The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  “Proper deference,” he said thoughtfully. With a sigh, he shook his head ruefully, scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I suppose I can’t talk to an Aes Sedai the same way I do to some lord who’s been plotting behind my back. It’s good advice, Egwene. I’ll try. I will be humble as a mouse.”

  Trying not to look hurried, she rubbed at her face again with the handkerchief to hide her goggling. She was not really sure her eyes were popping, but she thought they must be. Her whole life, any time she pointed out that right was a better way, he stuck out his chin and insisted on left! Why did he have to choose now to listen?

  Was there anything to the good as matters stood? At least it could not hurt him to display some respect. Even if they followed Elaida, the idea of anyone showing impertinence to any Aes Sedai really did upset her. Only she wanted him to be impertinent, to be as arrogant as he had ever been. There was no point in trying to undo it, not how; he was not slow-witted. Only exasperating.

  “Was that all you came for?” he asked.

  She could not go yet. There might be a chance to put things right, or at least make sure he was not wool-headed enough to go to Tar Valon. “Do you know there’s a Sea Folk Wavemistress on a ship in the river? The White Spray.” That was as good a change of topic as any. “She came to see you, and I hear she is growing impatient.” That was from Gawyn. Erian had had herself rowed out to discover what Sea Folk were doing so far inland, and was refused permission to board. She had come back in a mood that would have been called a tail-lashing fury in any woman not Aes Sedai. Egwene more than suspected why they were here, but she was not about to tell Rand; for once let him meet somebody without expecting them to bow down.

  “The Atha’an Miere are everywhere, it seems.” Rand took a seat in one of the chairs; he looked amused for some reason, but she would swear it had nothing to do with the Sea Folk. “Berelain says I should meet this Harine din Togara Two Winds, but if her temper is anything like Berelain reports, she can wait. I have enough women angry with me for the moment.”

  That was almost an opening, but not quite. “I cannot understand why. You always have such a winning way about you.” Immediately she wished she had the words back; they only reinforced what she did not want him to do.

  Frowning, he seemed not to have heard her at all. “Egwene, I know you don’t like Berelain, but it hasn’t gone beyond that, has it? I mean, you make such a good job of playing at Aiel, I could imagine you offering to dance the spears with her. She was troubled about something, uneasy, but she wouldn’t say what.”

  Probably the woman had found a man who told her no; that would be enough to shake Berelain’s world to its foundations. “I’ve not said a dozen words to her since the Stone of Tear, and not many more then. Rand, you don’t think—”

  One of the doors opened just barely enough to admit Somara, who shut it again behind her quickly. “The Aes Sedai are here, Car’a’carn.”

  Rand’s head swiveled toward the door, his face stone. “They weren’t to come for another—! Thinking to catch me off guard, were they? They have to learn who sets the rules here.”

  Right then Egwene did not care if they were trying to catch him in his smallclothes. All thought of Berelain vanished. Somara made a small gesture that might have been commiseration. She did not care about that either. Rand could keep them from taking her, if she asked. All it meant was staying close to him from now on so they could not shield her and hustle her away the first time she put her nose into the street. All it meant was asking, putting herself under his protection. The choice between that and being hauled back to the Tower in a sack was so thin it made her stomach hurt. For one thing, she would never become Aes Sedai hiding behind him, and for another, the idea of hiding behind anyone set her teeth on edge. Only, they were here, right outside the door, and inside the hour she might be in that sack, or as good as. Deep slow breaths did nothing to steady her twitching nerves.

  “Rand, is there another way out of here? If there isn’t, I will hide in one of the other rooms. They mustn’t know I am here. Rand? Rand! Are you listening to me?”

  He spoke, but definitely not to her. “You are there,” he whispered hoarsely. “Too much coincidence for you to think of that now.” He was staring at nothing with a look of fury, and maybe fear. “Burn you, answer me! I know you’re there!”

  Egwene licked her lips before she could stop herself. Somara might be gazing at him with what could be described as fond motherly concern—and him not even noticing her joke—but Egwene’s stomach was turning over slowly. He could not have gone mad as suddenly as that. He could not have. But he had seemed to listen to some hidden voice just a little while ago, and maybe spoken to it then too.

  She did not remember crossing the intervening space, but abruptly her hand was pressed against his forehead. Nynaeve always said to check for fever first, though what good that would do now. . . . If only she knew more than a scrap of Healing. But that would do no good, either. Not if he was. . . . “Rand, are you . . . ? Are you feeling all right?”

  He came to himself, shying back from her hand, peering at her suspiciously. The next moment he was on his feet, gripping her arm, all but hauling her down the chamber so quickly she nearly tripped over her skirts trying to keep up. “Stand right there,” he ordered briskly, planting her beside the dais, and backed away.

  Rubbing her arm vigorously enough that he could not miss it, she started to follow. Men never realized how strong they were; even Gawyn did not always, though she did not really mind with him. “What do you think—?”

  “Don’t move!” In a disgusted tone he added, “Burn him, it seems it ripples if you move. I’ll fasten it to the floor, but you still can’t jump about. I don’t know how big I can make it, and this is no time to find out.” Somara’s mouth had fallen open, though she snapped it shut quickly.

  Fasten what to the floor? What was he talking—? It came to her so suddenly that she forgot to wonder who the “him” was. Rand had woven saidin around her. Her eyes widened; she was breathing too quickly, but she could not stop. How close was it? Every shred of reason told her the taint could not seep out of whatever he channeled; he had touched her with saidin before, but if anything, that thought only made it worse. Instinctively she narrowed her shoulders and held her skirts close in front of her.

  “What—? What did you do?” She was very proud of her voice, a trifle unsteady maybe, but nothing like the wail she wanted to let out.

  “Look in that mirror,” he laughed. Laughed!

  Grumpily she obeyed—and gasped. There in the silvered glass was the gilded chair on its dais. Some of the rest of the room. But not her. “I’m . . . invisible,” she breathed. Once Moiraine had hidden them all behind a screen of saidar, but how had he learned it?

  “Much better than hiding under my bed,” he said, speaking to air a good hand to the right of her head. As if that had ever entered her mind! “I want you to see how respectful I can be. Besides,” his tone became more serious, “maybe you’ll see something I miss. Maybe you’ll even be willing to tell me.” With a bark of a laugh he leaped onto the dais, scooped up the tasseled spearhead and took his seat. “Send them in, Somara. Let the embassy of the White Tower approach the Dragon Reborn.” His twisted smile made Egwene almost as uncomfortable as the nearness of woven saidin. How close was the bloody stuff?

  Somara vanished, and in moments the doors opened wide.

  A plump, stately woman who could only be Coiren led the way in a dark blue gown, flanked a pace to the rear by Nesune in plain brown wool and a raven-haired Aes Sedai in green silk, a pretty, round-faced woman with a plump, demanding mouth. Egwene wished Aes Sedai always wore the colors of their Ajah—Whites did at every chance—because whatever that woman was, she would not believe her Green, not with the hard stare she gave Rand from her first step into the room. Cold serenity barely masked her contempt, perhaps did mask it for anyone not used to Aes Sedai. Would Rand see? Maybe not; he seemed to be concentrating on Coiren, whos
e face was completely unreadable. Nesune, of course, took in everything, birdlike eyes darting this way and that.

  Right then, Egwene was very glad of the cloak he had woven for her. She started to dab at her face with the handkerchief she still held, then froze. He said he would fix it to the floor. Had he? Light, she might be standing there naked for all she knew. Except that Nesune’s gaze swept past without pausing. Sweat rolled down Egwene’s face. It poured. Burn the man! She would have been perfectly happy hiding under his bed.

  Behind the Aes Sedai came a full dozen more women, plainly dressed, with coarse linen dustcloaks hanging down their backs. Most were stocky, but they labored under the weight of two chests, not small, the polished brass strapping worked with the Flame of Tar Valon. The serving women set the chests down with audible sighs of relief, furtively working arms and knuckling backs as the doors swung shut, and Coiren and the other two sank into curtsies in perfect unison, though not very deeply.

  Rand was down out of the chair before they straightened. The glow of saidar surrounded the Aes Sedai, all three together; they had linked. Egwene tried to remember what she had seen, how they did it; despite the glow, nothing ruffled their outward calm as Rand strode by them to the serving women and peered into each face in turn.

  What was he—? Of course; making sure none had the ageless face of an Aes Sedai. Egwene shook her head, then froze again. He was a fool if he thought that enough. Most wore too much age—not all old by any means, but you could put an age to them—yet two were young enough to be Aes Sedai not long raised. They were not—Egwene could only sense the ability in the three Aes Sedai, and she was close enough—but he certainly could not tell by looking.

  Tipping up one solid young woman’s chin, he smiled into her eyes. “Do not be afraid,” he said softly. She swayed as if she might faint. With a sigh, Rand spun on his heel. He did not look at the Aes Sedai as he passed them. “You will not channel around me,” he said firmly. “Let it go.” A brief look of speculation crossed Nesune’s face, but the other two serenely watched him take his seat. Rubbing his arm—Egwene had been there when he learned that tingle—he spoke in a harder tone. “I said you will not channel around me. Or even embrace saidar.”

  A stretched-out moment, while Egwene prayed silently. What would he do if they held on to the Source? Try to cut them off? Cutting a woman off from saidar once she embraced it was far harder than shielding her beforehand. She was not certain even he could manage it with three women, and linked to boot. Worse, what would they do if he tried anything at all? The glow vanished, and she barely stopped a heavy sigh of relief. Whatever he had done made her invisible, but plainly it did not stop sound.

  “Much better.” Rand’s smile took them all in, but it never reached his eyes. “Let us begin again from the beginning. You are honored guests, you only entered this very moment.”

  They understood, of course. He had not been guessing. Coiren stiffened slightly, and the raven-haired woman’s eyes actually widened. Nesune merely nodded to herself, adding to her mental notes. Egwene hoped desperately that he would be careful. Nesune would not miss anything.

  With a visible effort Coiren gathered herself, smoothing her dress and very nearly adjusting the shawl she was not wearing. “I have the honor,” she announced in ringing tones, “to be Coiren Saeldain Aes Sedai, Ambassador from the White Tower and emissary of Elaida do Avriny a’Roihan, the Watcher of the Seals, the Flame of Tar Valon, the Amyrlin Seat.” Somewhat less florid introductions, though with the full honorific Aes Sedai, named the other two; the hard-eyed woman was Galina Casban.

  “I am Rand al’Thor.” The simplicity was a marked contrast. They had not mentioned the Dragon Reborn and neither had he, but somehow his leaving it out seemed to make the title whisper faintly in the room.

  Coiren drew a deep breath, moved her head as if hearing that whisper. “We bring a gracious invitation to the Dragon Reborn. The Amyrlin Seat is fully cognizant that signs have been given and prophecies fulfilled, that. . . .” Those deep round tones took little time to reach the point, that Rand should accompany them, “in all honor as deserved,” to the White Tower, and that if he accepted this invitation, Elaida offered not only the protection of the Tower, but the full weight of its authority and influence behind him. Another goodly bit of flowery speech flowed before she finished with, “. . . and in token of this, the Amyrlin Seat sends this trifling gift.”

  She turned toward the chests, raising her hand, then hesitated with the faintest grimace. She had to gesture twice before the servants understood and lifted the brass-strapped lids; apparently she had planned to fling them open with saidar. Leather sacks filled the chests. At another, sharper, gesture, the serving women began untying them.

  Egwene swallowed a gasp. No wonder those women had struggled! The opened sacks spilled gold coins of every size, sparkling rings and glittering necklaces and unset gems. Even if those below held dross, it was a fortune.

  Leaning back in that thronelike chair, Rand looked at the chests with a near smile. The Aes Sedai studied him, faces masks of composure, yet Egwene thought she detected a hint of complacency in Coiren’s eyes, a faint increase of contempt on Galina’s full lips. Nesune. . . . Nesune was the real danger.

  Abruptly the lids snapped down without a hand touching them, and the serving women leaped back, not bothering to muffle their squeals. The Aes Sedai stiffened, and Egwene prayed as hard as she sweated. She wanted him arrogant and a touch insolent, but just enough to put their backs up, not to the point of making them decide to try gentling him on the spot.

  Suddenly it occurred to her that so far he had shown nothing of that “humble as a mouse.” He had never intended to. The man had been toying with her! If she were not too frightened to be sure of her knees, she would go over and box his ears.

  “A great deal of gold,” Rand said. He seemed relaxed, his smile taking in his whole face. “I can always find a use for gold.” Egwene blinked. He sounded almost greedy!

  Coiren answered with a smile of her own, a definite picture of poised self-satisfaction now. “The Amyrlin Seat is, of course, most generous. When you reach the White Tower—”

  “When I reach the Tower,” Rand cut in as though thinking aloud. “Yes, I look forward to the day I stand in the Tower.” He leaned forward, elbow on his knee and Dragon Scepter dangling. “It will take a little time, you understand. I have commitments to meet first, here, in Andor, elsewhere.”

  Coiren’s mouth tightened for just an instant. Her voice remained as smooth and round as ever, though. “We surely have no objections to resting a few days before we begin the return journey to Tar Valon. In the meanwhile, may I suggest that one of us remain close at hand, to offer advice should you wish it? We have, of course, heard of Moiraine’s unfortunate demise. I cannot offer myself, but Nesune or Galina would be most willing.”

  Rand studied the named pair with a frown, and Egwene held her breath. He seemed to be listening to something again, or listening for something. Nesune examined him in return as openly as he did her. Galina’s fingers stroked her skirts unconsciously.

  “No,” he said at last, sitting back with his arms on the arms of the chair. He made it look even more a throne than before. “It might not be safe. I would not like one of you to take a spear through your ribs by accident.” Coiren opened her mouth, but he rode over her. “For your own safety, none of you should come closer to me than a mile without permission. Best if you stay that far from the Palace without permission, too. You will know when I’m ready to go with you. I promise that.” Abruptly he was on his feet. Atop the dais he stood tall enough that the Aes Sedai had to crane their necks, and it was plain none of them liked it any more than they liked his restrictions. Three faces carved in stone stared up at him. “I will let you go back to your resting now. The quicker I can see to certain things, the quicker I can go to the Tower. I will send word when I can see you again.”

  They were not pleased at so sudden a dismissal, or likely at any di
smissal—Aes Sedai were the ones who said when an audience was done—yet there was little they could do except make their minimal curtsies, disgruntlement nearly breaking through Aes Sedai calm.

  As they turned to go, Rand spoke again, casually. “I forgot to ask. How is Alviarin?”

  “She is well.” Galina’s mouth hung open for a moment, her eyes widening. She appeared startled to have spoken.

  Coiren hesitated on the brink of using the opening to say more, but Rand stood impatiently, all but tapping his foot. When they were gone, he stepped down, hefting that spearhead and staring at the doors that had closed behind them.

  Egwene wasted not a moment striding toward him. “What game are you playing at, Rand al’Thor?” She had taken half a dozen steps before a glimpse of her reflection in the mirrors made her realize she had walked right through his weave of saidin. At least she had not known when it touched her. “Well?”

  “She’s one of Alviarin’s,” he said thoughtfully. “Galina. She is one of Alviarin’s friends. I’d bet on it.”

  Planting herself in front of him, she sniffed. “You’d lose your coin and stick yourself in the foot with a pitchfork, too. Galina is a Red, or I never saw one.”

  “Because she doesn’t like me?” He was looking at her now, and she almost wished he was not. “Because she’s afraid of me?” He was not grimacing or glaring, or even staring particularly hard, yet his eyes seemed to know things she did not. She hated that. His smile came so suddenly she blinked. “Egwene, do you expect me to believe you can tell a woman’s Ajah by her face?”

  “No, but—”

  “Anyway, even Reds might end following me. They know the Prophecies as well as anybody else. ‘The unstained tower breaks and bends knee to the forgotten sign.’ Written before there was a White Tower, but what else could ‘the unstained tower’ be? And the forgotten sign? My banner, Egwene, with the ancient symbol of Aes Sedai.”