The Gathering Storm

45 The Tower Stands

Egwene walked slowly through the rebel camp, wearing a crimson gown, its skirts divided for riding. The color raised not a few eyebrows. Considering what the Red Ajah had done, these Aes Sedai weren’t likely to wear the hue. Even the camp’s serving women had noticed, selling their red and maroon dresses or cutting them up for rags.

Egwene had asked for the crimson specifically. In the Tower, sisters had formed the habit of wearing only their own Ajah’s color, and the practice had helped fuel the division. While it was good to be proud of your Ajah affiliation, it was dangerous to begin assuming that you couldn’t trust anyone wearing other colors.

Egwene was all Ajahs. Today, the red symbolized many things to her. The impending reunification with the Red Ajah. A reminder of the division that needed to be righted. A sign of the blood that would be spilled, the blood of good men who fought to defend the White Tower.

The blood of the dead Aes Sedai, beheaded not an hour ago by Egwene s order.

Siuan had found her Great Serpent ring; it felt very good to have it on her finger again.

The sky was an iron gray, and the scent of dirt rose into the air, accompanying the bustling motion around the camp. Women hurriedly washed clothing, as if they were late in getting their patrons ready for a festival. Novices ran—literally ran—from lesson to lesson. Aes Sedai stood about with arms folded, eyes ready to burn any who didn’t keep up the tempo.

They sense the tension of the day, Egwene thought. And can’t help but be made anxious by it. The night before, with its attack by the Seanchan. Followed by the return of the Amyrlin, who had spent the morning cleansing the Aes Sedai. And now afternoon, and the beating drums of war.

She doubted that Bryne’s own camp was in such a state. He’d have his men ready for attack; he probably could have assaulted the White Tower at a moment’s notice on any given day of the siege. His soldiers would decide this war. Egwene would not have her Aes Sedai riding into battle, wriggling around their oaths not to use the Power to kill. They would wait here, to be called only for Healing.

Or called if the White Tower sisters joined the fight in earnest. Light send that Elaida saw wisdom in forbidding that. If the Aes Sedai turned the Power against one another, it would be a dark day indeed.

Can this day grow any darker? Egwene wondered. Many of the Aes Sedai she passed in the camp gave her looks of respect, awe, and a little horror. After a long absence, the Amyrlin had returned. And she had brought destruction and judgment in her wake.

Over fifty Black Sisters had been stilled, then executed. Egwene felt sick, thinking of their deaths. Sheriam had seemed almost relieved when her turn came, though she’d soon begun to struggle, sobbing and desperate. She’d confessed to several disturbing crimes, as if hoping that her willingness to speak would gain her amnesty.

They’d placed her head on the block and taken it off, just like the others. That scene would always be vivid in Egwene’s mind—her former Keeper, lying with her head pressed against the stump, blue dress and fiery red hair suddenly bathed in warm golden light as a thinner section of clouds moved in front of the sun. Then the silvery axe, falling to claim her head. Perhaps the Pattern would be kinder to her next time she was allowed a thread in its great tapestry. But perhaps not. Death was not an escape from the Dark One. Sheriam’s horror at the end indicated that she might have been thinking that very thing as the axe took her head.

Now Egwene understand fully how the Aiel could laugh at a simple beating. Would that she could go through a few days beneath the rod rather than have to order the execution of women she had liked and worked with!

Some of the Sitters had argued for interrogation instead of execution, but Egwene had been insistent. Fifty women were far too many to shield and guard, and now that they knew stilling could be Healed, that wasn’t an option. No, history proved how slippery and dangerous members of the Black could be, and Egwene was tired of worrying about what could happen. She had learned with Moghedien that there was a price to be paid for greed, if just greed for information. She and the others had been too eager—too proud of the “discoveries” they’d made—to see the world rid of one of the Forsaken.

Well, she would not allow a similar mistake here. The law was known, the Hall had made its judgment, and it had not been done in secret. Verin had died to stop these women, and Egwene would see that her sacrifice meant something.

You did well, Verin. So very well. Every Aes Sedai in the camp had been made to swear the Three Oaths over again, and only three members of the Black had been discovered beyond the ones Verin had located. Her research had been thorough.

The Blacks’ Warders were under guard. They would have to be sorted through at a later date, when attention could be given to separating those who were really Black from those who were just enraged by the loss of their Aes Sedai. Most of them would seek death, even the innocent ones. Perhaps the innocent could be convinced to remain alive long enough to throw themselves into the Last Battle.

Nearly twenty of the Black sisters on Verin’s list had still escaped, despite all of Egwene’s precautions. She wasn’t certain how they had known. Bryne’s guards had caught some weaker ones trying to flee, and soldiers had fallen to delay them. But many had still escaped.

No use crying over that. Fifty Black were dead; that was a victory. A frightening one. But a victory nonetheless.

And so she walked through the camp, in riding boots and a dress of red, brown hair free to stream in the wind and tied with crimson ribbons to mark the streams of blood she had shed not an hour before. She did not blame the sisters around her for their sly glances, their masked concern, their fear. And their respect. If there had been any doubt that Egwene was Amyrlin, it had been dispelled. They accepted her, they feared her. And she would never quite fit in with them again. She was separate, and always would be.

A determined figure in blue made her way through the tents and approached Egwene. The dignified woman curtsied appropriately, though since they were walking so quickly, Egwene didn’t stop to let her kiss the Great Serpent ring. “Mother,” Lelaine said, “Bryne sends word that all is at ready for the assault. He says that the western bridges would be the ideal point of attack, though he suggests that gateways be employed to send a flanking force of his men behind the White Tower lines. He asks if this would be possible.”

It wasn’t using the Power as a weapon, but it was close. A fine distinction. But being Aes Sedai was about fine distinctions. “Tell him I will make the gateway myself,” she said.

“Excellent, Mother,” Lelaine said, bowing her head, the perfect, loyal attendant. It was remarkable, how quickly the woman’s bearing toward Egwene had changed. She must have realized that her only choice was to attach herself to Egwene completely and give up on her attempts to secure power. This way, she didn’t look like a hypocrite and would perhaps gain position through Egwene. Assuming Egwene was able to stabilize herself as a powerful Amyrlin.

It was a good assumption.

Lelaine must have been frustrated by Romanda’s change of temperament. The Yellow waited beside the road ahead, as if on cue. She wore a dress after the color of her Ajah, hair back in a stately bun. She curtsied as Egwene reached her and barely spared a glance for Lelaine before falling into position on Egwene’s right, away from Lelaine. “Mother,” Romanda said, “I have made the inquires you requested. There has been no contact with those sent to the Black Tower. Not a whisper.”

“Does this strike you as odd?” Egwene asked.

“Yes, Mother. With Traveling they should have been there and back by now. They should have at least sent word. This silence is disturbing.”

Disturbing indeed. Even worse, that delegation contained Nisao, Myrelle, Faolain and Theodrin. Each of the women had sworn fealty to Egwene. An unsettling coincidence. The departure of Faolain and Theodrin was particularly suspicious. Supposedly, they had gone because they had no Warders, but the sisters in the camp didn’t consider those two full Aes Sedai—though nobody would dare say such to Egwene directly.

Why had those four, out of the hundreds of Aes Sedai in the camp, been placed in the delegation? Was it mere coincidence? It stretched plausibility. But what did it mean, then? Had someone intentionally sent away those loyal to Egwene? If so, why not send Siuan? Was this perhaps Sheriam’s work? The woman had confessed to several things before her execution, but this hadn’t been one of them.

Either way, something was happening with those Asha’man. The Black Tower would need to be dealt with.

“Mother,” Lelaine said, drawing her attention back. The Blue didn’t glance at her rival. “I have other news.”

Romanda sniffed quietly.

“Speak,” Egwene said.

“Sheriam wasn’t lying,” Lelaine said. “The ter’angreal used for dreams are gone. All of them.”

“How is this possible?” Egwene demanded, letting a hint of her anger slip out.

“Sheriam was Keeper, Mother,” Lelaine said quickly. “We kept the ter’angreal together, as is custom in the White Tower, under guard. But . . . well, what reason would those guards have had to turn Sheriam away?”

“And what do you suppose she was planning to tell us?” Egwene asked. “This theft could not have been kept hidden for long.”

“I don’t know, Mother,” Lelaine said, shaking her head. “The guards said that Sheriam seemed . . . flustered . . . when she took the ter’angreal. This was just last night.”

Egwene clenched her teeth, thinking of Sheriam’s final spilled confessions. The theft of the ter’angreal had been far from the most shocking tidbit she’d mentioned. Elayne would be livid; the original ring had been among those stolen, and Egwene doubted that Siuan’s hidden copy would be useful as a template. It was already flawed; copies of it would likely be more imperfect.

“Mother,” Lelaine said, more softly. “What of Sheriam’s . . . other claim?”

“That one of the Forsaken is in the White Tower, impersonating an Aes Sedai?” Egwene said. Sheriam claimed she’d given the ter’angreal to this . . . person.

Lelaine and Romanda walked silently, both staring forward, as if speculation were too daunting.

“Yes, I suspect that she is right,” Egwene said. “They infiltrated not only our camp, but the aristocracies of Andor, Illian and Tear. Why not the White Tower as well?” She didn’t add that Verin’s book confirmed the presence of one of the Forsaken. It seemed best to keep the extent of Verin’s notes secret.

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” Egwene said. “With the assault on the Tower, and our return, it seems likely that the Forsaken—whoever she is—will find it prudent to slip away and find an easier target for her scheming.”

Lelaine and Romanda didn’t seem comforted by that comment. The three of them reached the edge of the Aes Sedai camp, where mounts awaited them, as well as a large group of soldiers and one Sitter from each of the Ajahs, other than the Blue and Red. There wasn’t a Blue because Lelaine was the only one remaining in camp; the reason there wasn’t a Red was obvious. This was part of why Egwene had chosen to wear red, a subtle hint that all Ajahs should be represented in the action they were about to take. It was for the good of all.

As Egwene mounted, she noticed that Gawyn was following her, again, at a respectful distance. Where had he come from? They hadn’t spoken since the early morning. As she mounted, so did he, and as she turned to ride out of camp with Lelaine, Romanda, the Sitters and the soldiers, Gawyn followed at a safe distance. Egwene wasn’t certain what to do with him yet.

The army camp was mostly deserted. Tents sat empty, ground trampled by feet and hoofs, hardly any soldiers remaining behind. Egwene embraced the Source soon after leaving their camp, and she held to it, ready with weaves should someone attack her during the ride. She still didn’t trust that Elaida wouldn’t use a gateway to interfere with the assault. True, the false Amyrlin probably had her hands full with the aftermath of the Seanchan attack. But expectations like that one—assuming that she was safe—were what had gotten Egwene captured in the first place. She was Amyrlin. She couldn’t risk herself. It was frustrating, but she knew that an end had come to her days of solitary action, striking out as she saw fit. She could have been killed, rather than captured, all those weeks ago. The Salidar rebellion would have floundered, and Elaida would have continued as Amyrlin.

So it was that her force rode up to the battle lines outside the village of Darein. The White Tower still smoldered, a wide field of smoke trailing up in a ring from the center of the island, shrouding the white spire. Even from a distance, the scars of the Seanchan attack were evident on the building. Blackened holes, like spots of corruption on an otherwise healthy apple. The Tower almost seemed to groan as she looked at it. It had stood for so long, had seen so much. Now it had been wounded so deeply that it still bled a day later.

And yet it stood. Light bless them, it stood. It rose high, wounded but sound, pointing toward a sun hidden by clouds above. It stood defiant of those who would break it, within and without.

Bryne and Siuan waited for Egwene at the back of the army. A disparate couple they were. The battle-hardened general, with temples of gray and a face like an unyielding piece of armor. Strong, made of lines. And beside him Siuan, the diminutive woman in pale blue, her face lovely, looking young enough to be Bryne’s granddaughter, for all the fact that they were near the same age.

Siuan made a horseback curtsy as Egwene approached, and Bryne saluted. His eyes were still troubled. He seemed ashamed of his part in the rescue, though Egwene bore him no grievance. He was a man of honor. If he had been bullied into coming along to protect foolhardy Siuan and Gawyn, then Bryne was to be commended for keeping them alive.

As Egwene joined them, she noted that Siuan and Bryne were riding close together. Had Siuan finally admitted her attraction to the man? And . . . there was a certain familiar grace to Bryne now. It was slight enough that she could have just been seeing things, but coupled with the relationship between the two. . . .

“You’ve taken another Warder, at last?” Egwene asked Siuan.

The woman narrowed her eyes. “Aye,” she said.

Bryne did seem surprised, and a tad ashamed.

“Do your best to keep her out of trouble, General,” Egwene said, staring Siuan in the eyes. “She has been in quite a bit of it lately. I have half a mind to give her to you to use as a foot soldier. I believe that the military organization might be good for her, and remind her that sometimes, obedience overrides initiative.”

Siuan wilted, glancing away.

“I haven’t decided what to do with you yet, Siuan,” Egwene said in a softer voice. “But my anger has been kindled. And my trust has been lost. You will need to soothe the first and stoke the second if you wish to enter my confidence again.”

She turned from Siuan to the general, who looked sick. Probably from being forced to feel Siuan’s shame.

“You are to be commended for your bravery, letting her bond you, General,” Egwene said, turning to Bryne. “I realize that keeping her from trouble is a nearly impossible charge, but I have confidence in you.”

The general relaxed. “I shall do my best, Mother,” he said. Then he turned his horse, glancing along the rows of soldiers. “There is something you should see. If you will?”

She nodded, turning her horse and riding beside him down the roadway. The village was cobbled here, the population evacuated, the main thoroughfare lined with thousands of Bryne’s soldiers. Siuan accompanied Egwene, and Gawyn followed. Lelaine and Romanda stayed with the other Sitters at a wave of Egwene’s hand. Their newfound obedience was proving useful, particularly since they had apparently decided that they would now be trying to outdo one another for Egwene’s approval. Likely, they were both vying to be her new Keeper, now that Sheriam was gone.

The general led Egwene to the front lines, and Egwene prepared a weave of Air just in case an arrow was shot in her direction. Siuan eyed her, but said nothing at the precaution. It shouldn’t have been needed—Tower Guards would never fire on an Aes Sedai, not even in a conflict like this one. However, the same couldn’t be said of Warders, and accidents did happen. It would be very convenient for Elaida if a stray arrow took her rival in the throat.

The cobbles on the roadway gave way to square paving blocks as they passed through Darein, and those gave way to marble squares leading into the Alindaer Bridge, a majestic white construction that spanned the river to Tar Valon. Here was the thing Bryne wanted her to see: Gathered on the other side of the bridge, bunkered down behind a blockade of stones and large logs, was a force of Tower Guard, the Flame of Tar Valon on their tabards. And there couldn’t be more than a thousand of them.

Bryne’s assault force here was ten thousand strong.

“Now, I know it was never numbers that were keeping us from attacking,” Bryne said. “But the Tower Guard should be able to field more men than that, particularly with conscriptions out of the city proper. I doubt they’ve been spending these months carving pegs by the fire and reminiscing about old times. If Chubain has half a mind, he’s been training a new set of recruits.”

“So where is everyone?” Egwene asked.

“Light only knows, Mother,” Bryne said, shaking his head. “We’ll lose some men getting past that force, but not many. It will be a rout.”

“Could the Seanchan have really hurt them that much?”

“I don’t know, Mother,” Bryne said. “It was bad last night. A lot of fire, a lot of men dead. But I’d have pegged the cost at hundreds, not thousands. Perhaps the Tower Guard is clearing out rubble and stopping the fires, but I still think they’d have gathered a larger force when they saw me forming up here. I’ve taken a spyglass to those lads over there, and I’ve noted more than one set of bleary red eyes.”

Egwene sat thoughtfully, glad for the breeze blowing in along the river from downstream. “You haven’t questioned the wisdom of this assault, General.”

“It’s not my habit to question where I’m pointed, Mother.”

“And your thoughts on the matter, if asked?”

“If asked?” Byrne said. “Well, attacking makes tactical sense. We’ve lost Traveling as an edge, and if our enemy can resupply at will and send envoys in and out whenever they want, then what’s the purpose of a siege? It’s time to either attack or pack up and leave.”

Egwene nodded. And yet, she found herself hesitating. That ominous smoke in the sky, the maimed Tower, the frightened soldiers without reinforcements. It all seemed to whisper a warning.

“How long can we wait before you absolutely must begin this assault, General?” she asked.

He frowned, but didn’t question her. He glanced at the sky. “It’s getting late. An hour, perhaps? After that, it will be too dark. With numbers this favorable, I’d rather not add the randomness of a night battle to the mix.”

“We wait, then, for an hour,” Egwene said, settling back on her mount. The others seemed confused, but they said nothing. The Amyrlin Seat had spoken.

What was she waiting for? What were her instincts telling her? Egwene thought on it as the minutes extended, eventually realizing what had made her pause. Once this step had been taken, there was no turning back. The White Tower had suffered the previous night; it was the first time an enemy force had used the One Power against it. Egwene’s assault would be another first: the first time one group of Aes Sedai had led troops in battle against another group. There had been fights between factions in the Tower before; clashes between one Ajah and another, some turning to bloodshed, like what had happened after Siuan’s ousting. The Secret Histories mentioned such events.

But never had the dissension extended beyond the doors of the Tower itself. Never had Aes Sedai led troops across those bridges. To do so now would attach the event forever to Egwene’s tenure as Amyrlin. Whatever else she achieved, it would likely be overshadowed by this day.

She had hoped to liberate and unite. Instead, she would turn to war and subjugation. If it had to be so, then she would give the command. But she wanted to wait until the last possible moment. If that meant a grim hour beneath the overcast sky, horses snorting as they sensed their riders’ tension, then so be it.

Bryne’s hour came and passed. Egwene hesitated for a few minutes longer—as long as she dared. No relief came to the poor soldiers on the other side of the bridge. They just stared out behind their little barricade, resolute.

Reluctantly, Egwene turned to give the command.

“Here now.” Bryne leaned forward in his saddle. “What is this?”

Egwene turned back to the bridge. Distantly, just barely visible, a procession was coming down the road. Had she waited too long? Had the White Tower sent reinforcements? Had she cost the lives of her men by her stubborn reluctance?

But no. That group wasn’t soldiers, but women in skirts. Aes Sedai!

Egwene held up her hand, staying any attacks by her soldiers. The procession rode directly up to the Tower Guard fortification. A moment later, a woman in a gray dress stepped out in front of the road block, accompanied by a single Warder. Egwene squinted, trying to make out the woman’s features, and Bryne hastily handed her his spyglass. Egwene accepted it thankfully, but had already recognized the woman. Andaya Forae, one of the new Sitters to the Hall chosen after the split. Gray Ajah. That implied a willingness to negotiate.

The glow of power surrounded the woman, and Siuan hissed, causing several nearby soldiers to raise their bows. Again Egwene held up a hand. “Bryne,” she said sternly, “I will not have the first shot fired until I give permission.”

“Stand down, men!” Bryne bellowed. “I’ll have your hides if you so much as nock an arrow!” The men snapped their bows back down from the ready.

The distant woman used a weave Egwene couldn’t make out, and then spoke in a voice that was obviously amplified. “We would speak with Egwene al’Vere,” Andaya said. “Is she in attendance?”

Egwene made her own weave to amplify her voice. “I am here, Andaya. Tell the others with you to come out so that I can see them.”

Surprisingly, they obeyed the command. Nine more women filed out, and Egwene studied each one. “Ten Sitters,” she said, handing Bryne back his spyglass and releasing her weave so that she could speak without her words being projected. “Two from each Ajah except the Blue and the Red.”

“That’s promising.” Bryne rubbed his chin.

“Well, they could be here to demand my surrender,” Egwene noted. “All right,” she said, amplifying her voice with the Power again. “What do you wish of me?”

“We have come,” Andaya said. She hesitated. “We have come to inform you that the Hall of the White Tower has chosen to raise you to the Amyrlin Seat.”

Siuan gasped in shock, and Bryne cursed quietly to himself. Several of the soldiers muttered about it being a trap. But Egwene just closed her eyes. Dared she hope? She’d assumed that her unwanted rescue had come too soon. But if she’d laid enough groundwork before being taken by Siuan and Gawyn. . . .

“What of Elaida?” Egwene demanded, opening her eyes, her voice booming across the expanse. “Have you deposed yet another Amyrlin?”

The other side was silent for a moment. “They’re conferring.” Bryne had raised his spyglass.

Andaya spoke a moment later. “Elaida do Avriny a Roihan, Watcher of the Seals, the Flame of Tar Valon, the Amyrlin Seat . . . was taken in the raid last night. Her whereabouts are unknown. She is presumed dead or otherwise unable to fulfill her duties.”

“By the Light!” Bryne lowered the glass.

“No more than she deserved,” Siuan muttered.

“No woman deserves that,” Egwene said to Siuan and Bryne. Absently she raised fingers to her neck. “Better she had died.”

Bryne said, “This could be a trap.”

“I don’t see how,” Siuan said. “Andaya is bound by the oaths. She wasn’t on your list of Black, was she, Egwene?”

Egwene shook her head.

“I’m still hesitant, Mother,” Bryne said.

Egwene restored her weave. “You will let my army enter? You will accept the other Aes Sedai back in fellowship and will reinstate the Blue Ajah?”

“We anticipated these demands,” Andaya said. “They will be met.”

There was silence, the only sound that of the waters lapping against their banks below.

“Then I accept,” Egwene said across the bridge.

“Mother,” Siuan said cautiously. “This might be rash. Perhaps you should speak with—”

“It is not rash,” Egwene released her weave and felt a surge of hope.

“It is what we’ve wanted.” She eyed Siuan. “Besides. Who are you to lecture me on being rash?” Siuan looked down. “General, prepare your men to cross, and bring the Sitters at the back forward. Send runners back to the Aes Sedai camp with the news, and make certain your men at the other bridges know to stand down.”

“Yes, Mother.” Bryne wheeled his horse about and gave the necessary orders.

Taking a deep breath, Egwene kicked her horse into motion onto the bridge. Siuan muttered a fisher’s curse and followed. Egwene could hear Gawyn’s horse following as well, then a squad of soldiers obeying a curt command from Bryne.

Egwene rode across the waters, hair blowing out behind her, laced with red ribbons. She felt an odd sense of moment—a weight of realization—as she considered what they had all just avoided. It was soon replaced with growing satisfaction and joy.

Her white mare bucked her head slightly, brushing a silky mane across Egwene’s hands. On the other side of the bridge, the Sitters waited, solemn. The Tower rose just ahead. Wounded. Bleeding.

But it still stood. Light, it stood.