along the walls of the tent； clerks in plain brown coats； marked only with insignia of rank among clerks on the wide collars； waited at their writing tables； pens in hand； for Miraj to issue orders that they would copy out for distribution。 He had already given what orders he could。 There were as many as ninety thousand enemy soldiers in the mountains； nearly twice what he could muster here even with the native levies。 Too many for belief； except that scouts did not lie； liars had their throats slit by their fellows。 Too many； springing out of the ground like trap…worms in the Sen T'jore。 At least they had a hundred miles of mountain yet to cover if they intended to threaten Ebou Dar。 Almost two hundred； for the white discs furthest east。 And hill country after that for another hundred miles。 Surely the enemy general could not mean to let his dispersed forces be confronted one by one。 Gathering them together would take more time。 Time alone was on his side； right then。
The entry flaps of the tent swept open； and the High Lady Suroth glided in； black hair a proud crest spilling down her back； pleated snow…white gown and richly embroidered over…robe somehow untouched by the mud outside。 He had thought her still in Ebou Dar； she must have flown out by to'raken。 She was acpanied by a small entourage； for her。 A pair of Deathwatch Guards with black tassels on their sword hilts held the tentflaps； and more were visible outside； stone…faced men in red…and…green。 The embodiment of the Empress； might she live forever。 Even the Blood took note of them。 Suroth sailed past as if they were as much servants as the lushly bodied da'covale in slippers and a nearly transparent white robe； her honey…yellow hair in a multitude of thin braids； who carried the High Lady's gilded writing desk a meek two paces behind。 Suroth's Voice of the Blood； Alwhin； a glowering woman in green robes with the left side of her head shaved and the remainder of her pale brown hair in a severe braid； followed close on her mistress's heels。 As Miraj stepped down from the dais； he realized with shock that the second da'covale behind Suroth； short and dark…haired and slim in her diaphanous robe； was damane！ A damane garbed as property was unheard of； but odder still； it was Alwhin who led her by the a'dam！
He let none of his amazement show as he went to one knee； murmuring； 〃The Light be upon the High Lady Suroth。 All honor to the High Lady Suroth。〃 Everyone else prostrated themselves on the canvas groundcloth； eyes down。 Miraj was of the Blood； if too low to shave the sides of his scalp like Suroth。 Only the nails of his little fingers were lacquered。 Much too low to register surprise if a High Lady allowed her Voice to continue acting as sul'dam after being raised to the so'jhin。 Strange times in a strange land； where the Dragon Reborn walked and marath'damane ran wild to kill and enslave where they would。
Suroth barely glanced at him before turning to study the map table； and if her black eyes tightened at what she saw； she had cause。 Under her； the Hailene had done far more than had been dreamed； reclaiming great stretches of the stolen lands。 All they had been sent for was to scout the way； and after Falme； some had thought even that impossible。 She drummed fingers on the table irritably； the long blue…lacquered fingernails on the first two clicking。 Continued success； and she might be able to shave her head entirely and paint a third nail on each hand。 Adoption into the Imperial family was not unheard of for achievements so great。 And if she stepped too far； overstepped； she might find her fingernails clipped and herself stuffed into a filmy robe to serve one of the Blood； if not sold to a farmer to help till his fields； or sweat in a warehouse。 At worst； Miraj would only have to open his own veins。
He continued to watch Suroth in patient silence； but he had been a scout lieutenant； morat'raken； before being raised to the Blood； and he could not help being aware of everything around him。 A scout lived or died by what he saw or did not； and so did others。 The men lying on their faces around the tent； some hardly seemed to breathe。 Suroth should have taken him aside and let them continue with their work。 A messenger was being turned back by the soldiers at the entrance。 How dire was the message that the woman tried to push past Deathwatch Guards？
The da'covale with the writing desk in her arms caught his eye。 Scowls flashed across her pretty doll's face； never pushed down for more than moments。 Property showing anger？ And there was something else。 His gaze flickered to the damane； who stood with her head down but still looked around with curiosity。 Brown…eyed da'covale and pale…eyed damane looked about as different as two women could； yet there was something about them。 Something in their faces。 Strange。 He could not have said how old either was。
Quick as his glance was； Alwhin noticed。 With a twitch of the a'dam's silvery leash she put the damane facedown on the groundcloth。 Snapping her fingers； she pointed to the canvas with the hand not encumbered by the a'dam's bracelet； then grimaced when the honey…haired da'covale did not move。 〃Down； Liandrin！〃 she hissed almost under her breath。 With a glare for Alwhin … a glare！ … the da'covale sank to her knees； features painted with sulkiness。
Most strange。 But hardly important。 Face impassive； and otherwise bursting with impatience； he waited。 Impatience and no little disfo