Robert Jordan - The Gathering Storm

Rand had to change. For Lan. For them all. And she had no idea what to do other than, unfortunately, to trust Cadsuane. Nynaeve swallowed her pride and spoke. "Do you know the location of a statue of an enormous sword, fallen to the earth as if stabbing it?"

Corele and Merise glanced at each other in confusion.

"The hand of the amahn'rukane." Cadsuane turned from Min with a raised eyebrow. "The full statue was never finished, from what scholars can tell. It rests near the Jehannah Road."

"Perrin is camping in its shadow."

Cadsuane pursed her lips. "I assumed he would go eastward, toward lands al'Thor has captured." She took a deep breath. "All right. We are going for him right now." She hesitated, then glanced at Nynaeve. "In answer to your question earlier, child, Perrin actually isn't important to our plans."

"He isn't?" Nynaeve asked. "But—"

Cadsuane raised a finger. "There are people with him who are vital. One in particular."

CHAPTER 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.