Despite the title, Romanda hardly sounded as if she were addressing the Amyrlin Seat, but then, she never did. There was no doubt who “that young man” was. Every sister in the camp accepted that Rand was the Dragon Reborn, but anyone who heard them talk would have believed they were speaking of an unruly young lout who might come to dinner drunk and throw up on the table.
“She can hardly know what’s in the boy’s head,” Lelaine said before Egwene could open her mouth. Her smile was not at all warm this time. “If an answer is to be found, Romanda, it will be in Caemlyn. The Atha’an Miere there are not sequestered on a ship, and I seriously doubt that high ranking Sea Folk came so far from the sea on different errands. I’ve never heard of them doing so for any reason. It may be they have an interest in him. They must know who he is by now.”
Romanda smiled back, and frost should have appeared on the tent walls. “There’s hardly need to state the obvious, Lelaine. The first question is how to find out.”
“I was about to resolve that when you barged in, Romanda. The next time the Mother encounters Elayne or Nynaeve in Tel’aran’rhiod, she can pass on instructions. Merilille can discover what the Atha’an Miere want, or maybe what the boy does, when she reaches Caemlyn. A pity the girls didn’t think to set a regular schedule, but we must work around that. Merilille can meet with a Sitter in Tel’aran’rhiod when she knows.” Lelaine made a small gesture; plainly, she herself was the intended Sitter. “I thought Salidar might be a suitable place.”
Romanda snorted with amusement. Even in that, there was no warmth. “Easier to instruct Merilille than to see she obeys, Lelaine. I expect she knows she faces sharp questions. This Bowl of the Winds should have been brought to us for study first. None of the sisters in Ebou Dar had much ability in Cloud Dancing, I believe, and you can see the result, all this hurly-burly and suddenness. I have a thought to call a question before the Hall concerning everyone involved.” Abruptly the grayhaired woman’s voice became smooth as butter. “As I recall, you supported the choice of Merilille.”
With a jerk, Lelaine drew herself up. Her eyes flashed. “I supported who the Gray put forward, Romanda, and no more,” she said indignantly. “How could I have imagined she would decide to use the Bowl there? And to include Sea Folk wilders in the circle! How could she believe they know as much of working weather as Aes Sedai?” Abruptly her ire slipped. She was defending herself to her fiercest adversary in the Hall, her only real adversary. And, no doubt worse in her view, she was agreeing with her about the Sea Folk. There was no question that she did agree, but giving the fact voice was another matter.
Romanda let her cold smile deepen as Lelaine’s face paled with fury. She straightened her bronze-colored skirts with meticulous care as Lelaine searched for a way to turn matters about. “We will see how the Hall stands, Lelaine,” she said finally. “Until the question is called, I think it best if Merilille does not meet with any of the Sitters involved in her selection. Even a suggestion of collusion would be looked at askance. I’m sure you will agree I should be the one to speak with her.”
Lelaine’s face paled differently. She was not afraid, not visibly, yet Egwene could almost see her counting who might stand for her, or against. Collusion was almost as serious as a charge of treason, and required only the lesser consensus. Likely, she could avoid that, but the arguments would be deep and acrimonious. Romanda’s faction might even increase. That would cause untold problems whether or not Egwene’s own plans bore fruit. And there was nothing she could do to stop it, short of revealing what really had happened in Ebou Dar. As well ask them to let her accept the same offer Faolain and Theodrin had.
Egwene drew breath. At least she might be able to prevent the use of Salidar as a meeting place in Tel’aran’rhiod. That was where she met Elayne and Nynaeve, now. When she did, anyway; she had not in days. With Sitters popping in and out of the World of Dreams, finding anywhere you could be sure they would not appear was difficult. “The next time I encounter Elayne or Nynaeve, I will pass on your instructions regarding Merilille. I can let you know when she’s ready to meet you.” Which would be never, once she was done with those instructions.
The Sitters’ heads whipped around, and two sets of eyes stared at her. They had forgotten she was there! Struggling to keep her face smooth, she realized her foot was tapping irritably, and stopped it. She had to go along with what they thought of her a while longer, yet. A little while longer. At least she no longer felt nauseated. Just angry.
Into that moment of silence, Chesa came bustling with Egwene’s midday meal on a cloth-covered tray. Dark-haired, plump and pretty in her middle years, Chesa managed to convey a proper respect without cringing. Her curtsy was as simple as her dark gray dress, with just a touch of plain lace at the throat. “Forgive me for intruding, Mother, Aes Sedai. I am sorry this is late, Mother, but Meri seems to have wandered off.” She clicked her tongue in exasperation as she set the tray in front of Egwene. Wandering seemed very unlike the misnamed Meri. That dour woman was as disapproving of faults in herself as she was of those in others.
Romanda frowned, but she said nothing. After all, she could hardly show too much interest in one of Egwene’s maids. Especially when the woman was her spy. Just as Selame was Lelaine’s. Egwene avoided looking at Theodrin or Faolain, both still standing dutifully in their corners like Accepted, rather than Aes Sedai themselves.
Chesa half-opened her mouth, but closed it again, perhaps intimidated by the Sitters. Egwene was relieved when she dipped another curtsy and left with a murmured “By your leave, Mother.” Chesa’s advice was always indirect enough for any sister when anyone else was present, but right then, the last thing Egwene wanted was even a circumspect reminder to eat while her food was hot.
Lelaine took up as if there had been no interruption. “The important thing,” she said firmly, “is to learn what the Atha’an Miere want. Or what the boy does. Maybe he wants to be their king, too.” Holding out her arms, she allowed Faolain to restore her cloak, which the dark young woman did with care. “You will remember to let me know if you have any thoughts on it, Mother?” That was just barely a request.
“I will think hard,” Egwene told her. Which was not to say she would share her thoughts. She wished she had a glimmer of the answer. That the Atha’an Miere believed Rand was their prophesied Coramoor, she knew, though the Hall did not, but what he wanted from them, or them from him, she could not begin to imagine. According to Elayne, the Sea Folk with them had no clue. Or said not. Egwene almost wished one of the handful of sisters who had come from the Atha’an Miere was in the camp. Almost. One way or another, those Windfinders were going to cause trouble.
At a wave of Romanda’s hand, Theodrin leaped forward with the Sitter’s cloak as though goosed. By Romanda’s expression, Lelaine’s recovery did not best please her. “You will remember to tell Merilille I wish to speak with her, Mother,” she said, and that was not a request at all.
For a brief moment the two Sitters stood staring at each other, Egwene forgotten again in their mutual animosity. They departed without a word to her, very nearly jostling for precedence before Romanda slipped out first, drawing Theodrin in her wake. Baring her teeth, Lelaine practically pushed Faolain from the tent ahead of her.
Siuan heaved a hearty sigh, and made no attempt to hide her relief.
“By your leave, Mother,” Egwene muttered mockingly. “If you please, Mother. You may go, daughters.” Letting out a long breath, she settled back in her chair. Which promptly pitched her onto the carpets in a heap. She picked herself up slowly and jerked her skirts straight, put her stole to rights. At least it had not happened in front of those two. “Go get something to eat, Siuan. And bring it back. We’ve a long day, yet.”
“Some falls hurt less than others,” Siuan said as if to herself before ducking outside. It was a good thing she went so quickly, or Egwene might have given her an earful.
She returned soon, though, and they ate hard rolls and lentil stew l
aced with tough carrot and scraps of meat Egwene did not look at closely. There were only a few interruptions, intrusions where they fell silent and pretended to study reports. Chesa came to take away the tray, and later to replace the candles, a task she grumbled over, which was not like her.
“Who’d expect Selame to go missing, too?” she muttered, half to herself. “Off canoodling with the soldiers, I expect. That Halima’s a bad influence.”
A skinny young fellow with a dripping nose renewed the already dead coals in the braziers—the Amyrlin got more warmth than most, but that was not a great deal—and he stumbled over his own boots and gaped at Egwene in a manner quite gratifying after the two Sitters. Sheriam appeared to ask whether Egwene had any further instructions, of all things, and then seemed to want to stay. Perhaps the few secrets she knew made her nervous; her eyes certainly darted uneasily.
That was the lot, and Egwene was not sure whether it was because no one bothered the Amyrlin without cause, or because everyone knew the real decisions were made in the Hall.
“I don’t know about this report of soldiers moving south out of Kandor,” Siuan said as soon as the tentflap fell behind Sheriam. “There’s just the one, and Borderlanders seldom go far from the Blight, but every fool knows that, so it’s hardly the kind of tale anyone would make up.” She was not reading from a page, now.
Siuan had managed to keep very tenuous control of the Amyrlin’s network of eyes-and-ears so far, and reports, rumors, and gossip flowed to her in steady streams, to be studied before she and Egwene decided what to pass on to the Hall. Leane had her own network, to add to the flow. Most of it was passed on—some things the Hall had to know, and there was no guarantee that the Ajahs would pass on what their own agents learned—but it all had to be sieved for what might be dangerous, or serve to divert attention from the real goal.
Few of those streams carried anything good, of late. Cairhien had produced any number of rumors of Aes Sedai allied with Rand, or, worse, serving him, yet at least those could be dismissed out of hand. The Wise Ones would not say much at all about Rand or anyone connected to him, but according to them, Merana was awaiting his return, and certainly sisters in the Sun Palace, where the Dragon Reborn kept his first throne, were more than seed enough to grow those tales. Others were not easily ignored, even when it was hard to know what to make of them. A printer in Illian asserted that he had proof Rand had killed Mattin Stepaneos with his own hands and destroyed the body with the One Power, while a laborer on the docks there claimed she had seen the former King carried, bound and gagged and rolled in a rug, aboard a ship that had sailed in the night with the blessings of the captain of the Port Watch. The first was far more likely, but Egwene hoped none of the Ajahs’ agents had picked up the same tale. There were already too many black marks against Rand’s name in the sisters’ books.
It went on like that. The Seanchan seemed to be taking a firm hold in Ebou Dar, against very little resistance. That might have been expected in a land where the Queen’s true rule ended a few days’ ride from her capital, yet it was hardly heartening. The Shaido seemed to be everywhere, though word of them always came from someone who had heard from someone who had heard. Most sisters seemed to believe the scattered Shaido were Rand’s work despite the Wise Ones’ denials, carried by Sheriam. No one wanted to probe the Wise Ones’ supposed lies too closely, of course. There were a hundred excuses, but no one was willing to meet them in Tel’aran’rhiod except the sisters sworn to Egwene, and they had to be ordered. Anaiya dryly called the encounters “quite compact lessons in humility,” and she did not seem at all amused.
“There can’t be that many Shaido,” Egwene muttered. No herbs had been added to the second batch of charcoal, which was dying down in faint embers, and her eyes ached from the smoke that hung thin in the air. Channeling to get rid of it would disperse the last warmth, too. “Some of this must be bandits’ work.” After all, who could tell a village emptied by people fleeing brigands from one emptied by Shaido? Especially at third hand, or fifth. “There are certainly enough bandits around to account for some of it.” Most calling themselves Dragonsworn, which was no help at all. She worked her shoulders to loosen a few of the knots in her muscles.
Abruptly she realized that Siuan was staring at nothing so intently that she appeared ready to slip off of her stool. “Siuan, are you falling asleep? We may have worked most of the day, but it’s still light out.” There was light at the smoke hole, though it did appear to be fading.
Siuan blinked. “I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking about something lately, and trying to decide whether to share it with you. About the Hall.”
“The Hall! Siuan, if you know something about the Hall—!”
“I don’t know anything,” Siuan cut in. “It’s what I suspect.” She clicked her tongue in annoyance. “Not even suspect, really. At least, I don’t know what to suspect. But I see a pattern.”
“Then you had best tell me about it,” Egwene said. Siuan had shown herself very skilled at detecting patterns where others saw only a jumble.
Shifting on her stool, Siuan leaned forward intently. “It’s this. Aside from Romanda and Moria, the Sitters chosen in Salidar are … they’re too young.” Much had changed in Siuan, but speaking of other sisters’ ages clearly made her uncomfortable. “Escaralde is the oldest, and I’m sure she isn’t much past seventy. I can’t be certain without going into the novice book in Tar Valon, or her telling us, but I’m as sure as I can be. It isn’t often the Hall has held more than one Sitter under a hundred, and here we have eight!”
“But Romanda and Moria are new,” Egwene said gently, resting her elbows on the table. It had been a long day. “And neither is young. Maybe we should be grateful the others are, or they might not have been willing to raise me.” She could have pointed out that Siuan herself had been chosen Amyrlin at less than half Escaralde’s age, but the reminder would have been cruel.
“Maybe,” Siuan said stubbornly. “Romanda was certain for the Hall as soon as she showed up. I doubt there’s a Yellow would dare speak against her for a chair. And Moria… . She doesn’t cling to Lelaine, but Lelaine and Lyrelle probably thought she would. I don’t know. Mark me, though. When a woman is raised too young, there’s a reason.” She took a deep breath. “Including when I was.” The pain of loss flashed across her face, the loss of the Amyrlin Seat certainly, maybe of all the losses she had suffered. It was gone almost as soon as it came. Egwene did not think she had ever known a woman as strong as Siuan Sanche. “This time, there were more than enough sisters of proper age to choose from, and I can’t see five Ajahs deadlocking on all of them. There is a pattern, and I mean to pick it out.”
Egwene did not agree. Change hung in the air whether Siuan wanted to see it or not. Elaida had broken custom, come very close to breaking law, in usurping Siuan’s place. Sisters had fled the Tower and let the world know of it, and that last certainly had never happened before. Change. Older sisters were more likely to be tied to the old ways, but even some of them had to see that everything was shifting. Surely that was why younger women, more open to the new, had been chosen. Should she order Siuan to stop wasting her time with this? Siuan had enough else to do. Or would it be a kindness to let her continue? She wanted so deeply to prove that the change she saw was not really occurring at all.
Before Egwene could make a decision, Romanda ducked into the tent and stood holding the tentflap open. Long shadows stretched across the snow outside. Evening was coming fast. Romanda’s face was as dark as those shadows. She fixed Siuan with a stern gaze and snapped one word. “Out!”
Egwene gave an infinitesimal nod, but Siuan was already on her feet. She missed a step, then all but ran from the tent. A sister who stood where Siuan did was expected to obey any sister of Romanda’s strength in the Power, not just a Sitter.
Throwing down the tentflap, Romanda embraced the Source. The glow of saidar surrounded her, and she wove a ward against eavesdropping around the inside of the tent w
ithout so much as a pretense of asking Egwene’s permission. “You are a fool!” she grated. “How long did you think you could keep this a secret? Soldiers talk, child. Men always talk! Bryne will be lucky if the Hall doesn’t put his head on a pike.”
Egwene stood slowly, smoothing her skirt. She had been waiting for this, but she still needed to be careful. The game was far from played out, and everything could still turn against her in a flash. She had to pretend innocence, until she could afford to stop pretending. “Must I remind you that rudeness to the Amyrlin Seat is a crime, daughter,” she said instead. She had been pretending so long, and she was so close.
“The Amyrlin Seat.” Romanda strode across the carpets to within arm’s reach of Egwene, and by her glare, the thought of reaching more crossed her mind. “You’re an infant! Your bottom still remembers the last switching it had as a novice! After this, you’ll be lucky if the Hall doesn’t put you in a corner with a few play pretties. If you want to avoid that, you will listen to me, and do as I tell you. Now, sit down!”
Egwene seethed inside, but she sat. It was too soon.
With a sharp, satisfied nod, Romanda planted her fists on her hips. She stared down at Egwene like a stern aunt lecturing a misbehaving niece. A very stern aunt. Or a headsman with a toothache. “This meeting with Pelivar and Arathelle has to go forward, now it’s been arranged. They expect the Amyrlin Seat, and they will see her. You will attend with all the pomp and dignity your title deserves. And you will tell them I am to speak for you, after which, you will hold your tongue! Getting them out of our way will require a firm hand, and someone who knows what she’s about. No doubt Lelaine will be here any minute, trying to put herself forward, but you just remember the trouble she’s in. I’ve spent the day speaking with other Sitters, and it appears very likely that Merilille and Merana’s failures will be quite firmly attached to Lelaine when the Hall sits next. So, if you have any hope of gaining the experience you’ll need to grow into that stole, it lies with me! Do you understand me?”
The Path of Daggers Page 38
