The Gathering Storm

by Robert Jordan

  “Well, I’m assuming command here,” Katerine growled. “We need to scour the Tower and eliminate each of them!”

  “You will not take command,” Saerin said firmly. Insufferable woman! Calm, remain calm. “Nor will we go on the offensive.”

  “And you will dare stop me?” Katerine snarled, the glow of saidar a burning light around her. “A Brown?”

  Saerin raised an eyebrow. “Since when did the Mistress of Novices outrank a Sitter in the Hall, Katerine?”

  “I—”

  “Egwene al’Vere predicted this,” Saerin said, grimacing. “We can assume, therefore, that the other things she told us about the Seanchan are true. The Seanchan seize women who can channel and use them as weapons. They have brought no ground force; it would be near impossible to march them this far through hostile territory anyway. That means this is a raid, intended to seize as many sisters as possible.

  “The battle has already stretched long for a raid, perhaps because we’ve done such a poor job of resisting that they feel they can take their time. Either way, we need to form a unified front and hold our ground. Once the battle goes more roughly for them, they will withdraw. We are in no position whatsoever to ‘scour the Tower’ and force them out.”

  Katerine hesitated, considering that. Another boom sounded outside.

  “Where do those keep coming from?” Saerin asked in annoyance. “Haven’t they made enough holes?”

  “That wasn’t directed at the Tower, Saerin Sedai!” called one of the soldiers at the room’s doorway, standing just outside in the garden.

  He’s right, Saerin realized. The Tower didn’t shake. It didn’t the time before, either. “What are they firing on? People down below?”

  “No, Aes Sedai!” the guard said. “I think it was a blast thrown from within the Tower, launched from one of the upper floors out at the flying creatures.”

  “Well, at least someone else is fighting back,” Saerin said. “Where was it launched from?”

  “I didn’t see,” the soldier said, still watching the skies. “Light, there it goes again! And again!” Red and yellow reflected from the smoke above, bathing the garden in light barely visible through the door and windows. Raken screamed in pain.

  “Saerin Sedai!” Captain Chubain said, turning from a group of wounded soldiers. Saerin hadn’t seen them enter; she’d been too caught up with Katerine. “These men are down from the upper levels. It appears that there’s a second rallying point for the defense, and it’s doing very well. The Seanchan are breaking off their attack below to focus there.”

  “Where?” Saerin asked eagerly. “Specifically?”

  “The twenty-second, Aes Sedai. Northeastern quarter.”

  “What?” Katerine asked. “The Brown Ajah sections?”

  No. That was what had been there before. Now, with the swapping of the Tower’s corridors, that area of the Tower was . . . “The novices’ quarters?” Saerin said. That seemed even more ridiculous. “How in the world. . . .” She trailed off, eyes widening slightly. “Egwene.”

  Each faceless Seanchan that Egwene struck down seemed to be Renna in her mind’s eye. Egwene stood at an open hole in the side of the White Tower, wind pulling at her white dress, tugging at her hair, howling as if in accompaniment to her rage.

  Her anger was not out of control. It was cold and distilled. The Tower was burning. She had Foretold this, she had Dreamed it, but the reality was far worse than she had feared. If Elaida had prepared for the event, the damage would have been much less. But there was no point in longing for what had not been.

  Instead, she directed her anger—the anger of justice, the wrath of the Amyrlin. She blasted to’raken after to’raken from the air. They were much less maneuverable than their smaller cousins. She must have felled a dozen by now, and her actions had drawn the attention of those outside. The attack below was breaking off, the entire raid focusing on Egwene. The novices fought Seanchan raiding parties on the stairs, forcing them back. To’raken winged about in the air, swooping around the Tower, trying to take Egwene with shields or blasts of fire. Smaller raken darted through the air, crossbowmen on their backs launching bolts at her.

  But she was a fount of Power, drawn from deep within the fluted rod in her hands, channeled through a group of novices and Accepted hiding in the room behind, bound to her in circle. Egwene was part of the fires that burned in the Tower, bloodying the sky with their flames, painting the air with their smoke. She almost seemed not a being of flesh, but one of pure Power, sending judgment to those who had dared bring war to the Tower itself. Blasts of lightning stormed from the sky, the clouds churning above. Fire sprouted from her hands.

  Perhaps she should have feared breaking the Three Oaths. But she did not. This was a fight that needed to be fought, and she did not lust for death—though, perhaps, her rage against the sul’dam approached it. The soldiers and damane were unfortunate casualties.

  The White Tower, the sacred dwelling of the Aes Sedai, was under attack. They were all in danger, a danger greater than death. Those silvery collars were far worse. Egwene defended herself and each woman in the Tower.

  She would make the Seanchan withdraw.

  Shield after shield came to sever her from the source, but they were like the hands of children trying to stem the roaring flow of a waterfall. With this much power, she could not be stopped save by a full circle, and the Seanchan didn’t use circles; the a’dam prevented it.

  The attackers prepared weaves to strike her down, but each time Egwene struck first, either deflecting the balls of fire with a blast of air or simply bringing down the to’raken who carried the women trying to kill her.

  Some beasts had flown away into the night, bearing captives. Egwene had felled the ones she could, but there had been so many to’raken in this raid. Some would escape. Sisters would be captured.

  She formed a ball of fire in each hand, blasting another beast from the sky as it swooped too close. Yes, some would escape. But they would pay dearly. That was another goal. She had to make certain they never attacked the Tower again.

  This raid had to cost them.

  “Bryne! Above you!”

  Gareth dodged to the side, rolling with a grunt, breastplate digging into his sides and belly as he hit cobblestones. Something massive in the air passed just above him, and a thudding crash followed. He came up on one knee to see a burning raken tumbling across the ground where he had been standing, its rider—already dead from the fireblast that had killed his mount—tumbling free like a rag doll. The raken corpse, still smoldering, slumped to a rest beside the Tower wall. The rider lay where he had fallen, the helm bouncing away into the darkness. One of the corpse’s boots was missing.

  Bryne heaved himself to his feet and pulled his belt knife free—he’d dropped his sword in the roll. He spun, scanning for danger. There was plenty of it to be found. Raken swooped—big ones and small ones—though most were fixated on the Tower above. The inner green at the front of the Tower was studded with chunks of stone and bodies twisted into horrific positions. Bryne’s men were fighting a squadron of Seanchan soldiers; the invaders in their insectile armor had piled out of the Tower moments ago. Were the Seanchan running away from something or just looking for a fight? There were a good thirty of them.

  Had the soldiers come out to this courtyard to be lifted away? Well, either way, they had met an unexpected force in Bryne’s soldiers. Light be blessed, there were no channelers in the group.

  With over two-to-one odds, Bryne’s men should have had an easy time of it. Unfortunately, there were some few of the bigger raken above dropping stones and fireballs on the courtyard’s occupants. And these Seanchan fought well. Very well.

  Bryne called for his men to stand fast, glancing about for his sword. Gawyn—the one who had warned him earlier—stood near it, dueling two Seanchan at once. Had the boy no sense? Gawyn’s force had the upper hand. He should have a swordmate with him. He—

  Gawyn dispatched both Seancha
n with one fluid motion. Was that Lotus Closes Its Blossom? Bryne had never seen it used so effectively against two men at once. Gawyn wiped his weapon as part of the traditional finishing flourish, then sheathed it and kicked Bryne’s fallen sword up into the air and snatched it. He fell into a guard position, holding the sword, wary. Bryne’s line of men was holding, despite the attacks from above. Gawyn nodded to Bryne, waving him forward with the sword.

  Metal on metal rang across the courtyard, shadows thrown across the scarred grass, lit by the fires above. Bryne took his sword back and Gawyn unsheathed his own blade, on edge. “Look up there,” he said and pointed with his sword.

  Bryne squinted. There was a great deal of activity near a hole in one of the upper floors. He pulled free his spyglass, focusing on the location, trusting in Gawyn to warn him if danger approached.

  “By the Light . . .” Bryne whispered, focusing on the gap. A solitary figure wearing white stood in the Tower’s rent. It was too distant to make out her face, even with the spyglass, but whoever she was, she was certainly doing some damage to the Seanchan. Her arms were upraised with fire glowing between her hands, the burning light throwing shadows across the outer Tower wall around her. Blasts of fire flew in a steady stream, flinging raken from the sky.

  He raised his spyglass higher, scanning the length of the Tower, searching for other signs of resistance. There was activity on the flat, circular roof. It was so distant he could barely make it out. It looked like poles being raised, followed by raken swooping down and . . . What? Each time a raken swooped by, it left dragging something.

  Captives, Bryne realized with a chill. They’re taking captive Aes Sedai to the roof, tying ropes to them, then the raken are snatching those ropes and towing the women into the air. Light! He caught a glimpse of one of the captives being pulled away. It looked as if she had a sack tied over her head.

  “We have to get into the Tower,” Gawyn said. “This fight is just a distraction.”

  “Agreed,” Bryne said, lowering the spyglass. He glanced to the side of the courtyard, where Siuan had said she’d wait while the men fought. Time to collect her and—

  She was gone. Byrne felt a spike of shock, followed by one of terror. Where was she? If that woman had gotten herself killed. . . .

  But no. He could sense her inside the Tower. She wasn’t hurt. This bond was such a wondrous thing, but he was too unaccustomed to it. He should have noticed that she was gone! He scanned his line of soldiers. The Seanchan had fought well, but they were visibly routed now. Their line was breaking, scattering in all directions, and Bryne barked the order for his men not to follow.

  “First and second squads, gather the wounded quickly,” he called. “Carry them to the side of the courtyard. Those who can walk should head directly for the boats.” He grimaced. “Those who can’t walk will need to wait for Aes Sedai to Heal them.” The soldiers nodded. The badly wounded would be abandoned into enemy hands, but they had been warned of that possibility before coming on this mission. Recovering the Amyrlin outweighed all other concerns.

  Some men would die from their wounds while they waited. There was nothing he could do about that. Hopefully, most would be Healed by the White Tower Aes Sedai. That healing would be followed by imprisonment, but there was no other choice. The team of soldiers had to keep moving quickly, and there was no time for litters to carry the wounded.

  “Third and fourth squads,” he began, urgent. He stopped as a familiar form in a blue dress strode out of the Tower, towing a girl in white. Of course, Siuan herself looked only faintly older than the girl, now. At times, he had difficulty connecting her to the stern woman he had met years ago.

  Feeling a surge of relief, he confronted Siuan as she approached. “Who is that?” he demanded. “Where did you go?”

  She clicked her tongue, telling the novice to wait, then pulling Bryne away to speak to him in a low voice. “Your soldiers were busy, and I decided it would be a good time to gather some information. And, I might note, we’re going to have to work on your attitude, Gareth Bryne. That’s not the proper way for a Warder to speak to his Aes Sedai.”

  “I’ll start worrying about that when you start acting like you have two bits of sense in your head, woman. What if you’d run into Seanchan?”

  “Then I would have been in danger,” she said, hands on hips. “It wouldn’t be the first time. I couldn’t risk being seen by other Aes Sedai with you or your soldiers. Such simple disguises won’t fool a sister.”

  “And if you’d been recognized?” he demanded. “Siuan, these people tried to execute you!”

  She sniffed. “Moiraine herself wouldn’t recognize me with this face. The women in the Tower will just see a young Aes Sedai who looks faintly familiar. Besides, I didn’t run into any of them. Just this child.” She glanced at the novice; the girl had a short bob of black hair and stared, terrified, at the battle in the sky above. “Hashala, come here,” Siuan called.

  The novice scurried over.

  “Tell this man what you told me,” Siuan commanded.

  “Yes, Aes Sedai,” the novice said with an anxious curtsy. Bryne’s soldiers made an honor guard around Siuan, and Gawyn stepped up beside Bryne. The young man’s eyes kept flicking toward the deadly sky.

  “The Amyrlin, Egwene al’Vere,” the novice said in a quivering voice. “She was released from the cells earlier today and allowed to return to the novices’ quarters. I was down in the lower kitchens when the attack came, so I don’t know what has happened to her. But she’s probably up on the twenty-first or twenty-second level somewhere. That’s where the novices’ quarters are now.” She grimaced. “The inside of the Tower is a mess, these days. Nothing is where it should be.”

  Siuan met Bryne’s eyes. “Egwene’s been given forkroot in heavy doses. She’ll barely be able to channel.”

  “We’ve got to reach her!” Gawyn said.

  “Obviously,” Bryne said, rubbing his chin. “That’s why we’re here. I guess we go up instead of down, then.”

  “You’re here to rescue her, aren’t you?” The novice sounded eager.

  Bryne eyed the girl. Child, I wish you hadn’t made that connection. He hated the thought of leaving a mere novice tied up in the middle of this mess. But they couldn’t have her running to give warning to the White Tower Aes Sedai.

  “I want to go with you,” the novice said fervently. “I’m loyal to the Amyrlin. The real Amyrlin. Most of us are.”

  Bryne raised an eyebrow, glancing at Siuan.

  “Let her come,” the Aes Sedai said. “It’s the easier option anyway.” She moved over to begin asking the girl a few more questions.

  Bryne glanced to the side as one of his captains, a man named Vestas, approached. “My Lord,” Vestas said urgently, his voice a deep whisper. “The wounded are sorted. We lost twelve men. Another fifteen are wounded but can walk and are heading for the boats. Six are wounded too badly to go with them.” Vestas hesitated. “Three men won’t last the hour, my Lord.”

  Bryne gritted his teeth. “We move on.”

  “I feel that pain, Bryne,” Siuan said, turning around and eyeing him. “What is it?”

  “We don’t have time. The Amyrlin—”

  “Can wait another moment. What is it?”

  “Three men,” he said. “I have to leave three of my men to die.”

  “Not if I Heal them,” Siuan said. “Show me.”

  Bryne made no further objection, though he did glance at the sky. Several of the raken had landed elsewhere in the Tower grounds, vague black shapes, lit by the fires in flickering orange. The fleeing Seanchan were congregating at them.

  Those were the ground assault troops, he thought. They really are pulling out. The raid is ending.

  Which meant they were running out of time. As soon as the Seanchan left, the White Tower would start to reorganize. They needed to reach Egwene! Light send that she hadn’t been captured.

  Still, if Siuan wanted to Heal the soldiers, then it was her d
ecision. He just hoped that these three lives did not end up costing the life of the Amyrlin.

  Vestas had set the three soldiers by themselves at the side of the green, beneath the boughs of a large shade tree. Bryne brought a squad of soldiers, leaving Gawyn to organize the rest of the men, and followed Siuan over to the wounded. She knelt beside the first man. Her skill in Healing was not the best; she’d warned Bryne of this ahead of time. But perhaps she could make these three well enough that they would survive to be discovered and taken by the White Tower.

  She worked quickly, and Bryne noticed that she’d done herself an injustice. She seemed to do a creditable job with the Healing. Still, it took time. He scanned the courtyard, feeling his anxiety rise. Though blasts were still being exchanged on the upper floors, the lower floors and grounds were silent. The only sounds nearby were those of the groaning wounded and the crackling of flames.

  Light, he thought, surveying the rubble, running his eyes over the Tower’s base. The east wing’s roof and far wall had been leveled, and flames flickered inside the structure. The courtyard was a mess of rubble and gouges. Smoke hung in the air, pungent and thick. Would the Ogier be willing to return and rebuild this magnificent structure? Would it ever be the same again, or had a seemingly eternal monument fallen this evening? Was he proud or grieved to have witnessed it?

  A shadow moved in the darkness beside the tree.

  Bryne moved without thought. Three things in him mixed: years of training with the sword, a lifetime of practiced battlefield reflexes and a new bond-enhanced awareness. All came together in one motion. His sword was out in a heartbeat, and he performed Blacklance’s Last Strike, slamming his sword straight into the neck of the dark figure.

  All was still. Siuan, shocked, looked up from the man she was Healing. Bryne’s sword extended directly over her shoulder and into the neck of a Seanchan soldier in pure black armor. The man silently dropped a wickedly barbed shortsword slathered with a viscous liquid. Twitching, he reached for Bryne’s sword, as if to push it free. His fingers gripped Bryne’s arm for a moment.