The Gathering Storm

by Robert Jordan

  Two girls nodded, taking up positions by the rubble. The other novices hurried away, chivvying the two strange invader women along with them. Egwene marched down the hallway behind them, like a general at the battle lines. And perhaps she was. Adelorna hastened to join her. “Well,” she said. “You have done nicely to organize, Egwene, though it’s good that an Aes—”

  Egwene froze. Those eyes were so calm, so in control. “I am in command until this threat passes. You will call me Mother. Give me penance later if you must, but for now my authority must be unquestioned. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Mother,” Adelorna found herself saying, shocked.

  “Good. Where are your Warders?”

  “One wounded,” Adelorna said. “One safe, with the other. One dead.”

  “Light, woman, and you’re still standing?”

  Adelorna straightened her back. “What other choice do I have?”

  Egwene nodded. Why did her look of respect make Adelorna swell with pride?

  “Well, I’m glad to have you,” Egwene said, resuming her walk. “We’ve only rescued six other Aes Sedai, none of them Green, and we’re having trouble keeping the Seanchan bottled at the eastern stairwells. I’ll have one of the novices show you how to unlock the bracelets; but don’t take any risks. Generally, it’s easier—and much safer—to kill the damane. How familiar are you with the Tower’s angreal storerooms?”

  “Very,” Adelorna said.

  “Excellent,” Egwene said, absently weaving as complex a weave as Adelorna had ever seen. A line of light broke the air, then rotated around itself, creating a hole into blackness. “Lucain, run and tell the others to hold. I’ll be bringing more angreal soon.”

  A brunette novice bobbed her head and rushed away. Adelorna was still staring at that hole. “Traveling,” she said flatly. “You really have rediscovered it. I thought the reports wishful rumors.”

  Egwene looked at her. “I’d have never shown you this, save that I just had a report that Elaida has been spreading knowledge of this weave. Knowledge of Traveling has been compromised. That means the Seanchan are likely to have it by now, assuming they’ve taken any women Elaida taught.”

  “Mother’s milk in a cup!”

  “Indeed,” Egwene said, eyes like ice. “We need to stop them and destroy any to’raken we see, with captives or not. If there’s any chance of stopping them from returning to Ebou Dar with someone who can Travel, we must take it.”

  Adelorna nodded.

  “Come,” Egwene said. “I need to know what items in this storeroom are angreal.” She stepped through the hole.

  Adelorna stood, stunned, still thinking over what she’d been told. “You could have run,” she said. “You could have fled at any time.”

  Egwene turned back to her, looking through the portal. “Fled?” she asked. “If I left, it wouldn’t have been fleeing you, Adelorna, it would have been abandoning you. I am the Amyrlin Seat. My place is here. I’m certain you’ve heard that I Dreamed this very attack.”

  Adelorna felt a chill. She had indeed.

  “Come,” Egwene repeated. “We must be quick. This is just a raid; they’ll want to grab as many channelers as possible and be off with them. I intend to see that they lose more damane than they gain Aes Sedai.”

  CHAPTER 41

  A Fount of Power

  “Well, tie a kerchief on my face and call me Aiel,” said one of Bryne’s soldiers, kneeling beside the general at the prow of their narrow boat. “It really is there.”

  Gawyn squatted at the prow of his own boat, the dark waters rippling and lapping at the sides of the vessel. They’d needed thirteen boats to carry them all, and had set into the river quietly and easily—at least, they had once Siuan Sanche had finished her inspection of the boats and decided they were riverworthy. Barely.

  Each vessel carried a single, shielded lantern. Gawyn could barely make out the other boats sliding over the ebony water, the soldiers rowing them in near silence as they pulled up beside the stonework embankment on Tar Valon’s southwestern side. The flashes of light in the sky were distracting, and Gawyn kept finding himself glancing up, to see serpentine beasts illuminated briefly by cold white lightning or blazing crimson fire.

  The White Tower itself seemed to burn. It lit a daunting profile in the sky, all white and red, outlined by flames. Smoke boiled toward the midnight clouds above, fires blazed inside many Tower windows, and a glare at the base indicated that outlying buildings and trees were also alight.

  The soldiers shipped oars as Gawyn’s boat gracefully slid up beside that of Bryne, passing under the lip of ancient stonework where rock overhung the river. That blocked Gawyn’s view of the furious battle—though he could still hear the rumblings and pops, and an occasional spray of broken stone falling to the cobbles, sounding like distant rain.

  Gawyn raised his lantern, risking just a sliver of light from the shield. With that illumination, he could make out what Bryne’s soldier had seen. Tar Valon’s island was rimmed by Ogier-made bulwarks, part of the original city design; they kept the island from eroding. Like most Ogier work, the bulwarks were beautiful. Here, the stone delicately arched outward from the island five or six feet above the water, forming a lip that looked like the white tip of a crashing wave. In the soft light of Gawyn’s lantern, the undersides of those stones were so realistic, so delicate, that it was difficult to tell where stone ended and river began.

  One of those stone ripples hid a cleft, almost impossible to spot even from this close at hand. Bryne’s soldiers were steering his boat into the narrow rift, which was enclosed on both sides and top by stone. Siuan’s boat went next, and Gawyn waved for his rowers to go after her. The rift turned into a very narrow tunnel, and Gawyn unshielded his lantern further, as Bryne and Siuan had done ahead. The lichen-covered stones were ribboned on the sides by dark watermarks. In many years, this passage would have been completely under water.

  “It was probably designed for workers,” Bryne said from up ahead, his soft voice echoing in the damp tunnel. Even the movements of the oars in the water were amplified, as were distant drips and lappings of the river. “To go out and maintain the stonework.”

  “I don’t care why they built it,” Siuan said. “I’m just glad it’s here. And mortified I didn’t know about it earlier. One of the strengths of Tar Valon has always been that the bridges make it secure. You can keep track of who goes in and who goes out.”

  Bryne snorted softly, the sound echoing down the tunnel. “You can never control everything in a city this size, Siuan. Those bridges, in a way, they give you a false sense of control. Sure, for an invading army, this city is impenetrable—but a place like this, tighter than a tick, can still have a dozen holes big enough for fleas to slip through.”

  Siuan fell silent. Gawyn calmed himself, breathing steadily. At least he was finally doing something to help Egwene. It had taken far longer than he’d wanted. Light send that he was coming soon enough!

  The tunnel trembled from a distant explosion. Gawyn glanced over his shoulder at the other ten boats, packed with apprehensive soldiers. They were gliding directly into a war zone where both sides were stronger than they were, both sides had little reason to like them, and both sides were wielding the One Power. It took a special kind of man to stare those odds in the eyes.

  “Here,” Bryne said, silhouetted against the light. He raised a hand and halted the line of boats. The tunnel had opened up to the right, where a ledge of stone—a landing with a set of stairs—waited. The watery tunnel itself continued on.

  Bryne stood, bending over, and stepped out onto the ledge, mooring his boat to a cleat. The soldiers in his boat followed, each carrying a small brown package. What were they? Gawyn hadn’t noticed them loading the packages on the boats. When the final soldier in that boat stepped out, he pushed the vessel forward and handed its tow rope to a soldier in Siuan’s boat. As the line continued forward, they tied each boat to the one ahead of it. The last man would secure his bo
at to the docking pillar, and it would hold them all in place.

  Gawyn stepped onto the stone ledge when his turn came and he trotted up the steps, which opened into the floor of a small alley. This entrance had probably long since been forgotten by all save the few beggars who used it for shelter. Several of the soldiers were tying up a small group of such men at the back of the alleyway. Gawyn grimaced, but said nothing. More often than not, beggars would sell secrets to any who cared to listen, and news of a hundred soldiers sneaking into the city would be worth good coin from the Tower Guard.

  Bryne stood with Siuan at the mouth of the alleyway, checking the street outside. Gawyn joined them, hand on his sword. The streets were empty. The people no doubt hid in their homes, likely praying that the raid would soon pass.

  The soldiers gathered in the alley. Bryne quietly ordered a squad of ten to guard the boats. Then the rest opened the soft-looking brown packages that Gawyn had noticed earlier and removed folded white tabards. They pulled these over their heads, tying them at the waist. Each was marked with the flame of Tar Valon.

  Gawyn whistled softly, though Siuan stood with arms akimbo, looking indignant. “Where did you get those?”

  “I had the women in the outer camp make them,” Bryne said. “It’s always a good idea to have a few copies of your enemy’s uniform.”

  “It’s not proper,” Siuan said, folding her arms. “Serving on the Tower Guard is a sacred duty. They—”

  “They’re your enemy, Siuan,” Bryne said sternly. “For now, at least. You’re not Amyrlin anymore.”

  She eyed him, but held her tongue. Bryne looked over the soldiers, then nodded in approval. “This won’t fool anyone up close, but from a distance, it will serve. Out onto the streets and fall into ranks. Hustle toward the Tower, as if you’re rushing to help with the battle. Siuan, a globe of light or two would help with the disguise—if those who see us also see an Aes Sedai at our head, they’ll be more likely to assume what we want them to.”

  She sniffed, but did as requested, creating two globes of light, then setting them to float in the air beside her head. Bryne gave the command, and the entire group spilled out of the alley and formed ranks. Gawyn, Siuan and Bryne took up positions at the front—Gawyn and the general walking just ahead of Siuan, as if they were Warders—and they double-timed forward down the street.

  All in all, the illusion was very good. On first glance, Gawyn himself would have bought the disguise. What would be more natural to see than a squadron of Tower Guard marching to the scene of the attack, guided by an Aes Sedai and her Warders? It was certainly better than trying to sneak a hundred men through the city in alleyways, unseen.

  As they approached the Tower grounds they entered the nightmare. The billowing smoke reflected red firelight, enveloping the Tower in a menacing crimson haze. Holes and gashes broke the walls of the once-majestic building; fires blazed within several of them. Raken commanded the air, swooping and spinning about the Tower like gulls circling a dead whale in the waves. Screams and shouts permeated the air, and the thick, acrid smoke made Gawyn’s throat itch.

  Bryne’s soldiers slowed as they approached. There seemed to be two points of combat in the raid. The base of the Tower, with its two flanking wings, showed flashes of light. The grounds were littered with the dead and the wounded. And up above, near the middle of the Tower, several gashes were spewing fireballs and lightning back out at the invaders. The rest of the Tower seemed silent and dead, though surely fighting was going on in the corridors.

  The group pulled to a halt outside the Tower grounds’ iron gates. Those gates were open and completely unguarded. That seemed ominous. “Now what?” Gawyn whispered.

  “We find Egwene,” Siuan answered. “We start at the base, then head down to the basement floors. She was locked down there somewhere earlier today, and it’s probably the first place we should look.”

  A spray of stone chips fell from the ceiling and rained down on the table as the White Tower shook from yet another blast. Saerin cursed to herself, wiping the chips away, then unrolled a wide piece of parchment, weighting the sides with some broken chunks of tile.

  Around her, the room was in virtual chaos. They were on the ground floor, in the forward gathering room, a large square chamber situated where the eastern wing met the Tower proper. Members of the Tower Guard pulled tables out of the way to make room for the groups passing through. Aes Sedai warily glanced out the windows, watching the skies. Warders stalked like caged animals. What were they to do about flying beasts? Their best place was here, guarding the center of operations. Such as it was. Saerin had only just arrived.

  A sister in green swept up to her. Moradri was a long-limbed Mayener with dark skin, and she was trailed by two handsome Warders, both also Mayener. Rumors said that they were her brothers, come to the White Tower to defend their sister, though Moradri didn’t speak of the matter.

  Saerin demanded, “How many?”

  “The ground floor has at least forty-seven sisters,” Moradri said. “Spread across the Ajahs. That’s the best count I could gather, as they’re fighting in small groups. I told them we were organizing a formal command center here. Most seemed to think that was a good idea, though many were too tired, too shocked or too dazed to respond with much else besides a nod.”

  “Mark their locations on the map here,” Saerin said. “Did you find Elaida?”

  Moradri shook her head.

  “Blast,” Saerin muttered as the Tower shook again. “What of any Green Sitters?”

  “I didn’t find any,” Moradri said, glancing over her shoulder, obviously eager to get back to the fighting.

  “A pity,” Saerin said. “They like to call themselves the Battle Ajah, after all. Well, that leaves me to organize the fighting.”

  Moradri shrugged. “I suppose.” She glanced over her shoulder again.

  Saerin eyed the Green sister, then tapped the map. “Mark the locations, Moradri. You can be back to the fighting soon enough, but your knowledge is more important right now.”

  The Green sister sighed, but quickly began to make notations on the map. As she worked, Saerin was pleased to note Captain Chubain entering. The man looked youthful for his forty-some winters, without a speck of gray in his black hair. Some men were inclined to disparage his abilities because of his too-pretty face; Saerin had heard of the humiliation those men had received by his sword in return for the insults.

  “Ah, good,” she said. “Finally something is going well. Captain, over here if you will.”

  He limped over, favoring his left leg. His white tabard, hanging over mail, was scorched; his face was smudged with soot. “Saerin Sedai,” he said, bowing.

  “You are wounded.”

  “An inconsequential wound, Aes Sedai, in the glory of a fight such as this.”

  “See yourself Healed anyway,” she ordered. “It would be ridiculous for our captain of the guard to risk death because of an ‘inconsequential’ wound. If it makes you stumble for a moment we could lose you.”

  The man stepped closer, speaking in a low voice. “Saerin Sedai, the Tower Guard is all but useless in this fight. With the Seanchan using those . . . monstrous women, we can barely reach them before being ripped to pieces or blasted to ashes.”

  “You need to change your tactics, then, Captain,” Saerin said firmly. Light, what a mess! “Tell the men to switch to bows. Do not risk closing on the enemy’s channelers. Shoot from a distance. A single arrow could turn the battle to our side; we have their soldiers grossly outnumbered.”

  “Yes, Aes Sedai.”

  “As a White might say, it’s simple logic,” she said. “Captain, our most important task is to form a center of operations. Aes Sedai and soldiers alike are scrambling about independently, acting like rats faced by wolves. We need to stand together.”

  What she didn’t mention was how embarrassed she was. The Aes Sedai had spent centuries guiding kings and influencing wars, but now—with their sanctuary assaulted—they h
ad proven woefully inadequate in defending it. Egwene was right, she thought. Not just in predicting this attack, but in berating us for being divided. Saerin didn’t need reports from Moradri or scouts to know that the Ajahs were each fighting this battle independently.

  “Captain,” she said. “Moradri Sedai is marking pockets of fighters on the map. Ask her which Ajah is represented in each group; she has an excellent memory, and will be able to tell you specifics. Send runners in my authority to any group of Yellow or Brown sisters. Tell them to report here, to this chamber.

  “Next, send runners to the other groups and tell them that we are going to send one Brown or Yellow sister to them for Healing purposes. There will also be a group of sisters here providing Healing. Anyone wounded is to report here immediately.”

  He saluted.

  “Oh,” she added. “And send someone to the outer grounds to spot the main breaches above. We need to know where the invasion is deepest.”

  “Aes Sedai, . . .” he said. “The outer grounds are dangerous. Those flying above fire on anyone they see moving.”

  “Then send men who are good at concealing themselves,” she growled.

  “Yes, Aes Sedai. We—”

  “This is a disaster!” an angry voice shouted.

  Saerin turned to find four Red sisters entering the room. Notasha was wearing a white dress bloodied up the left side, though if the blood was her own, she’d been Healed. Katerine’s mass of long black hair was frazzled and tangled with chips of stone. The other two women wore ripped dresses, faces soiled with ash.

  “How dare they strike here!” Katerine continued, crossing the room. Soldiers ducked out of her way, and several less-influential sisters who had gathered at Saerin’s order suddenly found things to do at the corners of the room. Distant booms sounded, like the noises of an Illuminator’s display.

  “They dare because they have the means and the desire, obviously,” Saerin replied, shoving down her annoyance and maintaining her calm. With difficulty. “So far, the strike has proven remarkably effective.”