The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  They were seated on upended kegs in the scant shade of a two-story house, smoking their pipes, and the lanky old gleeman seemed more interested in staring at the letter Rand had sent on to him. Now he stuffed it into his coat pocket with the blue-wax seal yet unbroken. The buzz of voices and squeak of axles from the street at the end of the alley seemed distant. Sweat dripped from both their faces. At least one thing was taken care of for the moment. Mat had come out of the Little Tower to find that a group of Aes Sedai had hauled Aviendha away somewhere; she would not be sticking a knife in anybody any time soon.

  Thom took his pipe from his mouth. It was a long-stemmed thing, carved all over with oak leaves and acorns. “I once tried to rescue a woman, Mat. Laritha was a rose in bud, and married to a glowering brute of a bootmaker in a village where I broke my journey for a few days. A brute. He shouted at her if dinner wasn’t ready when he wanted to sit down, and took a switch to her if he saw her say more than two words to another man.”

  “Thom, what in the Pit of Doom does this have to do with making those fool women see sense?”

  “Just listen, boy. How he treated her was common knowledge in the village, but Laritha told me herself, all the while moaning over how she wished someone would rescue her. I had gold in my purse and a fine coach, a driver and a manservant. I was young and good-looking.” Thom knuckled his white mustaches and sighed; it was hard to believe that leathery face had ever been good-looking. Mat blinked. A coach? When had a gleeman ever had a coach? “Mat, the woman’s plight wrung my heart. And I won’t deny her face tugged at it, too. As I said, I was young; I thought I was in love, a hero out of the stories. So one day, sitting beneath a flowering apple tree—well away from the bootmaker’s house—I offered to take her away. I’d give her a maid and a house of her own, and court her with songs and verse. When she finally understood, she kicked me in the knee so hard I limped for a month, and hit me with the bench besides.”

  “They all seem to like kicking,” Mat muttered, shifting his weight on the keg. “I suppose she didn’t believe you, and who can blame her?”

  “Oh, she believed. And was outraged that I thought she would ever leave her beloved husband. Her word; beloved. She ran back to the man as fast as her feet would go, and I had the choice of killing him or leaping into my coach. I had to leave behind almost every stitch I owned. I expect she’s still living with him much as before. Holding the purse strings tight in her fist and cracking his head open with whatever lies to hand every time he stops into the inn for an ale. As she always had, so I learned later from a few discreet inquiries.” He stuck the pipe back between his teeth as if he had made a point.

  Mat scratched his head. “I don’t see what that has to do with this.”

  “Just that you shouldn’t think you know the whole story when you’ve heard part. For instance, do you know Elayne and Nynaeve will be leaving for Ebou Dar in a day or so? Juilin and I are to go along.”

  “Ebou . . . !” Mat barely caught his pipe before it fell into the dead weeds that carpeted the alley. Nalesean had told some stories about a visit to Ebou Dar, and even counting in the way he exaggerated when it came to women he had known and fights he had been in, the place sounded rough. So they thought they could slip Elayne away from him, did they? “Thom, you have to help me—”

  “What?” Thom broke in. “Steal them away from the bootmaker?” He blew up a streamer of blue smoke. “I won’t do that, boy. You still don’t know the whole story. How do you feel about Egwene and Nynaeve? On second thought, make that just Egwene.”

  Mat frowned, wondering whether the man thought he could fuddle everything up by going around in circles long enough. “I like Egwene. I. . . . Burn me, Thom, she’s Egwene; that’s saying enough right there. That’s why I am trying to save her fool neck for her.”

  “Save her from her bootmaker, you mean,” Thom murmured, but Mat went right on.

  “Her neck and Elayne’s as well; even Nynaeve’s, if I can stop from throttling her myself. Light! I only want to help them. Besides, Rand will break my neck if I let anything happen to Elayne.”

  “Have you ever thought of helping them do what they want instead of what you want? If I did what I wanted, I’d have Elayne on a horse and riding to Andor. She needs to do other things—needs to, I think—so I trot around after her, sweating day and night that somebody will manage to kill her before I can prevent it. She will go to Caemlyn when she’s ready.” He sucked at his pipe complacently, but there was a slight edge to his voice at the end, as if he did not like his words even as much as he pretended.

  “It seems to me they want to hand their heads to Elaida.” So Thom would have that silly wench on a horse, would he? A gleeman hauling the Daughter-Heir off to be crowned! He did have a grand sense of himself, Thom did.

  “You aren’t a fool, Mat,” Thom said quietly. “You know better. Egwene. . . . It’s hard to think of that child as Amyrlin . . .” Mat grunted sourly in agreement; Thom paid him no mind. “. . . yet I believe she has the backbone for it. It’s too early to say whether a few things are just happenstance, but I’m beginning to believe she may have the brains as well. The question is, is she tough enough? If she lacks that, they will eat her alive—backbone, brains and all.”

  “Who will? Elaida?”

  “Oh, her. If she has the chance; that one lacks nothing for toughness. But the Aes Sedai right here hardly think of Egwene as Aes Sedai; Amyrlin maybe, but not Aes Sedai, hard as that is to believe.” Thom shook his head. “I don’t understand, but it’s true. The same for Elayne and Nynaeve. They try to keep it among themselves, but even Aes Sedai don’t hide as much as they think, if you watch close and keep your wits about you.” He pulled out that letter again, just turning it over in his hands without looking at it. “Egwene is walking the edge of a precipice, Mat, and three factions right here in Salidar—three that I’m sure of—might push her over if she makes one wrong step. Elayne will follow if that happens, and Nynaeve. Or maybe they’ll push them over first to pull her down.”

  “Right here in Salidar,” Mat said, flat as a planed board. Thom nodded calmly, and Mat could not stop his voice from rising. “And you want me to leave them here?”

  “I want you to stop thinking you’re going to make them do anything. They’ve decided what they are going to do, and you can’t change it. But maybe—just maybe—you can help me keep them alive.”

  Mat jumped to his feet. In his head was an image of a woman with a knife stuck between her breasts; not one of the borrowed memories. He kicked the keg he had been sitting on, sending it rolling along the alley. Help a gleeman keep them alive? A faint memory stirred, something about Basel Gill, an innkeeper in Caemlyn, saying something about Thom, but it was like mist, gone as soon as he tried to hold it. “Who’s the letter from, Thom? Another woman you rescued? Or did you leave her where she could get her head cut off?”

  “I left her,” Thom said softly. Rising, he walked away without another word.

  Mat half reached out to stop him, started to speak. Only he could not think of what to say. Crazy old man! No, he was not crazy. Egwene was mule stubborn, and Nynaeve made her look biddable. Worse, either would climb a tree to see the lightning better. As for Elayne, noblewomen never had enough sense to come in out of the rain. And then they were indignant when they got wet.

  Tapping out his pipe, he crushed the embers under heel before the dry weeds could catch, then caught up his hat from the ground and limped out to the street. He needed information from a better source than a gleeman who had delusions of grandeur from running around with that stuck-up chit of a Daughter-Heir. Down to his left he saw Nynaeve coming out of the Little Tower and started toward her, winding between loaded carts drawn by oxen or horses. She could tell him what he needed to know. If she would. His hip gave him a twinge. Burn me, she owes me a few answers.

  Just then Nynaeve caught sight of him and stiffened visibly. For a moment she watched him approach, then abruptly hurried off in the other direction,
plainly trying to avoid him. She looked over her shoulder twice before people and carts hid her.

  He stopped, scowling, and pulled his hat low. First the woman kicked him for no reason; now she would not talk to him. They meant to let him stew, her and Egwene, until he would trot off meekly when they pointed a finger. Well, they chose the wrong man for their game, burn their hides!

  Vanin and the others were outside a stable beside a stone building that had surely been an inn once. Aes Sedai streamed in and out of it now. Pips and the rest of their horses were tied to a hitching rail, and Vanin and the two scouts who had been captured were squatting against the wall. Mar and Ladwin were as different as men could be, one tall, lanky and rough-faced, the other short, stocky and mild-seeming, but both looked plain embarrassed when Mat walked up. Neither had gotten over the ease of his capture. The two squadmen stood stiffly, still holding the banners tight against their staffs as if there was any point to it now. They looked more than a little apprehensive. A battle was one thing; all these Aes Sedai were quite another. A man had a chance in battle. There were two Warders watching them. Not openly, and from across the stableyard, but they had not just picked that spot, standing in the full sun, to talk.

  Mat stroked Pips’ nose, then after a moment began to examine the horse’s eyes. A fellow in a leather vest came out of the stable, shoving a dung barrow up the street. Vanin walked over to peer into Pips’ eye. Not looking at him, Mat said, “Could you reach the Band?”

  “Maybe.” Vanin frowned and lifted Pips’ eyelid. “With a little luck, maybe. Hate to leave my horse, though.”

  Mat nodded, looking closer at the eye. “Tell Talmanes I said to sit tight. I may be staying here a few days, and I don’t want any bloody attempted rescue. Try to make it back here. Without being seen, if you can.”

  Vanin spat into the dust under Pips. “Man mixes with Aes Sedai, he’s bridled himself and put a saddle on his back. I’ll be back when I can.” Shaking his head, he strolled off into the crowd, a fat rumpled man with a rolling walk who no one could suspect of being able to sneak.

  One of the squadmen cleared his throat hesitantly and stepped closer. “My Lord, is everything . . . ? This is what you planned, isn’t it, my Lord?”

  “Right to the plan, Verdin,” Mat said, patting Pips. He was headfirst in a sack, and the strings tied tight. He had promised Rand to see Elayne safe to Caemlyn, and he could not leave without her. And he could not go off and let Egwene stretch her neck on the chopping block, either. It might be—Light, how it rankled!—it might be that he was going to have to take Thom’s advice. Try to keep those bloody women’s bloody heads on their bloody shoulders by somehow helping them make this whole mad impossible scheme actually work. While trying to keep his own neck in one piece, incidentally. And that left out keeping Aviendha from Elayne’s throat. Well, at the least, he could be around to get them away when it all fell apart. Small comfort that was. “Everything is just bloody fine.”

  Elayne expected to find Aviendha in the waiting room or maybe outside, but she hardly had to listen to discover why she was in neither place. There were two topics of conversation among the other Aes Sedai, and everyone was talking, with papers lying abandoned on the tables. Mat occupied most tongues; even the servants and novices bustling about the waiting room paused in running errands to exchange words about him. He was ta’veren. Was it safe to let a ta’veren remain in Salidar? Had he really been in the Tower and simply allowed to go? Was it true he commanded the Dragonsworn army? Was he to be arrested for the atrocities they had heard of? Was it true he came from the same village as the Dragon Reborn and the Amyrlin? There were rumors of two ta’veren connected to the Dragon Reborn; who was the second, and where could he be found? Maybe Mat Cauthon knew. There seemed to be as many opinions as there were people to give them.

  There were two questions Elayne expected to hear and did not. What did Mat want in Salidar, and how had Rand known where to send him? Nobody asked them, but here an Aes Sedai suddenly shifted her shawl as if cold or gave a start when she realized someone had spoken to her, there a serving woman stared at nothing in the middle of the floor before coming to herself with a shake or a novice darted frightened glances at the sisters. Mat was not quite a cat set among the pigeons, but he came close. Just the fact that Rand knew where they were seemed enough to set a chill.

  Aviendha occasioned less comment, but the sisters could not help talking about her, and not only to change the subject. It was not every day that a wilder simply appeared on her own two feet, especially with such remarkable strength, and an Aiel besides. That last truly fascinated every sister. No Aiel had ever trained in the Tower, and few Aes Sedai had ever entered the Aiel Waste.

  A single question sufficed to learn where she was being held. Not held in name, but Elayne knew how Aes Sedai could be when they wanted a woman to become a novice.

  “She will be in white by nightfall,” Akarrin said confidently. A slim Brown, she nodded for emphasis with almost every word. The two sisters with her nodded just as surely.

  Tsking under her breath, Elayne hurried into the street. Ahead of her she could see Nynaeve practically trotting, and looking over her shoulder so often that she was running into people. Elayne thought about catching up—she would not mind having company—but she was not about to run in this heat, concentration or no, and that seemed the only way. Even so, she did lift her skirts slightly and hurried.

  Before she had gone fifty paces, she felt Birgitte coming closer and turned to see her running down the street. Areina was with her, but she stopped a little way off and folded her arms with a scowl. The woman was an impossible little wretch, and she certainly had not changed her opinions because Elayne really was Aes Sedai now.

  “I thought you should know,” Birgitte said quietly. “I just heard that when we leave for Ebou Dar, Vandene and Adeleas are going too.”

  “I see,” Elayne murmured. It could be that the pair were going to join Merilille for some reason, though there were already three Aes Sedai at Tylin’s court, or maybe they had a mission of their own in Ebou Dar. She did not believe either. Areina had her mind set, and so did the Hall. Elayne and Nynaeve were to be accompanied by two real Aes Sedai as chaperones. “She does understand she isn’t going.”

  Birgitte glanced the way Elayne was staring, at Areina, then shrugged. “She understands; she is not happy over it. Myself, I can hardly wait to be gone.”

  Elayne hesitated only a moment. She had promised to keep secrets, which she did not like, but she had not promised to stop trying to convince the other woman there was no need, and no point. “Birgitte, Egwene—”

  “No!”

  “Why not?” Elayne had not had Birgitte for a Warder long before she decided that when she bonded Rand, she would somehow make him promise to do as he was told, at least when it was important. Lately she had decided on another provision. He was going to have to answer her questions. Birgitte answered when she chose, evaded when she chose and sometimes just put on a stubborn face, as she did now. “Tell me why not, and if it’s a good reason, I’ll never ask again.”

  At first Birgitte just glowered, but then she took Elayne’s arm and very nearly hustled her to the mouth of an alley. No one passing by glanced at them twice, and Areina remained where she was, if darker of face than before, but Birgitte still looked around carefully and spoke in a whisper. “Always when the Wheel spun me out, I was born, lived and died without ever knowing I was bound to the Wheel. I only knew that in between, in Tel’aran’rhiod. Sometimes I became known, even famous, but I was like everyone else, not somebody out of a legend. This time I was ripped out, not spun out. For the first time wearing flesh, I know who I am. For the first time, other people can know too. Thom and Juilin do; they say nothing, but I am sure. They don’t look at me the way they do other people. If I said I was going to climb a glass mountain and kill a giant with my bare hands, they’d just ask if I needed any help on the way, and they would not expect me to.”

 
; “I don’t understand,” Elayne said slowly, and Birgitte sighed and let her head hang.

  “I don’t know that I can live up to that. In other lives, I did what I had to, what seemed to be right, enough for Maerion or Joana or any woman. Now, I’m Birgitte of the stories. Everyone who knows will expect. I feel like a feather-dancer walking into a Tovan conclave.”

  Elayne did not ask; when Birgitte mentioned things from past lives, the explanations were usually more confusing than ignorance. “That is nonsense,” she said firmly, taking the other woman by the arms. “I know, and I certainly don’t expect you to kill any giants. Egwene doesn’t either. And she already knows.”

  “As long as I don’t admit it,” Birgitte muttered, “it is as if she didn’t. Don’t bother saying that’s nonsense too; I know it is, but that changes nothing.”

  “Then what about this? She is the Amyrlin, and you are a Warder. She deserves your trust, Birgitte. She needs it.”

  “Are you done with her yet?” Areina demanded from a pace away. “If you’re going to go away and leave me, the least you can do is help me with my archery the way you said you would.”

  “I will think on it,” Birgitte told Elayne quietly. Turning to Areina, she caught the woman’s braid at the base of her neck. “We will speak of archery,” she said, pushing her up the street, “but first we will speak of manners.”

  Shaking her head, Elayne suddenly remembered Aviendha and hurried on. The house was not far.

  It took her a moment to recognize Aviendha. Elayne was used to seeing her in cadin’sor, with her dark reddish hair cut short, not in skirt and blouse and shawl with hair below her shoulders and held back from her face by a folded kerchief. At first glance, she did not appear to be in any difficulty. Sitting rather awkwardly in a chair—Aiel were unused to chairs—she seemed to be peacefully sipping tea with five sisters in a circle in the sitting room. Houses that sheltered Aes Sedai had such things, though Elayne and Nynaeve were still in their cramped little room. At second glance, Aviendha was casting hunted looks at the Aes Sedai over the rim of her teacup. There was no time for a third glance; on sight of Elayne, Aviendha jerked to her feet and dropped her cup to the clean-swept floor. Elayne had seen few Aiel except in the Stone of Tear, but she did know they hid their emotions, and Aviendha did it very well. Only now, naked pain painted her face.