The Gathering Storm

38 News in Tel’aran’rhiod

“Egwene, see reason,” Siuan said, faintly translucent because of the ter’angreal ring she had used to enter Tel’aran’rhiod. “What good can you do, rotting in that cell? Elaida will see that you’re never let free, not after what you said you did at that dinner.” Siuan shook her head. “Mother, sometimes you just have to face truth. You can only repair a net so many times before you need to toss the thing aside and weave a new one.”

Egwene sat on a three-legged stool in the corner of the room, the front part of a cobbler’s shop. She’d chosen the location at random, just in case, eschewing a location in the White Tower itself. The Forsaken knew that Egwene and the others walked the World of Dreams.

With Siuan, Egwene could be more relaxed, more her real self. The two of them both understood that Egwene was now the Amyrlin and Siuan her lesser, but at the same time, they shared a bond. A camaraderie due to the station they both had filled. That bond, strangely, had turned into something akin to friendship.

At the moment, Egwene was nearly ready to strangle her friend. “We’ve been over this,” she said firmly. “I cannot flee. Each day I spend imprisoned—but do not break—is another blow to Elaida’s rule. If I disappear before her trial, it will undermine everything we’ve worked for!”

“The trial will be a sham, Mother,” Siuan said. “And if it isn’t, the punishment will be light. From what you’ve told me, she didn’t break any bones when she beat you—why, she didn’t break the skin.”

That was true. Egwene’s bleeding had been from broken glass, not Elaida’s stripes.

“Even a formal censure from the Hall will undermine her,” Egwene said. “My resistance, my refusal to break my imprisonment, means something. The Sitters themselves come to visit me! If I were to flee, it would look as though I’d given in to Elaida.”

“Didn’t she declare you a Darkfriend?” Siuan asked pointedly.

Egwene hesitated. Yes, Elaida had done that. But she didn’t have proof for it.

Tower law was intricate, and sorting out the proper punishments and interpretations could be complicated. The Three Oaths would have prevented Elaida from using the One Power as a weapon, and so Elaida must have thought that what she was doing wasn’t a violation. Either she had gone farther than she’d planned, or she saw Egwene as a Darkfriend. She could argue for either position to defend herself; the latter would relieve her of the most guilt, but the former would be much easier to prove.

“She could succeed at having you convicted,” Siuan said, apparently thinking along the same lines. “You would be slated for execution. What then?”

“She won’t succeed. She hasn’t any proof that I am a Darkfriend, and so the Hall will never allow it.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

Egwene hesitated. “Very well. If the Hall decides that I am to be executed, I will let you get me out. But not until then, Siuan. Not until then.”

Siuan snorted. “You might not have an opportunity, Mother. If Elaida cows them, she will act quickly. The woman’s punishments can be swift as a stormwind, take you unaware. I know that for certain.”

“If that happens,” Egwene said pointedly, “my death would be a victory. Elaida would be the one who gave up, not I.”

Siuan shook her head, muttering, “Stubborn as a mooring post.”

“We are finished with that discussion, Siuan,” Egwene said sternly.

Siuan sighed, but said nothing further. She seemed to have too much nervous energy to sit, and ignored the stool on the other side of the room, instead going to stand by the shop window to Egwene’s right.

The cobbler’s salesroom showed signs of great traffic. A stout counter divided the room in half, the wall behind pocketed with dozens of shoesized nooks. At times, most of these were stuffed with sturdy work shoes of leather or canvas, laces hanging down the front or buckles gleaming in the phantom light of Tel’aran’rhiod. Yet each time Egwene glanced at the wall, the shoes had shifted, some vanishing, others appearing. They must not stay long in their cubbyholes in the real world, for they left only vague images behind in the world of dreams.

The front half of the shop was crowded with stools for customers to use. The shoes on the back wall were of different designs and patterns, along with test shoes for sizing. A person came into the shop, tried on the sizing shoes, then picked a style. The cobbler—or, likely, his assistants—would then craft a pair for later pickup. The wide glass windows at the front proclaimed the name of the cobbler in white painted letters to be Naorman Mashinta, and a smaller number “three” had been painted beside the name. This was the third generation of Mashintas to run the shop. Not uncommon at all among townsfolk. In fact, the part of Egwene that was still influenced by the Two Rivers found it odd that anyone would consider leaving their parent’s trade for another, unless they were a third or fourth child.

“Now that we’ve dealt with the obvious,” Egwene said, “what news is there?”

“Well,” Siuan said, leaning on the window and staring out at the eerily empty Tar Valon street. “An old acquaintance of yours recently arrived in camp.”

“Really?” Egwene asked absently. “Who?”

“Gawyn Trakand.”

Egwene started. That was impossible! Gawyn had sided with Elaida’s faction during the rebellion. He wouldn’t have come over to the rebel side. Had he been captured? But that wasn’t how Siuan had phrased it.

For a moment, Egwene was a trembling girl, caught in the power of his whispered promises. She managed to keep her form locked into that of the Amyrlin, however, and forced her thoughts back to the moment, driving herself to be casual as she responded. “Gawyn?” she asked. “How odd. I wouldn’t have thought to find him there.”

Siuan smiled. “That was nicely handled,” she said. “Though you paused too long, and when you did ask for him, you were overly uninterested. That made you easy to read.”

“Light blind you,” Egwene said. “Another test? Is he really there?”

“I hold to the oaths, thank you,” Siuan said, affronted. Egwene was one of the few who knew that, as a result of her stilling and healing, Siuan had been released from the Three Oaths. But, like Egwene, she chose not to lie anyway.

“Either way,” Egwene said, “I should think that the time for testing me has passed.”

“Everyone you meet will always be testing you, Mother,” Siuan said. “You must be prepared for surprises; at any moment someone could throw one at you just to see how you respond.”

“Thank you,” Egwene said coldly. “But I really don’t need the reminder.”

“Don’t you?” Siuan said. “Sounds a little like something Elaida would say.”

“That’s unfair!”

“Prove it,” Siuan said smugly.

Egwene forced herself to be calm. Siuan was right. Better to take the advice, particularly when it was good advice, than to complain. “You are right, of course,” Egwene said, smoothing out her dress across her knees as she also smoothed the frustration from her face. “Tell me more of Gawyn’s arrival.”

“I don’t know much more,” Siuan confessed. “I really should have mentioned it yesterday, but our meeting was cut short.” They were meeting more often now—each night of Egwene’s imprisonment—but yesterday something had awakened Siuan before they had finished talking. A bubble of evil in the rebel camp, she had reported, involving tents coming alive and trying to strangle people. Three had died, one of them Aes Sedai.

“Anyway,” Siuan continued, “Gawyn hasn’t said much that I could hear. I think he’s here because he heard that you were captured. He arrived with a spectacular flurry, but now he stays in Bryne’s command post, visiting the Aes Sedai regularly. He’s mulling over something; keeps going to speak to Romanda and Lelaine.”

“That’s troubling.”

“Well, they are the obvious power in camp,” Siuan said. “Save when Sheriam and the others can wrench some authority away. Things haven’t gone well without you; the camp needs leadership. Actually, we crave it, as a starving fisherman craves a catch. Aes Sedai are a people of order, I suppose. It—”

She stopped herself. Likely, she had been about to bully Egwene again to accept rescue. She glanced at Egwene, then continued. “Well, it will be good for us when you return, Mother. The longer you stay away, the stronger the factions become. You can almost see the lines down the middle of the camp now. Romanda on one side, Lelaine on the other, with a shrinking slice that doesn’t want to take sides.”

“We cannot afford another division,” Egwene said. “Not among ourselves; we have to prove stronger than Elaida.”

“At least our splits aren’t along the lines of Ajah,” Siuan said defensively.

“Factions and breaks,” Egwene said, getting up. “Infighting and squabbling. We are better than this, Siuan. Tell the Hall that I wish to meet with them. Perhaps in two days. Tomorrow, you and I should meet again.”

Siuan nodded hesitantly. “Very well.”

Egwene eyed her. “You think it unwise?”

“No,” Siuan said. “I worry about how hard you’re pushing yourself. The Amyrlin needs to learn to ration her strength; some in your place have failed not because they lacked the capacity for greatness, but because they stretched that capacity too thin, sprinting when they should have walked.”

Egwene refrained from pointing out that Siuan herself had spent much of her tenure as Amyrlin sprinting at a breakneck speed. But it could very well be argued that Siuan had stretched herself too thin, and had fallen as a result. Who better to speak on the dangers of such activities than one who had been burned by them so deeply?

“The advice is appreciated, daughter,” Egwene said. “But really, there is little to worry about. My days are spent in solitude, with the occasional beating to provide spice. These meetings at night help me survive.” She shivered, glancing away from Siuan, out the window toward the dirty, vacant street.

“Is it difficult to endure?” Siuan asked softly.

“The cell is narrow enough for me to touch opposite walls at once,” Egwene said. “And isn’t very long, either. When I lie down, I have to bend my knees to fit. I can’t stand, since the ceiling is so low it makes me stoop, and I can’t sit without pain, for they no longer Heal me between beatings. The straw is old and itches. The door is thick and the cracks don’t allow in much light. I wasn’t aware that the Tower had cells such as this one.” She glanced back at Siuan. “Once I am upheld fully as Amyrlin, this room and any like it will be removed, the doors ripped out and the cells themselves filled with bricks and mortar.”

Siuan nodded. “We’ll make certain of it.”

Egwene turned away again, and noticed with shame that she’d let her gown shift to the cadin’sor of an Aiel Maiden, complete with spears and bow at her back. She forced the clothing back, taking a deep breath. “No person should be kept in such a manner,” she said, “not even. ...”

Siuan frowned as Egwene trailed off. “What was that?”

Egwene shook her head. “It just occurred to me. This is what it must have been like for Rand. No, worse. The stories say he was locked in a box smaller than my cell. At least I can spend part of the evenings chatting with you. He had nobody. He was without the belief that his beatings meant something.” Light send that she didn’t have to endure as long as he had. Her imprisonment had only been a few days so far.

Siuan fell silent.

“Regardless,” Egwene said, “I have Tel’aran’rhiod. During the days, my body is captive, but my soul is free at night. And each day I endure is another proof that Elaida’s will is not law. She cannot break me. Her support from the others is eroding. Trust me.”

Siuan nodded. “Very well,” she said, rising. “You are Amyrlin.”

“Of course I am,” Egwene said absently.

“No, Egwene,” Siuan said. “I meant that from the heart.”

Egwene turned, surprised. “But you’ve always believed in me!”

Siuan raised an eyebrow.

“At least,” Egwene said, “from fairly near the beginning.”

“I always believed you had potential,” Siuan corrected. “Well, you’ve fulfilled it. Some of it at least. Enough of it. However this storm blows through, you’ve proven one thing. You deserved the place you hold. Light, girl, you may end up being the best Amyrlin this world has known this side of Artur Hawkwing’s reign!” She hesitated. “And that’s not an easy thing for me to admit, mind you.”

Egwene took Siuan’s arms, smiling. Why, Siuan almost looked teary-eyed with pride! “All I did was get myself locked in a cell.”

“And you did it like an Amyrlin, Egwene,” Siuan said. “But I should be getting back. Some of us can’t spend our days relaxing the way you can. We need real sleep, otherwise we’re likely to fall unconscious in our washwater.” She grimaced, releasing herself from Egwene’s hands.

“You could just tell him to—”

“Now, I’ll have none of that,” Siuan said, wagging a finger at Egwene. Had she forgotten that she’d just been complimenting Egwene’s stature as an Amyrlin? “I gave my word, and I’ll be fish guts before I’ll break it.”

Egwene blinked. “I wouldn’t dream of making you,” she said, covering a smile as she noticed that Siuan’s shadowy form now had a bright red ribbon in its hair. “Off with you, then.”

Siuan nodded sharply, then sat down and closed her eyes. She faded slowly from Tel’aran’rhiod.

Egwene hesitated, watching the area where Siuan had been. It was probably time to return to normal dreaming, letting her mind restore itself. But returning to her normal dreams would be a step toward waking, and when she woke she would find only that cramped dungeon and its stuffy darkness. She longed to stay in the World of Dreams just a little longer. She thought of visiting Elayne’s dreams to ask for a meeting . . . but no, that would take too much time, assuming Elayne could make her dream ter’angreal work. She rarely could, these days.

She found herself stepping away from Tar Valon, the cobbler’s shop vanishing around her.

She appeared in the rebel Aes Sedai camp. A foolish place to visit, perhaps. If there were Darkfriends or Forsaken in the World of Dreams, they could very well be studying this camp and looking for information, much as Egwene sometimes visited the Amyrlin’s study in Tel’aran’rhiod to search for clues on Elaida’s plans. But Egwene needed to come here. She didn’t question why; she simply felt that it was true.

The streets of the camp were muddy, worn in ruts from passing wagons. Once just a field, the area had been appropriated by the Aes Sedai and turned into . . . something. Part a place of war, with Bryne’s soldiers camped in a ring about them. Part town, though no town had ever boasted such a complement of Aes Sedai, novices and Accepted. Part monument to the weakness of the White Tower.

Egwene walked the camp’s main thoroughfare, where weeds had been trampled to mud, then mud worn into a road. Walkways lined it, and tents covered the flat land beyond. There were no people, only the occasional fleeting glimpse of a sleeper who had stumbled into Tel’aran’rhiod. Here, a brief flash of a woman in a fine green gown. A dreaming Aes Sedai, perhaps, though it was just as likely to be a serving maid imagining herself to be a queen. There, a woman in white—a woman with stringy blond hair who was far too old to be a novice. That no longer mattered. The novice book should have long ago been opened to all. The White Tower was too weak to turn down any source of strength.

Both women were gone almost as quickly as they appeared. Few dreamers stayed long in Tel’aran’rhiod; to remain longer, one needed either a particular skill like Egwene’s or a ter’angreal like the ring Siuan used. There was a third way. Getting caught up in a living nightmare. There were none of the latter about, thank the Light.

The camp seemed strange to be so deserted. Egwene had long since stopped being unnerved by the eerie lack of people in Tel’aran’rhiod. But this camp was different somehow. It looked as a war camp might after all of the soldiers had been slaughtered on the battlefield. Deserted, yet still a banner to proclaim the lives of those who had occupied it. Egwene felt as if she could see the division that Siuan had talked about, tents clumped together like bunches of sprouting flowers.

With individuals removed, she could see the patterns and the troubles they bespoke. Egwene might denounce Elaida for the rifts among the Ajahs in the White Tower, but Egwene’s own Aes Sedai were beginning to fracture as well. Well, three Aes Sedai could hardly gather without two of them making an alliance. It was healthy to have the women planning and preparing; the trouble was when they began to regard others of their kind as enemies, rather than just rivals.

Siuan was right, unfortunately. Egwene could not spend much more time setting her hopes on reconciliation. What if the White Tower didn’t unseat Elaida? What if, despite Egwene’s progress, the rifts between the Ajahs never healed? What then? Go to war?

There was another option, one that none of them had brought up: that of giving up on reconciliation permanently. Setting up a second White Tower. It would mean leaving the Aes Sedai broken, perhaps forever. Egwene shuddered at the prospect, and her skin itched, rebelling against the thought.

But what if she had no other choice? She had to consider the ramifications, and she found them daunting. How could they encourage the Kin or the Wise Ones to tie themselves to the Aes Sedai if the Aes Sedai themselves were not unified? The two White Towers would become opposed forces, confusing the leaders of men as rival Amyrlins tried to use nations for their own purposes. Allies and enemies alike would lose their awe of the Aes Sedai, and kings very well might start up their own centers for women talented in channeling.

Egwene steeled herself, walking on the muddy road, the tents along the way changing, their flaps open, then closed, then open again in the strange ephemeral way of the World of Dreams. Egwene felt the Amyrlin’s stole appear around her neck, too heavy, as if woven with lead weights.

She would bring the White Tower Aes Sedai to her side. Elaida would fall. But if not . . . then Egwene would do what was necessary in order to preserve the people, and the world, in the face of Tarmon Gai’don.

She stepped away from the camp, the tents, ruts, and empty streets vanishing. Again, she wasn’t certain where her mind would take her. Traveling in the World of Dreams this way—letting need direct her—could be dangerous, but it could also be very illuminating. In this case, she looked not for an object, but for knowledge. What did she need to know, what did she need to see?

Her surroundings blurred, then snapped back straight. She stood in the middle of a small camp, fire smoldering in a firepit before her, a tiny tongue of smoke curling toward the sky. That was odd. Fire was usually too fleeting to reflect in Tel’aran’rhiod. There were no actual flames, despite the smoke and the orange glow warming the smooth riverstones that ringed the pit. She glanced upward, toward the too-dark, stormy sky. That silent storm was another irregularity for the World of Dreams, though it had become so common lately that she hardly noticed it anymore. Could anything be called regular for this place?

With shock, she noticed colorful wagons around her, green, red, orange and yellow. Had they been there a moment before? She was in a large clearing set inside a forest of phantom white aspen. The underbrush was thick, where spindly wild grass poked fingers out in jagged patches. An overgrown road meandered through the trees to her right; the colorful wagons sat in a ring around the fire. Bright paints colored the sides of the boxy vehicles, which had roofs and walls like tiny buildings. Oxen did not reflect in the World of Dreams, but plates, cups and spoons appeared, then vanished from places beside the firepit or on the seats of the wagons.

It was a camp of the Traveling People, the Tuatha’an. Why this place? Egwene walked idly around the firepit, looking at the wagons, the coats of paint kept fresh and free of cracks or stains. This caravan was much smaller than the one she and Perrin had visited so long ago, but it had much the same feel. She could almost hear the flutes and drums, could almost imagine those flickers from the firepit to be the shadows of dancing men and women. Did the Tuatha’an still dance, with that sky so full of gloom, the winds so full of ill news? What place was there for them in a world preparing for war? Trollocs cared nothing for the Way of the Leaf. Did this group of Tuatha’an seek to hide from the Last Battle?

Egwene settled herself on the side steps of a wagon, which was turned to face the nearby firepit. For a moment, she let her gown change to that of a simple, woolen Two Rivers dress of green, much like the one she’d worn during her time visiting the Traveling People. She stared into those nonexistent flames, remembering and pondering. What had become of Aram, Raen and Ila? Likely they were safe somewhere in a camp just like this one, waiting to see what Tarmon Gai’don would do to the world. Eg-wene smiled, thinking of those days when she’d flirted and danced with Aram beneath Perrin’s scowling disapproval. That had been a simpler time; though the Tinkers always seemed able to make a simpler time for themselves.

Yes, this group would still dance. They would dance right up until the day when the Pattern burned away, whether or not they found their song, whether or not Trollocs ravaged the world or the Dragon Reborn destroyed it.

Had she let herself lose sight of those things which were most precious? Why did she fight so hard to secure the White Tower? For power? For pride? Or because she felt it really was best for the world?

Was she going to suck herself dry as she fought this battle? She had chosen—or, would have chosen—the Green and not the Blue. The difference wasn’t just that she liked the way the Greens stood up and fought; she thought that the Blues were too focused. Life was more complicated than a single cause. Life was about living. About dreaming, laughing and dancing.

Gawyn was in the Aes Sedai camp. She said that she’d chosen the Green for its aggressive determination—it was the Battle Ajah. But a more secret, more honest, part of herself admitted that Gawyn was a motivation for her decision as well. Among the Green Ajah, marrying one’s Warder was common. Egwene would have Gawyn for her Warder. And her husband.

She loved him. She would bond him. Those desires of her heart were less important than the fate of the world, true, but they were still important.

Egwene rose from the steps as her dress transformed back into the white and silver gown of the Amyrlin. She took a step forward and let the world shift.

She stood before the White Tower. She turned her eyes high, running them along the length of the delicate—yet still powerful—white spire. Though the sky bubbled in black turmoil, something cast a shadow from the Tower, and it fell directly on Egwene. Was this a vision of some sort? The Tower dwarfed her, and she felt its weight, as if she were holding it up herself. Pushing on those walls, keeping them from cracking and tumbling.

She stood for a long while there, sky boiling, the Tower’s perfect spire throwing its shadow down on Egwene. She stared up at its peak, trying to decide if it was time to just let it fall.

No, she thought again. No, not quite yet. A few more days.

She closed her eyes, then opened them to blackness. Her body suddenly exploded with pain, her backside pounded raw from the strap, her arms and legs cramped from being forced to lie curled in the small room. It smelled of old straw and mold, and she knew that if her nose hadn’t been used to it, she would have smelled the stench of her own unwashed body as well. She stifled a groan—there were women outside, guarding her and maintaining her shield. She wouldn’t let them hear her offer complaint, not even in the form of a groan.

She sat up, wearing the same novice dress that she’d worn to Elaida’s dinner party. The sleeves of the dress were stiff with dried blood, and this cracked as she moved, scraping against her skin. She was parched; they never gave her enough water. But she did not complain. No yells, no cries, no begging. She forced herself to sit up despite the pain, smiling to herself at how it felt. She crossed her legs, then leaned back and—one by one—stretched the muscles in her arms. Then she stood and stooped over, stretching her back and shoulders. Finally, she lay down on her back and stretched her legs up into the air, cringing as they complained. She needed to remain limber. Pain was nothing. Nothing at all compared with the danger the White Tower was in.

She sat back down, cross-legged, and took deep breaths, repeating to herself that she wanted to be locked in this room. She could escape if she wished, but she remained. By remaining she undermined Elaida. By remaining she proved that some would not bow and quietly accept the fall of the White Tower. This imprisonment meant something.

The words, repeated in her head, helped stave off the panic at considering yet another day within this cell. What would she have done without the nightly dreams to keep her sane? Again, she thought of poor Rand, locked away. She and he shared something now. A kinship beyond a common childhood in the Two Rivers. They had both suffered Elaida’s punishments. And it hadn’t broken either of them.

There was nothing to do but wait. Around noon, they would open the doors and drag her out to be beaten. It wouldn’t be Silviana who did the punishing. Giving the beatings was seen as a reward, compensation to the Red sisters for having to spend all day sitting in the dungeons guarding her.

After the beating, Egwene would go back in the cell and be given a bowl of tasteless gruel. Day after day it was the same. But she would not break, particularly not while she could spend the nights in Tel’aran’rhiod. In fact, in many ways, those were her days—spent free and active—while these were her nights, in inactive darkness. She told herself that.

The morning passed slowly. Eventually, iron keys clanked as one turned in the ancient lock. The door opened, and a pair of slender Red sisters stood outside, barely silhouettes, the light so unfamiliar to Egwene that she couldn’t make out their features. The Reds grabbed her roughly by the arms, though she never resisted. They pulled her out and threw her to the ground. She heard the strap as one slapped it against her hand in anticipation, and Egwene steeled herself for the blows. They would hear her laugh, just as they had every day before.

“Wait,” a voice said.

The arms holding Egwene down grew stiff. Egwene frowned, cheek pressed against the cold tile floor. That voice ... it had been Katerine’s.

Slowly, the sisters holding Egwene relaxed their grips, pulling her to her feet. She blinked against the blazing light of the lamps to find Katerine standing in the hallway a short distance away, her arms folded. “She is to be released,” the Red said, sounding strangely smug.

“What?” asked one of Egwene’s captors. As her eyes adjusted, Egwene could see that it was lanky Barasine.

“The Amyrlin has realized that she is punishing the wrong person,” Katerine said. “The failure lies not completely on the head of this . . . insect of a novice, but on the one who was to be manipulating her.”

Egwene eyed Katerine. And then it clicked into place. “Silviana,” she said.

“Indeed,” Katerine said. “If the novices are out of control, then should not the blame fall on the one who was to train them?”

So Elaida had realized that she could not prove Egwene was a Dark-friend. Deflecting attention to Silviana was a clever move; if Elaida was punished for using the Power to beat Egwene, but Silviana was punished far more for letting Egwene get out of control, it would save face for the Amyrlin.

“I think the Amyrlin made a wise choice,” Katerine said. “Egwene, you are to be ... instructed from now on only by the Mistress of Novices.”

“But Silviana is the one you said has failed,” Egwene said, confused.

“Not Silviana,” Katerine said; her smugness seemed to grow even further. “The new Mistress of Novices.”

Egwene locked gazes with the woman. “Ah,” she said. “And you believe that you will succeed where Silviana failed?”

“You will see.” Katerine turned away and headed down the tiled hallway. “Take her to her quarters.”

Egwene shook her head. Elaida was more competent than Egwene had assumed. She’d seen that the imprisonment wasn’t working and had found a scapegoat to punish instead. But Silviana, removed from her position as Mistress of Novices? That would be a blow to the morale of the Tower itself, for many sisters considered Silviana an exemplary Mistress of Novices.

The Reds reluctantly began to walk Egwene toward the novices’ quarters, now in their new location on the twenty-second level. They seemed annoyed to have missed out on the opportunity to beat her.

She ignored them. After spending so long locked up, it felt wonderful simply to be able to walk. It wasn’t freedom, not with a pair of guards, but it certainly did feel like it! Light! She wasn’t certain how many more days in that dank hole of a cell she’d have been able to stand!

But she’d won. The realization was just beginning to dawn on her. She’d won! She’d resisted the worst punishment Elaida could contrive, and had come out victorious! The Amyrlin would be punished by the Hall, and Egwene would go free.

Each familiar hallway seemed to shine with a congratulatory light, and each step she took seemed like the victory march of a thousand men across the battlefield. She had won! The war was not over, but this battle went to Egwene. They climbed some stairs, then entered the more populated sections of the Tower. Soon, she saw a group of novices passing; they whispered to one another as they saw Egwene, then scattered away.

Within minutes, Egwene s little procession of three began to pass more and more people in the hallways. Sisters of all Ajahs, looking busy—yet their steps slowed as they watched Egwene pass. Accepted in their banded dresses were far less covert; they stood at intersections, gawking as Egwene was led past. In all of their eyes there was surprise. Why was she free? They seemed tense. Had something happened that Egwene wasn’t aware of?

“Ah, Egwene,” a voice said as they passed a hallway. “Excellent, you are already free. I would speak with you.”

Egwene turned with shock to see Saerin, the purposeful Brown Sitter.

The scar on the woman’s cheek always made her seem far more . . . daunting than most other Aes Sedai, an air enhanced by the white locks of hair, indicating her great age. Few members of the Brown could be described as intimidating, but Saerin was certainly one of that select group.

“We are taking her to her rooms,” Barasine said.

“Well, I will speak to her as you do,” Saerin said calmly.

“She is not to—”

“You deny me, Red? A Sitter?” Saerin asked.

Barasine blushed. “The Amyrlin will not be pleased to hear of this.”

“Then run along and tell her,” Saerin said. “While I discuss some items of import with young al’Vere.” She eyed the Reds. “Give us some room, if you please.”

The two Reds failed to stare her down, then backed away. Egwene watched with curiosity. It appeared that the authority of the Amyrlin—indeed, that of her entire Ajah—was somewhat dimmed. Saerin turned to Egwene and gestured, and the two of them began to walk together through the hallway, the Red sisters following behind.

“You take a risk being seen speaking to me like this,” Egwene said.

Saerin sniffed. “Leaving one’s quarters is taking a risk, these days. I’m growing too frustrated with events to bother with niceties anymore.” She paused, then glanced at Egwene. “Besides. Being seen in your company can be rather worth that risk, these days. I wanted to determine something.”

“What?” Egwene asked, curious.

“Well, I actually wanted to see if they could be pushed around. Most of the members of the Red are not taking your release well. They see it as a major failing on Elaida’s part.”

“She should have killed me,” Egwene said with a nod. “Days ago.”

“That would have been seen as a failure.”

“As much a failure as being forced to remove Silviana?” Egwene asked. “Of suddenly deciding that your Mistress of Novices is to blame, a week after the fact?”

“Is that what they told you?” Saerin asked, smiling as they walked, her eyes forward. “That Elaida ‘suddenly’ came to this decision, all on her own?”

Egwene raised an eyebrow.

“Silviana demanded to be heard by the full Hall while it was sitting,” Saerin explained. “She stood before the lot of us, before Elaida herself, and insisted that your treatment was unlawful. Which, likely, it was. Even if you aren’t an Aes Sedai, you shouldn’t have been placed in such terrible conditions.” Saerin glanced at Egwene. “Silviana demanded your release. She seemed to respect you a great deal, I should say. She spoke with pride in her voice of how you’d received your punishments, as if you were a student who had learned her lesson well. She denounced Elaida, calling for her to be removed as Amyrlin. It was . . . quite extraordinary.”

“By the Light ...” Egwene breathed. “What did Elaida do to her?”

“Ordered her to take up the dress of a novice,” Saerin said. “Just about caused an uproar in the Hall itself.” Saerin paused. “Silviana refused, of course. Elaida has declared that she is to be stilled and executed. The Hall doesn’t know what to do.”

Egwene felt a stab of panic. “Light! She mustn’t be punished! We must prevent this.”

“Prevent it?” Saerin asked. “Child, the Red Ajah is crumbling! Its members are turning against one another, wolves attacking their own pack. If Elaida is allowed to go through with killing one of her own Ajah, whatever support she had from within the ranks will evaporate. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised, when the dust settles, to see that the Ajah has undermined itself to the point that you could simply disband it and be done with them.”

“I don’t want to disband them,” Egwene said. “Saerin, that’s one of the problems with Elaida’s way of thinking in the first place! The White Tower needs all of the Ajahs, even the Red, to face what is coming. We certainly can’t afford to lose a woman like Silviana just to make a point. Rally what support you can. We have to move quickly to stop this travesty.”

Saerin blinked. “Do you really think you’re in control here, child?”

Egwene met her eyes. “Do you want to be?”

“Light, no!”

“Well, then stop standing in my way and get to work! Elaida must be removed, but we can’t let the entire Tower collapse around us while it happens. Go to the Hall and see what you can do to stop this!”

Saerin actually nodded in respect before withdrawing down a side corridor. Egwene glanced back at her two Red attendants. “Did you hear much of that?”

They glanced at each other. Of course they’d been listening. “You’ll want to go determine for yourselves what has happened,” Egwene said. “Why haven’t you?”

The two glanced at her with annoyance. “The shield,” Barasine said. “We’ve been instructed to always have at least two to maintain it.”

“Oh, for the. . . .” Egwene took a deep breath. “If I vow not to embrace the Power until I am properly back in the custody of another Red sister, will that be enough for you?”

The two regarded her with suspicion.

“I suspected as much,” Egwene said. She turned to a group of novices who were standing in a side corridor, pretending to scrub the tiles on the side wall while they gawked at Egwene.

“You,” Egwene said, pointing to one of them. “Marsial, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Mother,” the girl squeaked.

“Go and fetch us some forkroot tea. Katerine should have some at the study of the Mistress of Novices. It’s not far. Tell her that Barasine requested it for use on me; bring it to my quarters.”

The novice scrambled off to do as asked.

“I’ll dose myself with that, and then at least one of you can go,” Egwene said. “Your Ajah is collapsing. They’re going to need all of the clear minds they can get; maybe you can convince your sisters that it is unwise to let Elaida execute Silviana.”

The two Reds glanced at each other uncertainly. Then the spindly one whose name Egwene didn’t know cursed softly and hurried away with a flurry of rustling skirts. Barasine called after her, but the woman didn’t return.

Barasine glanced at Egwene, muttered something under her breath, but remained in place. “We’re waiting for that forkroot,” she said, staring Egwene in the eyes. “Keep moving on to your quarters.”

“Fine,” Egwene said. “But each minute you delay could cost you deeply.”

They climbed the stairs to the new novices’ quarters, which were scrunched up alongside the remainder of the Brown section of the Tower. They stopped by Egwene’s door to wait for the forkroot. As they stood there, novices began to crowd around. In the distant corridors, sisters and their Warders ran through hallways with a sense of urgency. Hopefully, the Hall would be able to do something to contain Elaida. If she really went so far as to execute sisters for simply disagreeing with her. . . .

The wide-eyed novice finally returned with a cup and a small packet of herbs. Barasine inspected the packet and apparently determined that it was satisfactory, for she dumped it into the cup and proffered it to Egwene expectantly. With a sigh, Egwene took it and downed the entire cup of warm water. It was enough of a dose that she wouldn’t be able to channel a trickle, but hopefully wouldn’t be strong enough to render her unconscious.

Barasine turned and hurried away, leaving Egwene alone in the hallway. Not just alone, but alone and able to do exactly as she wished. She didn’t get many of these opportunities.

Well, she’d have to see what she could do with that. But first, she’d need to change out of this filthy, bloodstained dress, and wash herself, too. She pushed open the door to her quarters.

And found someone sitting inside.

“Hello, Egwene,” Verin said, taking a sip from a steaming cup of tea. “My! I was beginning to wonder if I’d have to break into that cell of yours in order to speak with you.”

Egwene shook off her shock. Verin? When had the woman returned to the White Tower? How long had it been since Egwene had seen her? “There isn’t time right now, Verin,” she said, quickly opening the small locker that contained her extra dress. “I have work to be about.”

“Hmm, yes,” Verin said, taking a calm sip of her tea. “I suspect that you do. By the way, that dress you are wearing is green.”

Egwene frowned at the nonsense sentence, glancing down at her dress. Of course it wasn’t green. What was Verin saying? Had the woman become—

She froze, glancing at Verin.

That had been a lie. Verin could speak lies.

“Yes, I thought that might get your attention,” Verin said, smiling. “You should sit down. We have much to discuss and little time in which to do it.”