Knife of Dreams

Chapter Twenty-Three Call to a Sitting

With Magla and Salita out for the morning, Romanda had the patched brown tent to herself, a blessed opportunity to read, though the two mismatched brass lamps on the small table gave off a faint yet nose-wrinkling scent of rancid oil. One had to live with such things these days. Some might consider The Flame, the Blade and the Heart unseemly for one of her attainments and position—as a girl in Far Madding, she had been forbidden such books—but it made an agreeable change from dry histories and terrifying reports of food spoilage. She had seen a side of beef kept for months as fresh as the day the cow was slaughtered, but now the Keepings were failing one by one. Some had taken to muttering that there must be a flaw in Egwene’s creation, yet that was arrant blather. If a weave worked once, then properly done, it always worked, barring something to disrupt the weave, and Egwene’s new weaves always worked as claimed. She had to give the woman that. And try as they might, and they had tried very hard, no one could detect any interference. It was as if saidar itself were failing. It was unthinkable. And inescapable. Worst of all, no one could think of anything to do! She certainly could not. A brief interlude with tales of romance and adventure was much preferable to contemplating utter futility and the failure of what was by its very nature unfailing.

The novice straightening the tent had sense enough not to comment on her reading, or to glance at the wood-bound book twice. Bodewhin Cauthon was quite pretty, but she was an intelligent girl even so, though she had something of her brother around the eyes and rather more of him in her head than she was willing to admit. Undoubtedly she was already hard on the path to the Green, or perhaps the Blue. The girl wanted to live adventure, not just read about it, as if an Aes Sedai’s life would not bring her more adventure than she wished without searching for it. Romanda felt no regret over the girl’s path. The Yellow would have plenty to choose from among more suitable novices. There could be no question of accepting any of the older women, of course, yet that left a wealth of choice. She tried to focus on the page. She did enjoy the story of Birgitte and Gaidal Cain.

The tent was not particularly large and was quite crowded. It held a trio of hard canvas cots barely softened by thin mattresses stuffed with lumpy wool, three ladderback chairs made by distinctly different hands, a rickety washstand with a cracked mirror and a chipped blue pitcher standing in the white basin, and, along with the table, made steady by a small block of wood under one leg, brassbound chests for clothing, bed linens and personal possessions. As a Sitter, she could have had the space to herself, but she liked being able to keep a close eye on Magla and Salita. Just because they all sat for the Yellow was no reason to trust too far. Magla supposedly was her ally in the Hall yet went her own way much too often, and Salita seldom did anything else. Still, it made for inconvenience aside from crowding. Bodewhin had a great deal of work, mainly putting away the dresses and slippers Salita scattered across the tattered carpets after deciding they would not do. That woman was frivolous enough for a Green. She went through her entire wardrobe every single morning! Likely she thought Romanda would have her serving woman straighten—she always seemed to think Aelmara was as much in her service as Romanda’s—but Aelmara had served Romanda for years before she went into retirement, not to mention helping her escape Far Madding after a slight misunderstanding a short time later. There was no possibility she would require Aelmara to look after another sister as well as herself.

She frowned at the book, not seeing a word. Why in the Light had Magla insisted on Salita back in Salidar? In truth, Magla had bandied several names about, each more ridiculous than the last, but had settled on Salita once she decided the plump Tairen had the best chance of being raised to a chair. Romanda had thrown her own support behind Dagdara, a far more suitable candidate, not to mention one she thought she could sway without too much difficulty, yet she herself had been trying for a chair while Magla already held one. That carried weight, and no matter that Romanda had previously held a chair longer than anyone in living memory. Well, it was done, and that was that. What could not be cured must be endured.

Nisao ducked into the tent, the light of saidar around her winking out as she did so. In the brief instant before the tentflap fell shut. Sarin, her bald-headed stump of a Warder, was visible outside, a hand resting on his sword hilt and his head swiveling, plainly standing guard.

“May I speak with you alone?” the diminutive sister said. Short enough to make Sarin seem tall, she always minded Romanda of a large-eyed sparrow. There was nothing tiny about her powers of observation or her intellect, however. She had been a natural choice for the council the Ajahs created to try keeping an eye on Egwene, and it was certainly no fault of hers that said council had had little or no restraining effect on the woman.

“Of course. Nisao.” Romanda casually closed the book and eased up to tuck it beneath the yellow-tasseled cushion on her chair. It would never do to have word get around that she was reading that. “It must be almost time for your next class, Bodewhin. You don’t want to be late.”

“Oh, no, Aes Sedai! Sharina would be very upset.” Spreading her white skirts in a deep curtsy, the novice darted from the tent.

Romanda compressed her lips. Sharina would be upset. That woman was emblematic of all that was wrong with allowing those above eighteen into the novice ranks. Her potential was beyond incredible, but that was beside the point. Sharina Melloy was a disruption. But how to be rid of her? Her and all the other women too old to have had their names written in the novice book in the first place. Provisions were strictly limited for putting a woman out once her name was in the book. Unfortunately, over the years a number of women had been found to have lied about their age to gain entrance to the Tower. By a few years only in most cases, but allowing them to remain had set precedents. And Egwene al’Vere had set another, and worse. There had to be some way to overcome it.

“May I make us private?” Nisao asked.

“If you wish. Have you learned something about the negotiations?” Despite Egwene’s capture, talks continued under the pavilion at the foot of the bridge in Darein. Or rather, the semblance of talks. They were a farce, a dumb-show of obstinacy, yet it was necessary to keep a close eye on the negotiators. Varilin had snatched most of that work to herself, claiming Gray Ajah prerogative, but Magla found ways to wriggle into the matter whenever she could, and so did Saroiya and Takima and Faiselle. Worse than the fact that none of them seemed to trust the others to carry out the negotiations—or much at all, for that matter—at times, all of them almost seemed to be negotiating for Elaida. Well, perhaps it was not that bad. They held fast against the woman’s ridiculous demand that the Blue Ajah be dissolved and argued, if not nearly with sufficient force, for Elaida stepping down, but if she—and Lelaine, she was forced to admit—did not stiffen their backbones now and then, they might well accede to some of Elaida’s other odious conditions. Light, at times it was as if they had forgotten the entire purpose of marching on Tar Valon! “Pour us tea,” she went on, gesturing to a painted wooden tray sitting atop two stacked chests that held a silver pitcher and several battered pewter cups, “and tell me what you’ve heard.”

The glow surrounded Nisao briefly while she warded the tent and tied off the weave. “I know nothing of the negotiations,” she said, filling two of the cups. “I want to ask you to speak to Lelaine.”

Romanda took the proffered cup and used taking a slow swallow to give herself time for thought. At least this tea had not yet turned. Lelaine? What could there be about Lelaine that required warding? Still, anything that gave her leverage against the other woman would be useful. Lelaine seemed entirely too smug of late for her to be entirely comfortable about it. She shifted on the seat cushion. “Regarding what? Why don’t you speak to her yourself? We haven’t fallen as low as it seems the White Tower has under Elaida.”

“I have spoken to her. Or rather, she has spoken to me, and rather forcefully.” Nisao sat down, and set her cup on the table while she arranged her yellow-slashed skirts with overly elaborate care. She wore a small frown. It seemed she was fiddling for time, too. “Lelaine demanded that I stop asking questions about Anaiya and Kairen,” she said finally. “According to her, their murders are Blue Ajah business.”

Romanda snorted, shifting again. The book’s wooden cover was a hard lump beneath her, its corners digging into her hip. “That is utter nonsense. But why were you asking questions? I don’t recall you being inquisitive about such matters.”

The other woman touched her cup to her lips, but if she drank, it was the tiniest sip. Lowering the cup, she almost seemed to grow taller, she sat up so straight. A sparrow becoming a hawk. “Because the Mother ordered me to.”

Romanda kept her eyebrows from rising only with an effort. So. In the beginning, she had accepted Egwene for the same reason she suspected every other Sitter had. Certainly Lelaine had done so, once she realized she could not attain the stole and staff herself. A malleable young girl would be a puppet in the hands of the Hall, and Romanda had fully intended to be the one pulling her strings. Later, it had seemed obvious that Siuan was the true puppeteer, and there had been no way to stop her short of rebelling against a second Amyrlin, which surely would have shattered the rebellion against Elaida. She hoped Lelaine had ground her teeth over that half as much as she had. Now Egwene was in Elaida’s hands, yet in several meetings she had remained cool and collected, determined in her course of action and that of the sisters outside Tar Valon’s walls. Romanda found in herself a grudging respect for the girl. Very grudging, but she could not deny it. It had to be Egwene herself. The Hall kept a tight fist on the dream ter’angreal, and though no one could find the one Leane had been loaned before that dire night, she and Siuan had been practically at each other’s throats. There was no question of Siuan slipping into Tel’aran’rhiod to tell the woman what to say. Was it possible that Nisao had come to the same conclusion about Egwene without seeing her in the Unseen World? That council had stuck very close to her.

“That is reason enough for you, Nisao?” She could hardly slip the book back out without the other woman noticing. She shifted again, but there was no comfortable position on the thing. She was going to have a bruise if this continued.

Nisao twisted her pewter cup about on the tabletop, but she still did not look away. “It is my major reason. In the beginning, I thought she would end up as your pet. Or Lelaine’s. Later, when it was clear she had evaded both of you, I thought Siuan must be holding the leash, but I soon learned I was wrong. Siuan has been a teacher, I’m sure, and an advisor, and perhaps even a friend, but I’ve seen Egwene call her up short. No one has a leash on Egwene al’Vere. She is intelligent, observant, quick to learn and deft. She may become one of the great Amyrlins.” The bird-like sister gave a sudden, brief laugh. “Do you realize she will be the longest sitting Amyrlin in history? No one will ever live long enough to top her unless she chooses to step down early.” Smiles faded to solemnity, and perhaps worry. Not because she had skirted the edge of violating custom, however. Nisao schooled her face well, but her eyes were tight. “If we manage to unseat Elaida, that is.”

Hearing her own thoughts thrown back at her, with emendations, was unnerving. A great Amyrlin? Well! It would take many years to see whether that came about. But whether or not Egwene managed that considerable and unlikely feat, she would discover that the Hall was much less amenable once her war powers expired. Romanda Cassin certainly would be. Respect was one thing, becoming a lapdog quite another. Standing on the pretext of straightening her deep yellow skirts, she drew the book from beneath the cushion as she sat back down and tried to drop it surreptitiously. It hit the carpet with a thud, and Nisao’s eyebrows twitched. Romanda ignored that, pulling the book under the edge of the table with her foot.

“We will.” She put more confidence than she felt into that. The peculiar negotiations and Egwene’s continuing imprisonment gave her pause, forget the girl’s claims that she could undermine Elaida from within. Though it seemed half her work had been done by others, if her reporting on the situation in the Tower was accurate. But Romanda believed because she had to believe. She had no intention of living cut off from her Ajah, accepting penance until Elaida thought her fit to be fully Aes Sedai again, no intention of accepting Elaida a’Roihan as Amyrlin. Better Lelaine than that, and one argument in her own mind for raising Egwene had been that it kept the stole and staff from Lelaine. No doubt Lelaine had thought the same concerning her. “And I will inform Lelaine in no uncertain terms that you can ask any questions you wish. We must solve those murders, and the murder of any sister is every sister’s concern. What have you learned so far?” Not a proper question, perhaps, but being a Sitter gave you certain privileges. At least, she had always believed it did.

Nisao displayed no pique at being questioned, no hesitation in answering. “Very little, I fear,”’ she said ruefully, frowning at her winecup. “It seemed there must be some link between Anaiya and Kairen, some reason they two were picked out, but all I’ve learned so far is that they had been close friends for many years. Blues called them and another Blue sister, Cabriana Mecandes, ‘the Three.’ because they were so close. But they were all closemouthed, too. No one recalls any of them talking about their own affairs except with one another. In any event, friendship seems a feeble motive for murder. I hope I can find some reason why anyone would want to murder them, especially a man who can channel, but I confess, it’s a small hope.”

Romanda furrowed her brow. Cabriana Mecandes. She paid little attention to the other Ajahs—only the Yellow had any truly useful function: how could any of their passions compare to Healing?—yet that name chimed a small gong in the back of her head. Why? It would come to her or not. It could not be important. “Small hopes can grow surprising fruit, Nisao. That’s an old saying in Far Madding, and it’s true. Continue your investigation. In Egwene’s absence, you may report what you learn to me.”

Nisao blinked, and her jaw tightened briefly, but whether or not reporting to Romanda sat well with her, there was little she could do but obey. She could hardly claim interference in her affairs. Murder could not be one sister’s affair. Besides, Magla might have gotten her ridiculous choice for the third Yellow Sitter, yet Romanda had secured the position of First Weaver for herself easily. After all, she had been head of the Yellow before she retired, and even Magla had been unwilling to stand against her. The position carried much less power than she would have liked, but at least she could count on obedience in most things. From Yellow sisters if not Sitters, at least.

As Nisao untied her ward against eavesdropping and let it dissipate, Theodrin popped into the tent. She was wearing her shawl spread across her shoulders and down her arms to display the long fringe, as newly raised sisters often did. The willowy Domani had chosen Brown after Egwene granted her that shawl, but the Brown had not known what to do with her despite finally accepting her. They had seemed ready to largely ignore her, entirely the wrong thing, so Romanda had taken her in. Theodrin tried to behave as if she really were Aes Sedai, yet she was a bright, levelheaded girl for all that. She spread her brown woolen skirts in a curtsy. A small curtsy, but a curtsy. She was well aware that she had no right to the shawl until she had been tested. And passed. It would have been cruel not to make sure she understood.

“Lelaine has called a sitting of the Hall.” she said breathlessly. “I couldn’t find out why. I ran to tell you, but I didn’t want to intrude while the ward was up.”

“And rightly not,” Romanda said. “Nisao, if you will excuse me. I must see what Lelaine is about.” Gathering her yellow-fringed shawl from atop one of the chests holding her clothing, she arranged it over her arms and checked her hair in the cracked mirror before herding the others outside and seeing them on their way. It was not so much that she thought Nisao would have looked for what had made that thud if left in the tent alone, but it was better to take no chances. Aelmara would replace the book where it belonged, with several similar volumes in the chest that held Romanda’s personal possessions. That had a very stout lock with only two keys, one kept in her belt pouch, the other in Aelmara’s.

The morning was crisp, yet spring had arrived with a rush. The dark clouds massing behind Dragonmount’s shattered peak would deliver rain rather than snow, though not on the camp, it was to be hoped. Many of the tents leaked, and the camp streets were a bog already. Horse carts making deliveries splashed mud from their high wheels as they made new ruts, driven by women for the most part, and a few gray-haired men. Male access to the Aes Sedai camp was strictly limited, now. Even so, nearly every sister she saw glided along the uneven wooden walkways wrapped in the light of saidar and followed by her Warder if she had one. Romanda refused to embrace the Source whenever she went outside—someone had to set an example of proper behavior with every sister in the camp on tenterhooks—yet she was very conscious of the lack. Conscious of the lack of a Warder, too. Keeping most men out of the camp was all very well, but a murderer was unlikely to pay any heed to the restriction.

Ahead, Gareth Bryne rode out of a crossing street, a stocky man with mostly gray hair, his breastplate strapped over a buff-colored coat and his helmet hanging from his saddle bow. Siuan was with him, swaying on a plump shaggy mare and looking such a pretty girl that it was almost possible to forget she had been hard-bitten and sharp-tongued as Amyrlin. Easy to forget she was still an accomplished schemer. Blues always were. The mare plodded along, but Siuan nearly fell off before Bryne reached out to steady her. At the edge of the Blue quarters—the camp was laid out in rough approximation of the Ajah quarters in the Tower—he dismounted long enough to help her down, then climbed back into his bay’s saddle and left her standing there holding the mare’s reins and gazing after him. Now, why would she do that? Blacking the mans boots, doing his laundry. That relationship was abhorrent. The Blue should put an end to it, and to the Pit of Doom with custom. However strong, custom should not be abused to hold all Aes Sedai up to ridicule.

Turning her back on Siuan, she started toward che pavilion that served as their temporary Hall of the Tower. As pleasant as it was to meet in the true Hall, not to mention under Elaida’s very nose, few sisters could manage to put themselves to sleep at any hour, so the pavilion must continue to serve. She glided along the walkway without haste. She was not about to be seen hurrying to answer Lelaine’s call. What could the woman want now?

A gong sounded, magnified with the Power so it carried across the camp clearly—another of Sharina’s suggestions—and suddenly the walkways were crowded with novices hurrying to their next class or to chores, all clustered by family. Those families of six or seven always attended class together, did chores together, in fact, did everything together. It was an effective way to manage so many novices—nearly fifty more had wandered into the camp in just the last two weeks, pushing the total back near a thousand in spite of runaways, and almost a quarter of those were young enough to be proper novices, more than the Tower had held in centuries!—yet she wished it were not Sharina’s work. The woman had not even suggested it to the Mistress of Novices. She had organized the thing herself and presented it to Tiana whole and complete! The novices, some of them graying or with lines in their faces so that it was difficult to think of them as children despite their white dresses, squeezed to the edge of the walkway to let sisters pass while they offered curtsies, but none stepped into the muddy street to make more room. Sharina again. Sharina had spread the word that she did not want to see the girls dirtying their nice white woolens unnecessarily. It was enough to make Romanda grind her teeth. The novices who curtsied to her straightened hurriedly and practically ran.

Ahead of her, she spotted Sharina herself, talking to Tiana, who was shrouded in the glow of saidar. Doing all of the talking, with Tiana merely nodding now and then. There was nothing disrespectful in Sharina’s demeanor, but despite novice white, with her creased face and gray hair in a tight bun on the back of her head, she looked exactly what she was, a grandmother. And Tiana had an unfortunately youthful appearance. Something about her bone structure and large brown eyes overwhelmed the ageless look of Aes Sedai. Lack of disrespect or no, there was too much appearance of a woman instructing her granddaughter to suit Romanda. As she approached them, Sharina offered a proper curtsy—a very proper curtsy, Romanda had to admit—and hurried off the other way to join her own family, waiting for her. Were there fewer lines in her face than there had been? Well, there was no saying what might happen when a woman began with the Power at her age. Sixty-seven and a novice!

“Is she giving you difficulties?” she asked, and Tiana leaped as though an icicle had slid down the back of her dress. The woman lacked the dignity, the gravity, necessary in a Mistress of Novices. At times, she seemed smothered by the number of her charges, too. And she was much too lenient besides, accepting excuses where there could be none.

She recovered quickly, however, falling in beside Romanda, though she smoothed her dark gray skirts unnecessarily. “Difficulties? Of course not. Sharina is the best-behaved novice in the book. Truth to tell, most are well-behaved. The greatest number sent to my study are mothers upset because their daughters are learning faster than they or have a higher potential, or aunts with the same complaint of nieces. They seem to believe the matter can be rectified somehow. They can be surprisingly adamant about it until I set them straight about being adamant with any sister. Although a good many have been sent to me more than once, I fear. A handful still seem surprised that they can be switched.”

“Is that so,” Romanda said absently. Her eye had caught pale-haired Delana hurrying in the same direction, gray-fringed shawl looped over her arms and her so-called secretary striding at her side. Delana wore an almost somber dark gray, but the Saranov trollop was in blue-slashed green silk that left half her bosom on display and fit much too snugly over hips that she rolled blatantly. Of late, the pair of them seemed to have abandoned the story that Halima was merely Delana’s servant. Indeed, the woman was gesturing emphatically while Delana merely nodded in the meekest manner imaginable. Meek! It was always a mistake to choose a pillow-friend who did not wear the shawl. Especially if you were fool enough to let her take the lead.

“Sharina isn’t only well-behaved,” Tiana continued blithely, “she is showing a great skill with Nynaeve’s new way of Healing. Like a number of the older novices. Most were village Wise Women of one sort or another, though I don’t see how that can have any bearing. One was a noble in Murandy.”

Romanda tripped over her own heel and staggered two steps, arms flailing for balance, before she could catch herself and gather her shawl. Tiana put a hand on her arm to steady her, murmuring about the un-evenness of the walkway’s planking, but she shook it off. Sbarina had a gift for the new Healing? And a number of the older women? She herself had learned the new way, but while it was different enough from the old that the second-learned weave limitation seemed not to apply, she had no great gift for it. Not nearly what she had for the old method.

“And why are novices being allowed to practice that, Tiana?”

Tiana flushed, as well she should. Such weaves were much too complex for novices, not to mention dangerous if misapplied. Done improperly, Healing could kill rather than cure. The woman channeling as well as the patient. “I can hardly stop them from seeing Healing done, Romanda.” she said defensively, moving her arms as if adjusting a shawl she was not wearing. “There are always broken bones or some fool who’s managed to cut himself badly, not to mention all the illness we have to deal with lately. Most of the older women only have to see a weave once to have it down.” Abruptly, for a bare instant, red returned to her cheeks. Smoothing her face, she drew herself up, and defensiveness fell away from her voice. “In any event, Romanda, I shouldn’t need to remind you that the novices and Accepted are mine. As Mistress of Novices. I decide what they can learn and when. Some of those women could test for Accepted today, after only months. When it comes to the Power, at least. If I choose not to make them twiddle their thumbs idly, it is my decision to make.

“Perhaps you should run to see whether Sharina has any further instructions for you.” Romanda said coldly.

Spots of crimson staining her cheeks, Tiana turned on her heel and strode away without another word. Not quite forbidden rudeness, but close. Even from behind she was the image of indignation, her back stiff as an iron rod, her steps quick. Well, Romanda was willing to admit she had come near rudeness herself. But with cause.

Trying to put the Mistress of Novices out of her mind, she set out toward the pavilion again, but had to restrain herself to keep from walking as fast as Tiana. Sharina. And several of the other older women. Should she rethink her position? No. Of course not. Their names should never have been allowed in the novice book in the first place. Yet their names were there, and it seemed they had mastered this wonderful new Healing. Oh, it was a tangled snarl. She did not want to think about it. Not now.

The pavilion stood at the heart of the camp, a much-patched piece of heavy canvas surrounded by a walkway three times as wide as any of the others. Holding her skirts well up out of the mud, she hurried across to it. She did not mind haste when it got her out of the mud more quickly. Even so, Aelmara would have a time cleaning her shoes. And her petticoats, she thought as she let her skirts down, decently concealing her ankles once more.

Word of the Hall sitting always drew sisters hoping for news of the negotiations or of Egwene, and a good fifty or more were already gathered around the pavilion with their Warders, or standing just inside, behind where their Sitters would sit. Even here, most shone with the Light of the Power. As if they were in any danger surrounded by other Aes Sedai. She found herself with a strong urge to walk around the pavilion boxing ears. That was impossible, of course. Even if custom could be set aside, which she had no desire to do, a chair in the Hall gave no authority for such a thing.

Sheriam, the narrow blue stole of the Keeper vivid on her shoulders, stood out in the crowd, in part because there was a clear space around her. Other sisters were avoiding looking at her, much less approaching her. The flame-haired woman embarrassed many of the sisters, appearing every time the Hall was called to sit as she did. The law was quite clear. Any sister could attend a sitting of the Hall unless it was closed, yet the Amyrlin could not enter the Hall of the Tower without being announced by the Keeper, and the Keeper was not allowed in without the Amyrlin. Sheriam’s green eyes were tight, as usual, and she fidgeted in an unbecoming manner, like a novice who knew she was due another visit to the Mistress of Novices. At least she was not embracing the Source, and her Warder was nowhere in sight.

Before stepping beneath the pavilion. Romanda glanced over her shoulder and sighed. The great bulk of black clouds behind Dragon-mount was gone. Not drifting apart, simply gone entirely. Very likely there would be another wave of panic among the grooms and laborers, and the serving women. Surprisingly, the novices seemed to take these strange occurrences more in stride. Perhaps that was because they were trying to take their cues from the sisters, but she suspected Sharina’s hand again. What was she to do about the woman?

Inside, eighteen cloth-covered boxes, colored for the six Ajahs represented in the camp, made platforms for polished benches, two slanting rows atop the layered carpets, widening toward a box covered with stripes in all seven colors. Wisely, Egwene had insisted on including red despite considerable opposition. Where Elaida seemed determined to divide every Ajah from every other, Egwene was determined to hold them all together, including the Red. The wooden bench atop that platform had the Amyrlin’s seven-striped stole laid across it. No one claimed responsibility for placing it there, but no one had removed it, either. Romanda was uncertain whether it was meant to be a reminder of Egwene al’Vere, the Amyrlin Seat, an echo of her presence, or a reminder that she was absent and a prisoner. How it was seen doubtless depended on the sister looking.

She was not the only Sitter taking her time to answer Lelaine’s call. Delana was there, of course, slumped on her bench and rubbing the side of her nose, her watery blue eyes pensive. Once, Romanda had considered her levelheaded. Unsuitable for a chair, but levelheaded. At least she had not allowed Halima to follow her into the Hall and continue her harangue. Or rather, at least Halima had chosen not to. No one who had heard the woman shouting at Delana possessed any doubts who gave the orders there. Lelaine herself was already on her bench, just below the Amyrlin’s, a slender, hard-eyed woman in blue-slashed silk who rationed her smiles tightly. Which made it doubly odd that now and then she glanced toward the seven-colored stole and gave a small smile. That smile made Romanda uneasy, and few things could do that. Moria, in blue wool embroidered with silver, was striding up and down in front of the blue-covered platforms. Was her frown because she knew why Lelaine had called the Hall and disapproved, or because she was worried over not knowing?

“I saw Myrelle walking with Llyw,” Malind said, hitching up her green-fringed shawl as Romanda entered the pavilion, “and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sister looking so harassed.” Despite the sympathy in her tone, her eyes sparkled and her full lips quirked with amusement. “How did you ever talk her into bonding him? I was there when someone suggested it to her, and I vow, she turned pale. The man could almost pass for an Ogier.”

“I expressed myself forcefully on duty.” Faiselle, stocky and square-faced, was forceful in everything; in truth, a hammer of a woman. She mocked every tale of seductive Domani. “I pointed out that Llyw had been becoming more and more dangerous to himself and others since Kairen died, and I told her it couldn’t be allowed to continue. I made her see that as the only sister ever to save two other Warders in the same circumstances, she was the only choice to try doing it again. I’ll admit I had to twist her arm a little, but she eventually saw the right of the matter.”

“How under the Light could you twist Myrelle’s arm?” Malind leaned forward eagerly.

Romanda passed them by. How could anyone have twisted Myrelle’s arm? No. No gossip.

Janya was on her bench for the Brown, squinting in thought. At least, she was squinting, but the woman always seemed to be thinking of something else even when she was talking to you. Maybe her eyes were bad. The rest of the benches still stood empty, though. Romanda wished she had been more leisurely. She would much rather have been the last to arrive than one of the first.

After a moment’s hesitation, she approached Lelaine. “Would you care to give an idea of why you called the Hall?”

Lelaine smiled down at her, an amused smile, yet unpleasant even so. “You might as well wait until we have enough Sitters to proceed. I don’t care to repeat myself. I will tell you this much. It will be dramatic.” Her eyes drifted to the striped stole, and Romanda felt a chill.

She did not let it show, however, merely taking her bench across from Lelaine. She could not help glancing uneasily at the stole herself. Was this some move to unseat Egwene? It seemed unlikely the other woman could say anything that would convince her to stand for the greater consensus. Or many of the other Sitters, since that would throw them back to the struggle between her and Lelaine for control and weaken their position against Elaida. Yet Lelaine’s air of confidence was unnerving. She schooled her features to calmness and waited. There was nothing else to do.

Kwamesa all but darted into the pavilion, her sharp-nosed face chagrined at not being first to arrive, and joined Delana. Salita appeared, dark and cool-eyed in yellow-slashed green embroidered with yellow scrollwork on the bosom, and suddenly there was a rush. Lyrelle glided in, graceful and elegant in brocaded blue silk, to take her place with the Blues, then Saroiya and Aledrin with their heads together, the blocky Domani seeming almost slender alongside the stout Taraboner. As they took their places on the White benches, fox-faced Samalin joined Faiselle and Malind, and tiny Escaralde scurried in. She scurried! The woman was from Far Madding, too. She should know better how to behave.

“Varilin is in Darein. I believe,” Romanda said as Escaralde climbed up beside Janya. “but even if some others arrive later, we have more than eleven. Are you content to begin, Lelaine, or do you wish to wait?”

“I am content to begin.”

“Do you wish a formal sitting?”

Lelaine smiled again. She was being very free with those this morning. They did nothing to warm her face. “That won’t be necessary, Romanda.” She rearranged her skirts slightly. “But I ask that what is said here be Sealed to the Hall for the time being.” A murmur rose from the growing crowd of sisters standing behind the benches and those outside the pavilion. Even some of the Sitters showed surprise. If the sitting was not formal, what need could there be to restrict knowledge of what was said so closely?

Romanda nodded as though it were the most reasonable request in the world, though. “Let all depart who do not hold a chair. Aledrin, will you make us private?”

Despite dark yellow hair of a silky texture and large, liquid brown eyes, the Taraboner White fell short of pretty, but she had a good head on her shoulders, which was far more important. Standing, she seemed uncertain whether she should speak the formal words, and finally contented herself with weaving the ward against eavesdropping around the pavilion and holding it. The murmuring faded as sisters and Warders passed through that ward, until the last was gone and silence fell. They stood in ranks shoulder-to-shoulder on the walkway watching, however, the Warders all crowded to the rear so everyone could see.

Adjusting her shawl, Lelaine stood. “A Green sister was brought to me when she came asking for Egwene.” The Green Sitters stirred, exchanging glances, no doubt wondering why the sister was not brought to them instead. Lelaine affected not to notice. “Not for the Amyrlin Seat, for Egwene al’Vere. She has a proposal that meets some of our needs, though she was reluctant to say very much of it to me. Moria, will you bring her so she can present her proposal to the Hall?” She resumed her seat.

Moria left the pavilion still frowning, and the crowd outside opened enough to let her through. Romanda could see sisters trying to question her, but she ignored them, disappearing across the street and into the Blue Ajah quarters. Romanda had a dozen questions she would have liked to ask in the interval, but informal session or not, questions would have been improper at this point. The Sitters did not wait in silence, however. At every Ajah except the Blue, women stepped down so they could come together and speak in low voices. Except the Blue and the Yellow. Salita climbed down and walked over to Romanda’s platform, but Romanda raised a hand slightly as soon as she opened her mouth.

“What is there to discuss until we know what the proposal is, Salita?”

The Tairen Sitter’s round face was as unreadable as a stone, but after a moment she nodded and resumed her seat. She was not unintelligent, far from it. Just unsuitable.

At last Moria returned leading a tall woman in dark green, her dark hair pulled back severely from a stern ivory face and held by a silver comb, and everyone climbed back to their benches. Three men with swords at their hips trailed after her through the watching sisters and into the pavilion. Unusual, that. Very unusual when matters had been Sealed to the Hall. Romanda paid them little mind at first, though. She had had no real interest in Warders since her last had died, a good many years earlier. But someone among the Greens gasped, and Aledrin squeaked. She actually squeaked! And she was staring at the Warders. That had to be what they were, and not only because they were heeling the Green. There was no mistaking a Warder’s deadly grace.

Romanda took a longer look, and nearly gasped herself. They were disparate men, alike only in the way a leopard was like a lion, but one, a pretty, sun-dark boy with his hair in belled braids, garbed all in black, wore a pair of pins on the tall collar of his coat. A silver sword, and a sinuous, maned creature in red and gold. She had heard enough descriptions to know she was looking at an Asha’man. An Asha’man who had been bonded, apparently. Gathering her skirts, Malind jumped down and rushed out into the crowd of sisters. Surely she was not frightened. Although Romanda admitted to a hint of unease herself, if only to herself.

“You are not one of us,” Janya said, speaking up where she should not as always. She leaned forward, squinting at the new-come sister. “Should I take it you have not come here to join us?”

The Green’s mouth twisted in obvious distaste. “You take it correctly.” she said in a strong Taraboner accent. “My name is Merise Haindehl, and me, I will stand with no sister who wishes to contend against other sisters while the world hangs in the balance. Our enemy, it is the Shadow, not women who wear the shawl as we do.” Mutters rose in the pavilion, some angry, some, Romanda thought, shamed.

“If you disapprove of what we do,” Janya went on, as if she had a right to speak before Romanda. “why do you bring us any sort of proposal?”

“Because the Dragon Reborn, he asked Cadsuane, and Cadsuane, she asked me,” Merise replied. The Dragon Reborn? The tension in the Hall was suddenly palpable, but the woman continued as if she were senseless to it. “Properly, it is not my proposal. Jahar, speak to them.”

The sun-dark youth stepped forward, and as he passed her. Merise reached up to pat him on the shoulder encouragingly. Romanda’s respect for her rose. To bond an Asha’man was accomplishment enough. To pat one as you might a hunting hound took a level of courage and self-confidence she herself was unsure she possessed.

The boy strode to the center of the pavilion staring at the bench where the Amyrlin’s stole lay, then turned about slowly, running his gaze over the Sitters with an air of challenge. It came to Romanda that he was unafraid, too. An Aes Sedai held his bond, he was alone and surrounded by sisters, yet if there was a scrap of fear in him, he had it under complete control. “Where is Egwene al’Vere?” he demanded. “I was ordered to lay the offer before her.”

“Manners, Jahar,” Merise murmured, and his face colored.

“The Mother is unavailable at the moment,” Romanda said smoothly. “You can tell us, and we will tell her as soon as we can. This offer comes from the Dragon Reborn?” And Cadsuane. But learning what that woman was doing in company with the Dragon Reborn was secondary.

Instead of answering, he snarled and spun to face Merise. “A man just tried to listen in,” he said. “Or maybe it was that Forsaken who killed Eben.”

“He is right.” Aledrin’s voice was unsteady. “At least, something touched my warding, and it wasn’t saidar.”

“He’s channeling” someone said incredulously. A flurry broke out of Sitters shifting on the benches, and the light of the Power enveloped several.

Abruptly, Delana stood. “I need a breath of fresh air,” she said, glowering at Jahar as though she wanted to rip his throat out.

“There’s no need to be uneasy,” Romanda said, though she was not sure herself, but Delana, wrapped in her shawl, hurried from the pavilion.

Malind passed her coming in, as did Nacelle, a tall slender Malkieri, one of the handful remaining in the Tower. A good many had died in the years after Malkier fell to the Shadow, letting themselves be pulled into schemes to avenge their native land, and replacements had been few and far between since. Nacelle was not particularly intelligent, but then, Greens did not need intelligence, only courage.

“This session has been Sealed to the Hall, Malind,” Romanda said sharply.

“Nacelle needs only moments,” Malind replied, rubbing her hands together. Irritatingly, she did not even bother to look at Romanda, keeping her eyes on the other Green. “This is her first chance to test a new weave. Go ahead, Nacelle. Try it.”

The glow of saidar appeared around the slim Green. Shocking! The woman neither asked permission nor told them what weave she intended, although tight strictures held on what uses of the Power were allowed in the Hall. Channeling all of the Five Powers, she wove around the Asha’man something that seemed akin to the weave for detecting residues, a thing Romanda had small facility for. Nacelle’s blue eyes widened. “He is channeling,” she breathed. “Or at least holding saidin.”

Romanda’s eyebrows climbed. Even Lelaine gasped. Finding a man who could channel was always a matter of reading the residues of what he had done, then arduously narrowing the suspects down to the true culprit. Or rather, it had been. This was truly wondrous. Or would have been before men who could channel started wearing black coats and strutting around openly. Still, it negated one advantage those men had always had over Aes Sedai. The Asha’man seemed not to care. His lip curled in what might have been a sneer.

“Can you tell what he is channeling?” she asked, and disappointingly, Nacelle shook her head.

“I thought I’d be able to, but no. On the other hand… You there, Asha’man. Extend a flow toward one of the Sitters. Nothing dangerous, mind, and do not touch her.” Merise glowered at her, fists planted on her hips. Maybe Nacelle failed to realize he was one of her Warders. She certainly gestured at him in peremptory fashion.

A stubborn cast to his eyes, Jahar opened his mouth.

“Do it, Jahar,” Merise said. “He is mine. Nacelle, but I will let you give him an order. This once.” Nacelle looked shocked. Apparently she had failed to realize.

For the Asha’man’s part, that stubborn look remained, yet he must have obeyed because Nacelle clapped her hands delightedly and laughed.

“Saroiya,” she said excitedly. “You extended a flow toward Saroiya. The Domani White. Am I right?”

Saroiya’s coppery skin paled, and gathering her white-fringed shawl around her, she hastily slid back on her bench as far as she could. For that matter, Aledrin edged away on her own bench.

“Tell her.” Merise said. “Jahar, he can be stubborn, but he is the good boy for all that.”

“The Domani White.” Jahar agreed reluctantly. Saroiya swayed as if she were going to fall over, and he glanced at her contemptuously. “It was only Spirit, and it’s gone now.” Saroiya’s face darkened, but whether from anger or embarrassment there was no telling.

“A remarkable discovery.” Lelaine said, “and I’m sure that Merise will allow you to test further, Nacelle, but the Hall has business to conclude. I’m certain you agree, Romanda.”

Romanda barely managed to stop herself from glaring. Lelaine overstepped herself too often. “If your demonstration is at an end.” she said, “you may withdraw. Nacelle.” The Malkieri Green was reluctant to go, perhaps because she could tell from Merise’s expression that there would be no further testing—really, you would think a Green of all people would be careful with any man who might be another sister’s Warder—yet she had no choice, of course. “What proposal does the Dragon Reborn have for us, boy?” Romanda asked once Nacelle was on the other side of the warding.

“This.” he said, facing her proudly. “Any sister who is faithful to Egwene al’Vere may bond an Asha’man, to a total of forty-seven. You cannot ask for the Dragon Reborn, nor any man who wears the dragon, but any Soldier or Dedicated you ask cannot refuse.” Romanda felt as if all the breath had been squeezed from her lungs.

“You will agree this meets our needs?” Lelaine said calmly. The woman must have known the gist of it from the start, burn her.

“I do.” Romanda replied. With forty-seven men who could channel, surely they could expand their circles as far as they would go. Perhaps even a circle that included all of them. If there were limits, they would need to be worked out.

Faiselle popped to her feet, as if this were a formal sitting. “This must be debated. I call for a formal session.”

“I see no need for that,” Romanda told her without rising. “This is much better than… what we previously agreed on.” There was no point in saying too much in front of the boy. Or Merise. What was her connection to the Dragon Reborn? Could she be one of the sisters said to have sworn oaths to him?

Saroiya was on her feet before the last word left Romanda’s mouth. “There is still the question of covenants, to be sure we are in control. We still have not agreed on those.”

“I should think the Warder bond will make any other covenants moot,” Lyrelle said dryly.

Faiselle rose hurriedly, and she and Saroiya spoke atop each other. “The taint—” They stopped, staring at each other suspiciously.

“Saidin is clean,” Jahar said, though no one had addressed him. Merise really should teach the boy how to behave if she was going to bring him before the Hall.

“Clean?” Saroiya said derisively.

“It has been tainted for more than three thousand years,” Faiselle put in sharply. “How can be it clean?”

“Order!” Romanda snapped, trying to regain control. “Order!” She stared at Saroiya and Faiselle until they resumed their seats, then turned her attention to Merise. “Can I assume that you have linked with him?” The Green simply nodded once. She really did not like her present company, and did not want to say a word more than necessary. “Can you say that saidin is free of the taint?”

The woman did not hesitate. “I can. I took time to be convinced. The male half of the Power, it is more alien than you can imagine. Not the inexorable yet gentle power of saidar, but rather a raging sea of fire and ice whipped by a tempest. Yet I am convinced. It is clean.”

Romanda let out a long breath. A marvel to balance some of the horrors. “We are not formal, but I call the question. Who stands to accept this offer?” She was on her feet as soon as she finished, but no faster than Lelaine, and Janya beat both of them. In moments, everyone was on her feet save Saroiya and Faiselle. Outside the warding, heads turned as sisters doubtless began discussing what might have just been voted on. “The lesser consensus standing, the offer to bond forty-seven Asha’man is accepted.” Saroiya’s shoulders slumped, and Faiselle exhaled heavily.

She called for the greater consensus in the name of unity, but it did not surprise her when the pair remained firmly on their benches. After all, they had fought approaching the Asha’man at every turn, struggled despite law and custom to impede it even after it had been decided on. In any event, it was done, and without need of even a temporary alliance. Bonding would last a lifetime, of course, yet it was better than any sort of alliance. That implied too much equality.

“A peculiar number, forty-seven,” Janya mused. “May I question your Warder, Merise? Thank you. How did the Dragon Reborn come to that number. Jahar?” A very good question, Romanda thought. In the shock of achieving what they needed without any requirement for partnership, it had eluded her.

Jahar drew himself up as if he had anticipated this, and dreaded answering. His face remained hard and cold, though. “Fifty-one sisters have been bonded by Asha’man already, and four of us are bonded to Aes Sedai. Forty-seven makes the difference. There were five of us, but one died defending his Aes Sedai. Remember his name. Eben Hopwil. Remember him!”

There was a stunned silence from the benches. Romanda felt a lump of ice in her middle. Fifty-one sisters? Bonded by Asha’man? It was an abomination!

“Manners, Jahar!” Merise snapped. “Do not make me tell you again!”

Shockingly, he rounded on her. “They need to know, Merise. They need to know!” Turning back, he ran his gaze along the benches. His eyes seemed hot. He had been dreading nothing. He had been angry, and still was. “Eben was linked with his Daigian and Beldeine, with Daigian controlling the link, so when they found themselves facing one of the Forsaken, all he could do was shout, ‘She’s channeling saidin.’ and attack her with his sword. And despite what she did to him, ruined as he was, he managed to hang on to life, hang on to saidin, long enough for Daigian to drive her off. So you remember his name! Eben Hopwil. He fought for his Aes Sedai long after he should have been dead!”

When he fell silent, no one spoke until Escaralde finally said, very quietly. “We will remember him, Jahar. But how did fifty-one sisters come to be… bonded to Asha’man?” She leaned forward as if his answer would be pitched as low.

The boy shrugged, still angry. It was of no matter to him. Asha’man bonding Aes Sedai. “Elaida sent them to destroy us. The Dragon Reborn has a standing order that no Aes Sedai can be harmed unless she tries to harm one of us first, so Taim decided to capture and bond them before they had the chance.”

So. They were Elaida’s supporters. Should that make a difference? Somehow it did, a little. But any sisters held by Asha’man brought it all back to a matter of equality, and that was intolerable.

“I have another question for him, Merise,” Moria said, and waited until the Green nodded. “Twice now, you did speak as if a woman did channel saidin. Why? That do be impossible.” Murmurs of agreement rippled around the pavilion.

“It might be impossible,” the boy replied coolly, “but she did it. Daigian told us what Eben said, and she couldn’t detect anything at all even while the woman was channeling. It had to be saidin.”

Suddenly that small chime sounded again in the back of Romanda’s head, and she knew where she had heard the name Cabriana Mecandes. “We must order the arrest of Delana and Halima immediately,” she said.

She had to explain, of course. Not even the Amyrlin Seat could order the arrest of a Sitter without explanation. The murders with saidin of two sisters who had been close friends of Cabriana, a woman Halima had claimed friendship with as well. A female Forsaken who channeled the male half of the Power. They were hardly convinced, especially Lelaine, not until a thorough search of the camp turned up no trace of either woman. They had been seen walking toward one of the Traveling grounds with Delana and her serving woman both carrying large bundles and scurrying along behind Halima, but they were gone.