“Oh, would I?” Egwene said.
“Yes. You speak of hating the collar, but if you were to wear it and see, you would find it a more peaceful life. We do not torture our damane. We care for them, and allow them to live lives of privilege.”
“You don’t know, do you?” Egwene asked.
“I am the Empress,” Fortuona said. “My domination extends across seas, and the realms of my protection encompass all that humankind knows and thinks. If there are things I do not know, they are known by those in my Empire, for I am the Empire.”
“Delightful,” Egwene said. “And does your Empire realize that I wore one of your collars? That I was once trained by your suldam?”
Fortuona stiffened, then rewarded Egwene with a look of shock, although she covered it immediately.
“I was in Falme,” Egwene said. “A damane, trained by Renna. Yes, I wore your collar, woman. I found no peace there. I found pain, humiliation, and terror.”
“Why did I not know of this?” Fortuona asked loudly, turning. “Why did you not tell me?”
Egwene glanced at the collected Seanchan nobility. Fortuona seemed to be addressing one man in particular, a man in rich black and golden clothing, trimmed with white lace. He had an eyepatch over one eye, black to match, and the fingernails on both hands were lacquered to a dark—
“Mat?” Egwene sputtered.
He gave a kind of half-wave, looking embarrassed.
Oh, Light, she thought. What has he thrown himself into? She galloped through plans in her mind. Mat was imitating a Seanchan nobleman. They must not know who he really was. Could she trade something to save him? “Approach,” Fortuona said.
“This man is not—” Egwene began, but Fortuona spoke over her. “Knotai,” she said, “did you know that this woman was an escaped damane? You knew her as a child, I believe.”
“You know who he is?” Egwene asked.
Of course I do,” Fortuona said. “He is named Knotai, but once was called Matrim Cauthon. Do not think he will serve you, marath’damane, though you did grow up together. He is the Prince of the Ravens now, a position he earned by his marriage to me. He serves the Seanchan, the Crystal Throne, and the Empress.”
“May she live forever,” Mat noted. “Hello, Egwene. Glad to hear you escaped those Sharans. How’s the White Tower? Still . . . white, I guess?” Egwene looked from Mat to the Seanchan Empress, then back at him again. Finally, unable to do anything else, she burst out laughing. “You married Matrim Cauthon?”
“The omens predicted it,” Fortuona said.
“You let yourself draw too close to a ta’veren,” Egwene said, “and so the Pattern bound you to him!”
“Foolish superstitions,” Fortuona said.
Egwene glanced at Mat.
“Being ta’veren never did get me much,” Mat said sourly. “I suppose I should be grateful the Pattern didn’t haul me by my boots over to Shayol Ghul. Small blessing, that.”
“You didn’t answer my question, Knotai,” Fortuona said. “Did you know this woman was an escaped damane? If so, why didn’t you speak of it to me?
I didn’t think too much about it,” Mat said. “She wasn’t one for very long, Tuon.”
“We will speak of this on another occasion,” Fortuona said softly. “It will not be pleasant.” She turned back to Egwene. “To converse with a former damane is not the same as speaking to one recently captured, or one who has always been free. News of this event will spread. You have caused me . . . inconvenience.”
Egwene regarded the woman, baffled. Light! These people were completely insane. “What was your purpose insisting upon this meeting? The Dragon Reborn says you will help our fight. Help us, then.”
“I needed to meet you,” Fortuona said. “You are my opposite. I have agreed to join this peace the Dragon offered, but there are conditions.”
Oh, Light, Rand, Egwene thought. What did you promise them? She braced herself.
“Along with agreeing to fight,” Fortuona said, “I will acknowledge the sovereign borders of nations as they are currently mapped. We will force the obedience of no marath’damane save those who violate our borders.”
“And those borders are?” Egwene asked.
“As currently outlined, as I—”
“Be more specific,” Egwene said. “Tell me with your own voice, woman. What borders?”
Fortuona drew her lips to a line. Obviously, she was not accustomed to being interrupted. “We control Altara, Amadicia, Tarabon, and Almoth Plain.”
“Tremalking,” Egwene said. “You’ll release Tremalking and the other Sea Folk islands?”
“I did not list those because they are not of your land, but the sea. They are not your concern. Besides, they were not part of the agreement with the Dragon Reborn. He did not mention it.”
“He has a lot on his mind. Tremalking will be part of the agreement with me.”
“I wasn’t aware we were making such an agreement,” Fortuona said calmly. “You require our assistance. We could leave in a moment, should I order it. How would you fare against that army without our aid, which you so recently begged me to lend?”
Begged? Egwene thought. “Do you realize what happens if we lose the Last Battle? The Dark One breaks the Wheel, slays the Great Serpent, and all things will end. That’s if we’re lucky. If we aren’t lucky, the Dark One will remake the world according to his own twisted vision. All people will be bound to him in an eternity of suffering, subjugation, and torment.”
“I am aware of this,” Fortuona said. “You act as if this particular fight—here, on this battlefield—is decisive.”
“If my army were to be destroyed,” Egwene said, “our entire effort would be jeopardized. Everything could indeed hinge on what happens here.”
“I disagree,” Fortuona said. “Your armies are not vital. They are populated by the children of oathbreakers. You fight the Shadow, and for that I grant you honor. If you were to lose, I would return to Seanchan and raise up the full might of the Ever Victorious Army and bring it to bear against this . . . horror. We would still win the Last Battle. It would be more difficult without you, and I would not waste useful lives or potential damane, but I am confident we could stand against the Shadow on our own.”
She met Egwene’s eyes.
So cold, Egwene thought. She’s bluffing. She must be. Reports from Siuan’s eyes-and-ears said that the Seanchan homeland was in chaos. A succession crisis.
Perhaps Fortuona really did believe that the Empire could stand against the Shadow on its own. If so, she was wrong.
“You will fight alongside us,” Egwene said. “You made the treaty with Rand, gave him your oath, I assume.”
“Tremalking is ours.”
“Oh?” Egwene said. “And you have set up a leader there? One of the Sea Folk, to acknowledge your rule?”
Fortuona said nothing.
“You have the allegiance of most of the other lands you’ve conquered,” Egwene said. “For better or worse, the Altarans and Amadicians follow you. The Taraboners seem to as well. But the Sea Folk ... I have no reports whatsoever of a single one of their kind supporting you or living peacefully beneath your thumb.”
“Borders—”
“The borders you just mentioned, as they exist on maps, show Tremalking as Sea Folk land. It is not yours. If our treaty holds current borders as they are, you would need a ruler in Tremalking to acknowledge you.”
It seemed a tenuous argument to Egwene. The Seanchan were conquerors. What did they care if they had any kind of legitimacy? However, Fortuona seemed to consider Egwene’s words. She frowned in thought.
“This ... is a good argument,” Fortuona finally said. “They have not accepted us. They are foolish to reject the peace we offer, but they have indeed done so. Very well, we will leave Tremalking, but I will add a condition to our agreement as you have.”
“And your condition?”
“You will announce through your Tower and through your lands,” Fo
rtuona said. “Any marath’damane who wish to come to Ebou Dar and be properly collared must be allowed to do so.”
“You think people would want to be collared?” She was insane. She had to be.
“Of course they would want to,” Fortuona said. “In Seanchan, very occasionally one who can channel is missed in our searches. When they discover what they are, they come to us and demand to be collared, as is appropriate. You will not force anyone to stay away from us. You will let them come.”
“I promise you, none will.”
“Then you should have no trouble making the proclamation,” Fortuona said. “We will send emissaries to educate your people on the benefits of damane—our teachers will come peacefully, for we will hold to the treaty. I believe you will be surprised. Some will see what is right.”
“Do what you wish,” Egwene said, amused. “Break no laws, and I suspect most will allow your . . . emissaries. I cannot speak for every ruler.
What of the lands you control? Tar Valon? You will allow our emissaries?”
“If they break no laws,” Egwene said, “I won’t silence them. I’d allow in Whitecloaks, if they could say their piece without driving men to riot. But Light, woman. You can’t actually believe . . .”
She trailed off, watching Fortuona. She did believe it. So far as Egwene could tell, she did.
At least she’s sincere, Egwene thought. Insane. Insane, but sincere.
“And the damane you now hold?” Egwene said. “You’ll let them go, if they wish to be released?”
“None who are properly trained would wish that.”
“This must be equal on both sides,” Egwene said. “What of a girl whom you discover to be able to channel? If she does not wish to be made damane, will you let her leave your lands and join ours?”
“That would be like letting an enraged grolm free in a city square.
You said that people will see the truth,” Egwene said. “If your way of life is strong, your ideals true, then people will see them for what they are. If they don’t, you shouldn’t force them. Let any who wish to be free go free, and I’ll let your people speak in Tar Valon. Light! I’ll give them room and free board, and I’ll see the same done in every city!”
Fortuona eyed Egwene. “Many of our sul’dam have come to this war anticipating the chance to capture new damane from among those who serve the Shadow. These Sharans, perhaps. You would have us let them, or your sisters of the Shadow, free? To destroy, murder?”
“To be tried and executed, under the Light.”
“Why not let them be put to use? Why waste their lives?”
“What you do is an abomination!” Egwene said, feeling exasperated. “Not even the Black Ajah deserves that.”
“Resources should not be discarded so idly.”
“Is that so?” Egwene said. “Do you realize that every one of your sul’dam, your precious trainers, is herself a marath’damane?”
Fortuona spun on her. “Do not spread such lies.”
“Oh? Shall we test it, Fortuona? You said you trained them yourself. You are a sul’dam, I presume? Put the a’dam on your neck. I dare you. If I am wrong, it will do nothing to you. If I am right, you will be subject to its power, and will prove to be marath'damane.”
Fortuona's eyes widened in anger. She had ignored Egwene’s barbs calling her a criminal, but this accusation seemed to dig into her ... so Egwene made certain to twist the knife a little deeper.
Yes, ’ Egwene said. “Let us do it and test the real strength of your commitment. If you prove to be able to channel, will you do as you claim others should? Will you stroll up to the collar and snap it around your own neck, Fortuona? Will you obey your own laws?”
“I have obeyed them,” Fortuona said coldly. “You are very ignorant. Perhaps it is true, that sul’dam can learn to channel. But this is not the same thing as being a marath'damane—any more than a man who can become a murderer is to be considered one.”
“We shall see,” Egwene said, “once more of your people realize the lies they’ve been told.”
‘I will break you myself,” Fortuona said softly. “Someday, your people will turn you over to me. You will forget yourself, and your arrogance will lead you to our borders. I will be waiting.”
“I plan to live centuries,” Egwene hissed. “I will watch your empire crumble, Fortuona. I will watch it with joy.” She raised a finger to tap the woman on the chest, but Fortuona moved with blurring speed, her hand grabbing Egwene’s by the wrist. For one so small, she certainly was quick.
Egwene embraced the Source by reflex. Damane nearby gasped, and the light of the One Power sprang up around them.
Mat pushed between Egwene and Fortuona and shoved them apart, holding one hand at each woman’s chest. Egwene wove by instinct, intending to remove his hand with a thread of Air. It fell apart, of course.
Blood and ashes, that’s inconvenient! She had forgotten he was there.
“Let’s be civil, ladies,” Mat said, eyeing one of them, then the other. “Don’t make me throw the pair of you over my knee.”
Egwene glared at him, and Mat met her eyes. He was trying to deflect her anger to him instead of Fortuona.
Egwene looked down at his hand, which was pressed against her chest uncomfortably close to her breasts. Fortuona was also looking at that hand.
Mat lowered both hands, but took his sweet time at it, as if completely unconcerned. “The people of this world need you two, and they need you levelheaded, you hear me? This is bigger than any of us. When you fight each other, the Dark One wins, and that is that. So stop behaving like children.”
“We will have many words about this tonight, Knotai,” Fortuona said. “I love words,” Mat said. “There are some deliciously pretty words out there. ‘Smile.’ That’s always sounded like a pretty word to me. Don’t you think? Or, perhaps, the words ‘I promise not to kill Egwene right now for trying to touch me, the Empress, may I live forever, because we really bloody need her for the next couple of weeks or so.’ ” He eyed Fortuona pointedly. “You really married him?” Egwene said to Fortuona. “Honestly?”
“It was ... an unusual event,” Fortuona replied. She shook herself, then glared at Egwene. “He is mine and I do not intend to release him.”
“You don’t seem the type to release anything, once you have your hands on it,” Egwene said. “Matrim does not interest me at the moment; your army does. Will you fight, or won’t you?”
“I will fight,” Fortuona said. “But my army is not subject to you. Have your general send us suggestions. We will consider them. But I can see you are going to have a difficult time defending the ford against the invader without a larger number of your marath'damane. I will send you some of my suldam and damane to protect your army. That is all I will do for now.” She started walking back toward her people. “Come, Knotai.”
“I don’t know how you fell into this,” Egwene said under her breath to Mat. “I don’t want to know. I’ll do what I can to help free you, once we are done fighting.”
“That’s kind of you, Egwene,” Mat said. “But I can handle this on my own.” He rushed off after Fortuona.
That was what he always said. She’d find some way to help him. She shook her head, returning to where Gawyn waited for her. Leilwin had declined to come, though Egwene would have expected her to enjoy seeing some of those from her homeland.
“We’ll need to keep them at arm’s length,” Gawyn said softly.
“Agreed,” Egwene said.
“You’ll still fight alongside the Seanchan, despite what they’ve done?
So long as they keep the Sharan channelers occupied, yes.” Egwene looked toward the horizon—toward Rand, and the powerful struggle he must be embroiled in. “Our options are limited, Gawyn, and our allies dwindling. For now, whoever is willing to kill Trollocs is a friend. That is that.”
The Andoran line buckled, and Trollocs ripped through, snarling beasts with stinking breath that clouded in the chill air. Elayne�
��s halberdiers nearby scrambled as they fell over themselves to escape. The first few Trollocs ignored them, howling and leaping over them to make room for more to pour through the opening, like dark blood from a gash in the flesh.
Elayne tried to gather what little strength she had left. She felt as if saidar would slip from her at any moment, but the men fighting and dying wouldn’t be any stronger than she at this point. They’d all been fighting for most of the day.
Somehow finding the strength to weave, she roasted the first few Trollocs with balls of fire, tripping up the flow through the wound in the human lines. Streaks of white, arrows from Birgitte’s bow, followed. Trollocs gurgled, clawing at their necks where the arrows hit.
Elayne sent strike after strike from horseback, tired hands clinging to the saddle as she blinked eyes that seemed leaden. Dead Trollocs toppled, forming like a scab over the hole, blocking the others from ripping through. Reserve troops stumbled up, seizing ground and pushing the Trollocs back.
Elayne breathed out, wavering. Light! She felt as if she’d been forced to run around Caemlyn while pulling lead weights. She could barely sit upright, let alone hold the One Power. Her vision dimmed, then darkened further. Sound faded in her ears. Then . . . darkness.
Sound came back first. Distant yells, clangs. A very faint horn. The howls of the Trollocs. Occasional thundering from the dragons. Those aren’t firing as often, she thought. Aludra had moved to a rhythm in her firing. Bashere would pull back one section of troops and let them rest. The Trollocs would pour through, and the dragons would bombard them for a short time. As the Trollocs tried to crawl up and destroy the dragons, cavalry would come in and smash them at the flanks.
It killed a lot of Trollocs. That was their job . . . kill Trollocs . . .
Too slow, she thought. Too slow . . .
Elayne found herself on the ground, Birgitte’s worried face hovering above her.
“Oh, Light?” Elayne mumbled. “Did I fall off?”
“We caught you in time,” Birgitte muttered. “You slumped into our arms. Come on, we’re pulling back.”
A Memory of Light Page 58
