Shadow Rising, The

by Jordan, Robert

  Once she saw Liandrin, with her pale honey braids, and Rianna, with that white streak in her black hair, hurrying down a flight of broad marble stairs; she could not see the glow of saidar around them, but from the way servants cried out and leaped from their path, they were whipping a way clear for themselves with the Power. It made her glad she had not tried to cling to the Source herself; they would have picked her out of the throng in an instant by the glow, and until she had some rest, she was not up to facing either of them, much less both. She had what she had come for. They had to wait.

  The crowd thinned and disappeared by the time she reached the narrow hall on the west side of the palace that was the meeting place. The others were waiting for her beside a small, bronze-studded door fastened with a large iron lock. Including Amathera, standing very straight, wearing a light linen cloak with the hood up. The Panarch’s white dress might pass for serving-woman garb if you did not look closely enough to see it was silk, and the veil that did not hide her face was certainly servant’s linen. The sound of shouts came muffled through the door. Apparently the riot was still going on. Now if only the men were doing the rest of their part.

  Ignoring Egeanin, Nynaeve threw her arms around Elayne in a quick hug. “I was so worried. Did you have any trouble?”

  “Not a bit,” Elayne replied. Egeanin shifted slightly, and the younger woman gave her a meaningful look, then added, “Amathera did cause a little problem, but we sorted it out.”

  Nynaeve frowned. “Trouble? Why would she give trouble? Why would you give trouble?” That last was for the Panarch, who held her head high, refusing to look at anyone. Elayne seemed as reluctant.

  It was the Seanchan woman who answered. “She tried to sneak off to rouse her soldiers to harry the Darkfriends out. After she had been warned.” Nynaeve refused to look at her.

  “Do not scowl so, Nynaeve,” Elayne said. “I chased her down quickly, and we had a little talk. I think she is in perfect agreement with me now.”

  The Panarch’s cheek twitched. “I am in agreement, Aes Sedai,” she said hastily. “I will do exactly as you say, and I will provide papers that should make even the rebels let you pass unhindered. There is no need for more … talking.”

  Elayne nodded as if all of that made sense, motioning for the woman to be quiet. Whereupon the Panarch obediently closed her mouth. A trifle sullenly, but perhaps that was just the shape of her mouth. Clearly there had been some very odd goings on, and Nynaeve intended to find the bottom of them. Later. The narrow hallway was still empty in both directions, but panicked shouts still echoed from deeper in the palace. The mob rumbled beyond the small door.

  “But what of you?” Elayne went on with a frown. “You were supposed to be here half an hour ago. Did you cause all of this? I felt two women channeling enough of the Power to shake the palace down, and then a bit later someone did try to shake it down. I thought it must be you. I had to restrain Egeanin from going to find you.”

  Egeanin? Nynaeve hesitated, then made herself touch the Seanchan woman’s shoulder. “Thank you.” Egeanin looked as though she did not quite understand herself what she had done, but she gave a quick nod. “Moghedien found me, and because I was worrying about how to bring her out for trial, Jeaine Caide nearly took my head off with balefire.” Elayne gave a small squeak, and she hurried to reassure her. “It didn’t really come close to me.”

  “You captured Moghedien? You captured one of the Forsaken?”

  “Yes, but she got away.” There. She had admitted everything. Conscious of all their eyes on her, she shifted uncomfortably. She did not like being in the wrong. She especially did not like being in the wrong when it was she who had pointed out that it was wrong in the first place. “Elayne, I know what I said about being careful, but once I had her in my hands, it seemed all I could think of was bringing her to trial.” Taking a deep breath, Nynaeve made her voice apologetic. She hated doing that. Where were those fool men? “I endangered everything because I didn’t keep my mind on what we were about, but please don’t scold me.”

  “I won’t,” Elayne said firmly. “So long as you remember to be careful in the future.” Egeanin cleared her throat. “Oh, yes,” Elayne added hastily. The waiting seemed to be getting to her; there were spots of color in her cheeks. “Did you find the collar, and the seal?”

  “I have them.” She patted her pouch. The shouting outside seemed to be getting louder. And the shouts echoing down the halls were, too. Liandrin must be turning the palace upside down to find out what had happened. “What is keeping those men?”

  “My Legion,” Amathera began. Elayne looked at her, and she snapped her mouth shut. Whatever talk they had had must have been something. The Panarch was pouting like a girl afraid of being sent to bed without supper.

  Nynaeve glanced at Egeanin. The Seanchan woman was watching the door intently. She had wanted to come after her. Why won’t she let me hate her? Am I so different from her?

  Suddenly the door swung open. Juilin pulled two thin bent metal rods out of the lock and straightened from a crouch. Blood ran down the side of his face. “Hurry. We must be away from here before it gets out of hand.”

  Staring past him wide-eyed, Nynaeve wondered what he considered out of hand. Bayle Domon’s sailors, at least three hundred of them, formed a semicircle two deep about the door, Domon himself waving a cudgel, shouting to encourage them. He had to shout for the roar that filled the wide street. Men jostled and struggled and shouted in a seething mass, barely held back by the sailors’ clubs and staffs. Not that they were really interested in the sailors. Scattered through the crowd, clumps of mounted Whitecloaks swung their swords at men crowding them with pitchforks and barrel staves and bare hands. Showers of stones fell around them, sometimes banging off a helmet, but silently in the uproar. A lone Whitecloak’s horse suddenly screamed and reared, and toppled over backward; it scrambled to its feet quickly, minus its rider. Other riderless animals dotted the mass of men. Was this what they had set off just to cover themselves? She tried reminding herself why—put her hand on her pouch to feel the cuendillar seal, the collar and bracelets—but it was hard. Men were dying out there, surely.

  “Will you women move?” Thom called, waving for them to come out. He had a bleeding gash over one bushy eyebrow, perhaps from a stone, and his brown cloak would not even do for the ragbag now. “If the Panarch’s Legion ever stops running, this could grow messy.”

  Amathera made a startled sound, just before Elayne pushed her firmly out. Nynaeve and Egeanin followed, and as soon as all four women were out, the sailors folded in around them in a tight ring that began struggling away from the palace. It was all Nynaeve could do to keep her feet, jostled by the men who were trying to protect her. Once Egeanin slipped and nearly fell. Nynaeve caught her arm, helped her back up, and got a grateful grin. We are not so different, she thought. Not the same, but not all that different. She did not have to make herself smile encouragingly at the Seanchan woman.

  The milling mass lasted several streets away from the palace, but once they broke clear the narrow twisting ways were almost empty. Those who were not actually involved in the riot seemed wise enough to stay clear of it. The sailors spread out a little, giving the women more room. Any straggler who looked in their direction got hard stares, though. The streets of Tanchico were still the streets of Tanchico. Somehow that surprised Nynaeve. It seemed that she had been weeks inside the palace. Surely the city should be different.

  When the babble began to fade behind them, Thom managed a quite elegant bow to Amathera as he limped along. “An honor, Panarch,” he said. “If I may be of any service, you have only to speak.”

  Shockingly, Amathera glanced at Elayne, grimaced slightly, and said, “You mistake me, good sir. I am only a poor refugee from the countryside, rescued by these good women.”

  Thom exchanged startled looks with Juilin and Domon, but when he opened his mouth, Elayne said, “Could we get on to the inn, Thom? This is hardly the place for con
versation.”

  When they reached the Three Plum Court, it was scarcely less surprising to hear Elayne introduce the Panarch to Rendra as Thera, a refugee with no money who needed a pallet, and maybe some work to earn her meals. The innkeeper shrugged resignedly, but as she led “Thera” away to the kitchens she was already telling the woman what lovely hair she had and how pretty she would look in the right dress.

  Nynaeve waited until the rest of them were in the Chamber of Falling Blossoms with the door closed before saying, “Thera? And she went along! Elayne, Rendra will have the woman serving at table in the common room!”

  Elayne did not seem surprised. “Yes, very likely.” Sinking into a chair with a sigh, she kicked off her slippers and began massaging her feet vigorously. “It was not difficult to convince Amathera she should stay in hiding for a few days. It really isn’t that far from ‘The Panarch is dead’ to ‘Death to the Panarch.’ I think seeing the riot helped, too. She doesn’t want to depend on Andric to put her back on her throne; she wants her own soldiers to do it, even if it means hiding until she can get in touch with the Lord Captain of the Legion. I believe Andric is in for a surprise with her. It is too bad he doesn’t surprise her. She deserves it.” Domon and Juilin exchanged glances, shook their heads uncomprehendingly. Egeanin nodded to herself as if she, at least, understood, and approved.

  “But why?” Nynaeve demanded. “You may have been upset because she sneaked off on her own, but this? How did she manage that anyway, with two of you watching her?” Egeanin’s eyes flickered toward Elayne, so quickly Nynaeve was not sure she had really seen it.

  Elayne bent to rub the sole of one foot. It must have hurt; there was red in her cheeks. “Nynaeve, the woman has no idea what the lives of the common people are like.” As if she did! “She does seem to have a true concern for justice—I think she does—yet it did not bother her at all that there was enough food in the palace for a year. I mentioned the soup kitchens, and she did not know what I was talking about! A few days working for her supper will do her good.” Stretching her legs under the table, she worked her bare toes. “Oh, that does feel good. Not that she’ll have many, I suppose. Not if she is to rally the Panarch’s Legion to pry Liandrin and the others out of the palace. A pity, but there it is.”

  “Well, she has to,” Nynaeve told her firmly. It was good to sit down, though she could not understand the girl’s concern with her feet. They had hardly walked at all today. “And the sooner the better. We need the Panarch, and not in Rendra’s kitchen.” She did not think there was any need to worry about Moghedien. That woman had had every opportunity to come into the open, after she had freed herself. That still puzzled her; she must have been careless in tying off the shield. But if Moghedien had been unwilling to face her then, when she must have known Nynaeve was nearly exhausted, she could not think the woman would come after them. Not for something she seemed to think was not worth very much. The same did not apply to Liandrin, however. If Liandrin figured out half of what had happened, she would be hunting them.

  “The justice of the Daughter-Heir,” Thom murmured, “may yet supersede the justice of the Panarch. There were men streaming in through that door as we left, and I think some had already got in the front. I saw smoke coming out of several windows. By tonight, little more than a fire-gutted ruin will remain. No need for soldiers to chase the Black Ajah, and thus ‘Thera’ can have her few days to learn the lesson you want to teach. You will make a fine queen one day, Elayne of Andor.”

  Elayne’s pleased smile faded as she looked at him. Rising to pad around the table, she rummaged in his coat pockets for a kerchief and began dabbing blood from his forehead despite his protests. “Hold still,” she told him, sounding for all the world like a mother tending an unruly child.

  “Could we at least see what we risked our necks for?” he said when it became clear Elayne was going to do exactly as she wished.

  Opening her belt pouch, Nynaeve laid the contents out on the table, the black-and-white disc that helped hold the Dark One’s prison shut, the collar and bracelets that sent ripples of sorrow through her before she could lay them down. Everyone gathered close to stare.

  Domon fingered the seal. “I did own a thing like this once.”

  Nynaeve doubted it. Only seven had been made. Three were broken now, cuendillar or no. Another was in Moiraine’s hands. Four surviving. How well could four keep that prison at Shayol Ghul locked? A shivery thought.

  Egeanin touched the collar, pushed the bracelets away from the collar. If she felt the emotions trapped in them, she did not show it. Perhaps that sensitivity came only with the ability to channel. “It is not an a’dam,” the Seanchan woman said. “That is made of a silvery metal, and all of one piece.”

  Nynaeve wished she had not mentioned a’dam. But she never wore the bracelet of one. And she did let that poor woman she told us about go. Poor woman. She—this Bethamin—was the one who controlled women with an a’dam. Egeanin had showed more mercy than Nynaeve would have. “It is as least as much like an a’dam as you and I are alike, Egeanin.” The woman looked startled, but after a moment she nodded. Not so different. Two women, each doing the best she could.

  “Do you mean to keep on pursuing Liandrin?” Juilin seated himself, arms folded on the table, studying the things there. “Whether or not she is chased out of Tanchico, she is still out there. And the others. But these seem too important to leave lying about. I am only a thief-catcher, but I would say these must be taken to the White Tower for safekeeping.”

  “No!” Nynaeve was startled at her own vehemence. So were the others, by the way they stared at her. Slowly she picked up the seal and replaced it in her pouch. “This goes to the Tower. But that … .” She did not want to touch the black things again. If those were in the Tower, Aes Sedai might decide to use them just as the Black Ajah had intended to. To control Rand. Would Moiraine? Siuan Sanche? She would not take the chance. “That is too dangerous to risk it ever falling back into the hands of Darkfriends. Elayne, can you destroy them? Melt them. I don’t care if they burn through the table. Just destroy them!”

  “I see what you mean,” Elayne said with a grimace. Nynaeve doubted she did—Elayne believed in the Tower wholeheartedly—but she believed in Rand, too.

  Nynaeve could not see the glow of saidar, of course, but the intent way the girl stared at the vile objects told her she was channeling. The bracelets and necklace lay there. Elayne frowned; her stare became more intent. Abruptly she shook her head. Her hand poised hesitantly for a moment, close to one of the bracelets, before picking it up. And dropped it again, with a gasp. “It feels … . It’s full of … .” Drawing a deep breath, she said, “I did what you asked, Nynaeve. A hammer would be burning a puddle for the Fire I wove into it, but it isn’t even warm.”

  So Moghedien had not lied. Doubtless she had thought there was no need, that she would surely win. How did the woman get loose? But what to do with the things? She was not going to let them fall into anyone’s hands.

  “Master Domon, do you know a very deep part of the sea?”

  “I do, Mistress al’Meara,” he said slowly.

  Gingerly, trying not to feel the emotions, Nynaeve shoved the collar and bracelets across the table to him. “Then drop these into it, where no one can ever fish them out again.”

  After a moment, he nodded. “I will.” He stuffed them into his coat pocket hurriedly, clearly disliking to touch something that must have to do with the Power. “In the deepest part of the sea I do know, near the Aile Somera.”

  Egeanin was frowning at the floor, no doubt thinking about the Illianer leaving. Nynaeve had not forgotten the woman calling him “a properly set-up man.” She herself felt like laughing. It was all but done. As soon as Domon could sail, the hateful collar and bracelets would be gone forever. They could leave for Tar Valon. And then … . Then back to Tear, or wherever al’Lan Mandragoran was. Facing Moghedien, realizing how close she had been to being killed or worse, only made her ur
gency to deal with him greater. A man she had to share with a woman she hated, but if Egeanin could look fondly on a man she once took prisoner—and Domon was certainly eyeing her with interest—and if Elayne could love a man who would go mad, then she could puzzle out some way to enjoy what she could have of Lan.

  “Shall we go downstairs and see how ‘Thera’ is taking to being a servant?” she suggested. Soon for Tar Valon. Soon.

  CHAPTER 56

  Goldeneyes

  The common room of the Winespring Inn was silent but for the scratch of Perrin’s pen. Silent, and empty but for him and Aram. Late-morning light made small pools beneath the windows. No cooking smells came from the kitchen; there were no fires lit anywhere in the village, and even coals banked in ashes had been doused. No point in giving the gift of fire easy to hand. The Tinker—he sometimes wondered whether it was proper to think of Aram that way any longer, but a man could not stop being what he was, sword or no—stood against the wall by the front door, watching Perrin. What did the man expect? What did he want? Dipping his pen in the small stone ink jar, Perrin set aside the third sheet of paper and began a fourth.

  Pushing through the door, bow in hand, Ban al’Seen rubbed an uneasy finger up and down his big nose. “The Aiel are back,” he said quietly, but his feet moved as if he could not make them be still. “Trollocs coming, from north and south. Thousands of them, Lord Perrin.”

  “Don’t call me that,” Perrin said absently, frowning at the page. He had no way with words. He certainly did not know how to say things in the fancy way women liked. All he could was write what he felt. Dipping the pen again, he added a few lines.

  I will not ask your forgiveness for what I did. I do not know if you could give it, but I will not ask. You are more precious to me than life. Never think I have abandoned you. When the sun shines on you, it is my smile. When you hear the breeze stir through the apple blossoms, it is my whisper that I love you. My love is yours forever.