Crossroads of Twilight

by Jordan, Robert

  “Do you mind if I send Siuan for tea, Mother?” Maigan said as she settled onto her stool. “You really should have a novice or Accepted to run errands, but Siuan will do.”

  “The novices have their classes, Daughter,” Egwene replied, “and even with the arrangement of families, the Accepted hardly have time for their own studies.” Besides which, she would have to send a novice or Accepted to stand in the cold any time she wanted to speak to someone in privacy. Hard on one who would not yet have been taught how to ignore heat or cold, and a flag planted outside the tent telling everyone there might be something worth eavesdropping on. “Siuan, will you please bring us some tea? I’m sure we could all do with a hot cup.”

  Maigan raised a long-fingered hand as Siuan started for the entrance. “I have a jar of mint honey in my tent,” she said imperiously. “Fetch that. And mind you don’t filch any. I remember you used to have a sweet tooth. Hurry, now.” Maigan had been an ally. Now she was one of many sisters who blamed Siuan for breaking the White Tower.

  “As you say, Maigan,” Siuan replied in a meek voice, and even bent her knee slightly before she hurried out. And she did hurry. Maigan stood as high as Myrelle or Morvrin, and there were no orders or oaths of fealty to protect her here. The long-faced woman gave a small, satisfied nod. Siuan had had to beg to be accepted back into the Blue Ajah, and rumor had it that Maigan had been the most insistent on the begging.

  Morvrin made her excuses to leave behind Siuan, perhaps meaning to catch her up for some reason, but Myrelle took one of the stools and engaged in a competition with Maigan: who could ignore the other most completely. Egwene did not understand the animosity between the two women. Sometimes, people just disliked one another. In any case, it did not make for conversation. Egwene took the opportunity to leaf through the pages in Siuan’s folders, but she could not concentrate on rumors out of Illian and innuendoes out of Cairhien. There seemed nothing to account for Theodrin’s claim of a tale that had set the Yellow Sitters buzzing. Siuan would have said something, if she had known.

  Maigan and Myrelle stared at her as if watching her turn over sheets of paper was the most interesting activity in the world. She would have sent them both away, but she wanted to find out what Myrelle had been thinking about the day Shadar Logoth had been scooped out of the earth. She could not send one away without sending both. Drat the pair of them!

  When Siuan returned, with a wooden tray holding a silver teapot and porcelain cups—and Maigan’s white-glazed honey jar—she was followed into the tent by a soldier in plate-and-mail armor, a young Shienaran with his hair shaved off except for a topknot. Young, but not young. Ragan’s dark cheek carried a puckered white scar from an arrow, and his face was hard in the way only the face of a man who lived with death every hour could be hard. As Siuan distributed teacups, he bowed, one hand holding a moon-crested helmet on his hip, the other on his sword hilt. Nothing in his expression said he had ever met her before.

  “Honor to serve, Mother,” he said formally. “Lord Bryne sent me. He said to tell you that it seems the raiders may have crossed to this side of the river last night. With Aes Sedai. Lord Bryne is doubling the patrols. He advises that sisters stay close to the camp. To avoid incidents.”

  “May I be excused, Mother?” Siuan said suddenly, with the slightly abashed sound of a woman who found herself with an urgent need for the jakes.

  “Yes, yes,” Egwene said, as impatiently as she could manage, and barely waited for the other woman to dash out of the tent before going on. “Tell Lord Bryne that Aes Sedai go where they wish, when they wish.” She snapped her mouth shut before she could call him “Ragan,” but that only served to make her seem severe. She hoped it did.

  “I will tell him, Mother,” he replied, making another bow. “Heart and soul to serve.”

  Maigan smiled faintly as he departed. She deprecated soldiers—Warders were good and necessary; soldiers made messes for others to clean up, in her opinion—but she did favor anything that seemed to indicate a wedge between Egwene and Gareth Bryne. Or perhaps better to say that Lelaine favored. In this, Maigan was Lelaine’s woman to her toenails. Myrelle merely looked puzzled. She knew that Egwene got on well with Lord Gareth.

  Egwene got up and poured herself a cup of tea. And took a touch of Maigan’s honey. Her hands were quite steady. The boats were in place. In a few hours, Leane would gather Bode and ride well away from the camp before explaining what they were going to do. Larine must take the punishment she had earned, and Bode must do what needed doing. Egwene had been younger than Bode when she was set to hunt Black sisters. Shienarans served their war against the Shadow in the Blight, heart and soul. Aes Sedai, and those who would become Aes Sedai, served the Tower. A stronger weapon against the Shadow than any sword, and no less sharp to an unwary hand.

  When Romanda arrived, with Theodrin to hold open the entry flap for her, the gray-haired Yellow made a very exact curtsy, neither a fraction more nor less than propriety required from Sitter to Amyrlin. They were not in the Hall, now. If the Amyrlin was only first among equals there, she was a little more in her own study, even for Romanda. She did not offer to kiss Egwene’s ring, though. There were limits. She eyed Myrelle and Maigan as if thinking of asking them to leave. Or perhaps telling them. It was a prickly point. Sitters expected obedience, but neither was of her Ajah. And this was the Amyrlin’s study.

  In the end, she did neither, merely allowed Theodrin to take her cloak, embroidered with borders of yellow flowers, and pour her a cup of tea. Theodrin did not have to be asked to do either, and she retreated to a corner, twitching her shawl and her mouth set sullenly, as Romanda took the empty stool. Despite the stool’s uneven legs, Romanda managed to make it seem a seat in the Hall of the Tower, or maybe a throne, as she adjusted the yellow-fringed shawl she had worn beneath her cloak.

  “The talks are going badly,” she said in that high, musical voice. She still made it sound a proclamation. “Varilin is chewing her lips in frustration. Magla is frustrated, too, for that matter, and even Saroiya. When Saroiya starts grinding her teeth, most sisters would be shouting.” Excepting Janya, every Sitter who had held a chair before the Tower divided had insinuated herself into the negotiations. They were talking with women they had known in the Hall back then, after all. Beonin was nearly reduced to running errands.

  Romanda touched the tea to her lips, then held the cup out to one side on its dish without saying a word. Theodrin darted from the corner to take the cup over to the tray, adding honey before she returned the cup to the Sitter and herself to the corner. Romanda tasted the tea again and nodded in approval. Theodrin’s face colored.

  “The talks will go as they go,” Egwene said carefully. Romanda had opposed any sort of negotiations, spurious or not. And she knew what was to happen tonight. Keeping the Hall in the dark about that had seemed a needless slap in the face.

  The tight bun on the back of Romanda’s head bobbed as she nodded. “They have shown us one thing already. Elaida won’t allow the Sitters speaking for her to budge an inch. She is dug into the Tower like a rat in a wall. The only way to flush her is to send ferrets in after her.” Myrelle made a sound in her throat, earning a surprised glance from Maigan. Romanda’s eyes remained steady on Egwene’s.

  “Elaida will be removed one way or another,” Egwene said calmly, setting her teacup down on its dish. Her hand did not shake. What had the women learned? How?

  Romanda grimaced faintly at her tea as if after all it lacked sufficient honey. Or in disappointment that Egwene had not said more. The woman shifted on her stool with the air of a swordswoman setting herself for another attack, blade coming up. “The things you’ve said about the Kin, Mother. That there are over a thousand of them rather than a few dozen. That some are five or six hundred years old.” She shook her head over the impossibility. “How could all of that have escaped the Tower?” She was challenging, not asking a question.

  “We only recently learned how many wilders there are among
the Sea Folk,” Egwene replied gently. “And we still aren’t sure how many there really are.” Romanda’s grimace was not so small, this time. It had been the Yellow that first confirmed hundreds of Sea Folk wilders in Illian alone. First blow to Egwene.

  One blow was not enough to finish Romanda, though. Or even to wound her very badly. “We will have to hunt them down, once our business is done here,” she said in grim tones. “Letting a few dozen remain in Ebou Dar and Tar Valon, just to help us trace runaways, was one thing, but we cannot allow a thousand wilders to remain . . . organized.” She put even more contempt into the word, into the idea of wilders organizing, than she did into the rest. Myrelle and Maigan were watching closely, listening. Maigan was even leaning forward, she was so intent. Neither knew more than the stories Egwene had spread, which everyone assumed came through Siuan’s eyes-and-ears.

  “Well over a thousand,” Egwene corrected, “and not one a wilder. All women sent away from the Tower, except for a few runaways who evaded capture.” She did not raise her voice, but she made each point firmly, meeting Romanda’s gaze. “In any case, how do you propose to hunt them down? They are spread through every country, in every sort of occupation. Ebou Dar was the only place they ever gathered or met other than by chance, and all those fled when the Seanchan came. Since the Trolloc Wars, the Kin have allowed the Tower to know only what they wanted known. Two thousand years, hiding under the White Tower’s nose. Their numbers have grown while the Tower’s numbers dwindled. How do you propose to find them now, among all the wilders out there that the Tower has always ignored because they were ‘too old’ to become novices? Kinswomen don’t stand out in any way, Romanda. They use the Power almost as often as Aes Sedai, but they show age like anyone else, if more slowly. If they want to remain hidden, we will never be able to find them.” And that was several more blows for Egwene, with none taken. Romanda wore a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead, a sure sign of desperation in an Aes Sedai. Myrelle was sitting very still, but Maigan seemed about to fall off her stool onto her nose no matter how steady it was.

  Romanda licked her lips. “If they channel, they would achieve the look. If they age, they cannot be channeling very often if at all. And neither way could they live five or six hundred years!” No more dissimulation, it seemed.

  “There is only one real difference between Aes Sedai and the Kin,” Egwene said quietly. The words still seemed loud. Even Romanda appeared to be holding her breath. “They left the White Tower before they could swear on the Oath Rod.” There; it was in the open finally.

  Romanda jerked as if she had taken a mortal blow. “You’ve not taken the Oaths yet,” she said hoarsely. “Do you mean to abandon them? To ask sisters to abandon them?” Myrelle or Maigan gasped. Perhaps both.

  “No!” Egwene said sharply. “The Three Oaths are what make us Aes Sedai, and I will swear on the Oath Rod as soon as it is ours!” Drawing a deep breath, she modulated her tone. But she leaned toward the other woman, too, trying to draw her in, to include her. To convince her. She almost stretched out a hand. “As it is, sisters retire to spend their last years in quiet, Romanda. Wouldn’t it be better if those were not their last years? If sisters retired into the Kin, they could tie the Kin to the Tower. There would be no need for a futile hunt, then.” She had gone this far; she might as well go the last step. “The Oath Rod can unbind as well as bind.”

  Maigan thudded to the carpets on her knees and scrambled up, brushing at her skirts as indignantly as if she had been pushed. Myrelle’s olive face looked a little pale.

  Moving slowly, Romanda set her teacup on the edge of the writing table and stood, drawing her shawl around her. Expressionless, she stood staring down at Egwene while Theodrin settled her yellow-embroidered cloak on her shoulders, fastened the golden pin and arranged the folds as carefully as any lady’s maid. Only then did Romanda speak, in a voice like stone. “When I was a little girl, I dreamed of becoming Aes Sedai. From the day I reached the White Tower, I tried to live as an Aes Sedai. I have lived as Aes Sedai, and I will die as Aes Sedai. This cannot be allowed!”

  She turned smoothly to go, but she knocked over the stool she had been sitting on, apparently without noticing. Theodrin hurried out after her. With concern on her face, oddly enough.

  “Mother?” Myrelle drew a deep breath, fingers plucking at her deep green skirts. “Mother, are you really suggesting . . . ?” She trailed off, apparently unable to say it. Maigan sat on her stool as though forcing herself not to lean forward again.

  “I have laid out the facts,” Egwene said calmly. “Any decision will be the Hall’s. Tell me, Daughter. Would you choose to die, when you could live and continue to serve the Tower?”

  The Green sister and the Blue exchanged glances, then realized what they had done and snapped back to ignoring one another. Neither answered, but Egwene could almost see the thoughts churning behind their eyes. After a few moments, she got up and set the stool back upright. Even that failed to rouse them further than perfunctory apologies for making her see to that herself. Then they lapsed into silent reflection.

  She tried to return to the pages in Siuan’s folders—the stalemate at the Stone of Tear was dragging on, and no one admitted to any idea of how it would end—but not long after Romanda’s departure, Lelaine arrived.

  Unlike Romanda, the slender Blue Sitter was alone, and poured her own tea. Settling onto the empty stool, she tossed her fur-lined cloak back over both shoulders and let it hang from a silver cloak pin set with large sapphires. She wore her shawl, too; Sitters usually did. Lelaine was more direct than Romanda. Or so it might have seemed, on the surface. Her eyes held a sharp glitter.

  “Kairen’s death put another crimp in the chances of making any sort of agreement with the Black Tower,” she murmured over her teacup, inhaling the fumes. “And there’s poor Llyw to deal with. Perhaps Myrelle will take him. Two of her three belonged to someone else first. No one else has ever saved two Warders whose Aes Sedai died.”

  Egwene was not the only one to hear special emphasis in that. Myrelle’s face definitely paled. She had two secrets to hide, and one was that she had four Warders. The passing of Lan Mandragoran’s bond from Moiraine to her had been something not done in hundreds of years. Today, it was looked upon like bonding a man against his will. Something not done in even more hundreds of years. “Three is enough for me,” she said breathlessly. “If you will excuse me, Mother?”

  Maigan laughed softly as Myrelle left the tent walking fast. Not so fast that she failed to embrace saidar before the entry flaps fell, though.

  “Of course,” Lelaine said, exchanging amused looks with the other Blue, “they say she marries her Warders. All of them. Perhaps poor Llyw won’t do for a husband.”

  “He is as wide as a horse,” Maigan put in. Despite her amusement over Myrelle’s flight, there was no maliciousness in her voice. She was simply stating a fact. Llyw was a very large man. “I think I know a young Blue who might take him. She isn’t interested in men that way.”

  Lelaine nodded in a way that said the young Blue had found her Warder. “Greens can be very odd. Take Elayne Trakand, for example. Actually, I never thought Elayne would choose Green. I had her marked out for the Blue. The girl has a deft feel for the currents in politics. Though she also has a tendency to wander into deeper water than might be safe. Wouldn’t you say so, Mother?” Smiling, she sipped at her tea.

  This was not at all like Romanda’s subtle feeling-out. This was slash and slash, with the blade appearing out of nowhere. Did Lelaine know about Myrelle and Lan? Had she sent someone to Caemlyn, and if so, how much had she learned? Egwene wondered whether Romanda had also felt off-balance and dazed.

  “Do you think Kairen’s murder is enough to stop an agreement?” she said. “For all anyone knows, this could be Logain returning for some mad revenge.” Why in the Light had she said that? She needed to put a rein on her tongue and keep her wits. “Or more likely, some poor fool from a farm around here, or one of the
bridge towns.” Lelaine’s smile deepened, and it was mocking, not amused. Light, the woman had not shown this much disrespect in months.

  “If Logain wanted revenge, Mother, I suspect he would be in the White Tower trying to kill Reds.” Despite her smile, her voice was smooth and level. A disturbing contrast. Perhaps that was her intention. “Perhaps it’s a pity he isn’t doing that. He might remove Elaida. But that would be easier than she deserves. No, Kairen won’t stop an agreement any more than Anaiya did, but the two combined will make sisters worry even harder about safeguards and strictures. We may need these men, but we must be certain we are in control. Complete control.”

  Egwene nodded. A small nod. She agreed, but . . . “There might be difficulties bringing them to accept that,” she said. Difficulties. She was displaying a positive talent for understatement today.

  “The Warder bond could be modified slightly,” Maigan said. “As it is, you can make the man do as you wish with a little tweaking, but the need to tweak could be removed quite easily.”

  “That sounds too much like Compulsion,” Egwene said firmly. She had learned that weave from Moghedien, but only to work on how to counter it. The thing was filth, the theft of another person’s will, of their whole being. Someone who was Compelled did anything you ordered. Anything. And believed it was their own choice. Just thinking about it made her feel dirty.

  Maigan met her gaze almost as levelly as Lelaine had, though, and her voice was as smooth as her face. She had no thoughts of filth. “Compulsion was used on sisters in Cairhien. That seems certain, now. But I was talking about the bond, a different thing entirely.”

  “You think you can talk the Asha’man into accepting the bond?” Egwene could not keep the incredulity out of her voice. “Aside from that, who is going to do this bonding? Even if every sister who doesn’t have a Warder took an Asha’man, and every Green took two or three, there aren’t enough sisters. That’s if you can find one who doesn’t mind being bonded to a man who is going to go mad.”