The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  “What’s next, Siuan?” she growled.

  A flicker of movement caught Aran’gar’s eye, and she peered through the trees toward the army’s camp, an obscuring ring around the tents of the Aes Sedai. A line of wagon-sledges was moving slowly east, escorted by men on horseback. The pale sun glinted from armor and the points of lances. She could not help sneering. Spears and horses! A primitive rabble that could move no faster than a man could walk, led by a man who did not know what was happening a hundred miles away. Aes Sedai? She could destroy the lot of them, and even dying they would never suspect who was killing them. Of course, she would not survive them long. That thought made her shiver. The Great Lord gave very few a second chance at life, and she was not about to throw away hers.

  Waiting until the riders moved out of sight into the forest, she started back toward the camp, thinking idly of tonight’s dreams. Behind her, smooth snow would hide what she had buried until the spring thaw, more than long enough. Ahead, some of the men in the camp finally noticed her and straightened from their tasks to watch. In spite of herself, she smiled and smoothed her skirt over her hips. It was difficult now to really remember what life had been like as a man; had she been such an easily manipulated fool, then? Getting through that swarm with a corpse unseen had been difficult, even for her, but she enjoyed the walk back.

  The morning went on in a seemingly endless wading through paper, until what Egwene had known would happen, did. Certain daily events were sure. There would be bitter cold, there would be snow, there would be clouds, and gray skies, and wind. And there would be visits from Lelaine and Romanda.

  Weary of sitting, Egwene was stretching her legs when Lelaine swept into the tent with Faolain at her heels. Frigid air rolled in with them before the tentflap fell shut. Looking around with a faintly disapproving air, Lelaine plucked off blue leather gloves, while allowing Faolain to remove the lynx-lined cloak from her shoulders. Slender and dignified in deep blue silk, with penetrating eyes, she might have been in her own tent. At a casual gesture, Faolain retreated deferentially to a corner with the garment, merely shrugging her own cloak back. Plainly, she was ready to go on the instant at another wave of the Sitter’s hand. Her dark features wore a cast of resigned meekness, not very much like her.

  Lelaine’s reserve cracked for a moment, in a surprisingly warm smile for Siuan. They had been friends, once, years ago, and she had even offered something like the patronage that Faolain had accepted, a Sitter’s protection and sheltering arm against the sneers and accusations of other sisters. Touching Siuan’s cheek, Lelaine softly murmured something that sounded sympathetic. Siuan blushed, a startling uncertainty flashing across her face. It was not pretense, Egwene was sure. Siuan found it difficult to deal with what really had changed in her, and more, with how easily she was adapting.

  Lelaine eyed the stool in front of the writing table and, as usual, visibly rejected such an unsteady seat. Only then did she acknowledge Egwene’s presence, with the barest dip of her head. “We need to speak of the Sea Folk, Mother,” she said in a tone a bit firm to be directed at the Amyrlin Seat.

  Not until Egwene’s heart sank down from her throat did she realize she had been afraid that Lelaine already knew what Lord Bryne had told her. Or even the meeting he was arranging. The next instant, her heart leaped back again. The Sea Folk? Surely the Hall could not have learned of the insane bargain Nynaeve and Elayne had made. She could not imagine what had led them into such a disaster, or how she was to deal with it.

  Her stomach roiling, she took her place behind the table without revealing anything of what she felt. And that fool chair leg folded, nearly dropping her onto the carpets before she could jerk it straight again. She hoped her cheeks were not coloring. “The Sea Folk in Caemlyn, or in Cairhien?” Yes; that sounded suitably calm and collected.

  “Cairhien.” Romanda’s high voice rang like sudden chimes. “Definitely Cairhien.” Her entry made Lelaine’s seem almost diffident, the force of her personality abruptly filling the tent. There were no warm smiles in Romanda; handsome as her face was, it did not seem made for them.

  Theodrin followed her in, and Romanda swung her cloak off with a flourish and tossed it to the slim, apple-cheeked sister with a peremptory gesture that sent Theodrin hurrying to a corner opposite Faolain. Faolain was distinctly subdued, but Theodrin’s tilted eyes were very wide, as though she was permanently startled, and her lips seemed ready to gasp. Like Faolain, her proper place in the hierarchy of Aes Sedai demanded better employment, but neither was likely to receive it soon.

  Romanda’s compelling gaze rested a moment on Siuan, as if considering whether to send her to a corner as well, then brushed past Lelaine almost dismissively before settling on Egwene. “It seems that young man has been talking with the Sea Folk, Mother. The Yellow eyes-and-ears in Cairhien are most excited about it. Do you have any idea what might interest him in the Atha’an Miere?”

  Despite the title, Romanda hardly sounded as if she were addressing the Amyrlin Seat, but then, she never did. There was no doubt who “that young man” was. Every sister in the camp accepted that Rand was the Dragon Reborn, but anyone who heard them talk would have believed they were speaking of an unruly young lout who might come to dinner drunk and throw up on the table.

  “She can hardly know what’s in the boy’s head,” Lelaine said before Egwene could open her mouth. Her smile was not at all warm this time. “If an answer is to be found, Romanda, it will be in Caemlyn. The Atha’an Miere there are not sequestered on a ship, and I seriously doubt that high ranking Sea Folk came so far from the sea on different errands. I’ve never heard of them doing so for any reason. It may be they have an interest in him. They must know who he is by now.”

  Romanda smiled back, and frost should have appeared on the tent walls. “There’s hardly need to state the obvious, Lelaine. The first question is how to find out.”

  “I was about to resolve that when you barged in, Romanda. The next time the Mother encounters Elayne or Nynaeve in Tel’aran’rhiod, she can pass on instructions. Merilille can discover what the Atha’an Miere want, or maybe what the boy does, when she reaches Caemlyn. A pity the girls didn’t think to set a regular schedule, but we must work around that. Merilille can meet with a Sitter in Tel’aran’rhiod when she knows.” Lelaine made a small gesture; plainly, she herself was the intended Sitter. “I thought Salidar might be a suitable place.”

  Romanda snorted with amusement. Even in that, there was no warmth. “Easier to instruct Merilille than to see she obeys, Lelaine. I expect she knows she faces sharp questions. This Bowl of the Winds should have been brought to us for study first. None of the sisters in Ebou Dar had much ability in Cloud Dancing, I believe, and you can see the result, all this hurly-burly and suddenness. I have a thought to call a question before the Hall concerning everyone involved.” Abruptly the gray-haired woman’s voice became smooth as butter. “As I recall, you supported the choice of Merilille.”

  With a jerk, Lelaine drew herself up. Her eyes flashed. “I supported who the Gray put forward, Romanda, and no more,” she said indignantly. “How could I have imagined she would decide to use the Bowl there? And to include Sea Folk wilders in the circle! How could she believe they know as much of working weather as Aes Sedai?” Abruptly her ire slipped. She was defending herself to her fiercest adversary in the Hall, her only real adversary. And, no doubt worse in her view, she was agreeing with her about the Sea Folk. There was no question that she did agree, but giving the fact voice was another matter.

  Romanda let her cold smile deepen as Lelaine’s face paled with fury. She straightened her bronze-colored skirts with meticulous care as Lelaine searched for a way to turn matters about. “We will see how the Hall stands, Lelaine,” she said finally. “Until the question is called, I think it best if Merilille does not meet with any of the Sitters involved in her selection. Even a suggestion of collusion would be looked at askance. I’m sure you will agree I should be the one to speak with her.�
��

  Lelaine’s face paled differently. She was not afraid, not visibly, yet Egwene could almost see her counting who might stand for her, or against. Collusion was almost as serious as a charge of treason, and required only the lesser consensus. Likely, she could avoid that, but the arguments would be deep and acrimonious. Romanda’s faction might even increase. That would cause untold problems whether or not Egwene’s own plans bore fruit. And there was nothing she could do to stop it, short of revealing what really had happened in Ebou Dar. As well ask them to let her accept the same offer Faolain and Theodrin had.

  Egwene drew breath. At least she might be able to prevent the use of Salidar as a meeting place in Tel’aran’rhiod. That was where she met Elayne and Nynaeve, now. When she did, anyway; she had not in days. With Sitters popping in and out of the World of Dreams, finding anywhere you could be sure they would not appear was difficult. “The next time I encounter Elayne or Nynaeve, I will pass on your instructions regarding Merilille. I can let you know when she’s ready to meet you.” Which would be never, once she was done with those instructions.

  The Sitters’ heads whipped around, and two sets of eyes stared at her. They had forgotten she was there! Struggling to keep her face smooth, she realized her foot was tapping irritably, and stopped it. She had to go along with what they thought of her a while longer, yet. A little while longer. At least she no longer felt nauseated. Just angry.

  Into that moment of silence, Chesa came bustling with Egwene’s midday meal on a cloth-covered tray. Dark-haired, plump and pretty in her middle years, Chesa managed to convey a proper respect without cringing. Her curtsy was as simple as her dark gray dress, with just a touch of plain lace at the throat. “Forgive me for intruding, Mother, Aes Sedai. I am sorry this is late, Mother, but Meri seems to have wandered off.” She clicked her tongue in exasperation as she set the tray in front of Egwene. Wandering seemed very unlike the misnamed Meri. That dour woman was as disapproving of faults in herself as she was of those in others.

  Romanda frowned, but she said nothing. After all, she could hardly show too much interest in one of Egwene’s maids. Especially when the woman was her spy. Just as Selame was Lelaine’s. Egwene avoided looking at Theodrin or Faolain, both still standing dutifully in their corners like Accepted, rather than Aes Sedai themselves.

  Chesa half-opened her mouth, but closed it again, perhaps intimidated by the Sitters. Egwene was relieved when she dipped another curtsy and left with a murmured “By your leave, Mother.” Chesa’s advice was always indirect enough for any sister when anyone else was present, but right then, the last thing Egwene wanted was even a circumspect reminder to eat while her food was hot.

  Lelaine took up as if there had been no interruption. “The important thing,” she said firmly, “is to learn what the Atha’an Miere want. Or what the boy does. Maybe he wants to be their king, too.” Holding out her arms, she allowed Faolain to restore her cloak, which the dark young woman did with care. “You will remember to let me know if you have any thoughts on it, Mother?” That was just barely a request.

  “I will think hard,” Egwene told her. Which was not to say she would share her thoughts. She wished she had a glimmer of the answer. That the Atha’an Miere believed Rand was their prophesied Coramoor, she knew, though the Hall did not, but what he wanted from them, or them from him, she could not begin to imagine. According to Elayne, the Sea Folk with them had no clue. Or said not. Egwene almost wished one of the handful of sisters who had come from the Atha’an Miere was in the camp. Almost. One way or another, those Windfinders were going to cause trouble.

  At a wave of Romanda’s hand, Theodrin leaped forward with the Sitter’s cloak as though goosed. By Romanda’s expression, Lelaine’s recovery did not best please her. “You will remember to tell Merilille I wish to speak with her, Mother,” she said, and that was not a request at all.

  For a brief moment the two Sitters stood staring at each other, Egwene forgotten again in their mutual animosity. They departed without a word to her, very nearly jostling for precedence before Romanda slipped out first, drawing Theodrin in her wake. Baring her teeth, Lelaine practically pushed Faolain from the tent ahead of her.

  Siuan heaved a hearty sigh, and made no attempt to hide her relief.

  “By your leave, Mother,” Egwene muttered mockingly. “If you please, Mother. You may go, daughters.” Letting out a long breath, she settled back in her chair. Which promptly pitched her onto the carpets in a heap. She picked herself up slowly and jerked her skirts straight, put her stole to rights. At least it had not happened in front of those two. “Go get something to eat, Siuan. And bring it back. We’ve a long day, yet.”

  “Some falls hurt less than others,” Siuan said as if to herself before ducking outside. It was a good thing she went so quickly, or Egwene might have given her an earful.

  She returned soon, though, and they ate hard rolls and lentil stew laced with tough carrot and scraps of meat Egwene did not look at closely. There were only a few interruptions, intrusions where they fell silent and pretended to study reports. Chesa came to take away the tray, and later to replace the candles, a task she grumbled over, which was not like her.

  “Who’d expect Selame to go missing, too?” she muttered, half to herself. “Off canoodling with the soldiers, I expect. That Halima’s a bad influence.”

  A skinny young fellow with a dripping nose renewed the already dead coals in the braziers—the Amyrlin got more warmth than most, but that was not a great deal—and he stumbled over his own boots and gaped at Egwene in a manner quite gratifying after the two Sitters. Sheriam appeared to ask whether Egwene had any further instructions, of all things, and then seemed to want to stay. Perhaps the few secrets she knew made her nervous; her eyes certainly darted uneasily.

  That was the lot, and Egwene was not sure whether it was because no one bothered the Amyrlin without cause, or because everyone knew the real decisions were made in the Hall.

  “I don’t know about this report of soldiers moving south out of Kandor,” Siuan said as soon as the tentflap fell behind Sheriam. “There’s just the one, and Borderlanders seldom go far from the Blight, but every fool knows that, so it’s hardly the kind of tale anyone would make up.” She was not reading from a page, now.

  Siuan had managed to keep very tenuous control of the Amyrlin’s network of eyes-and-ears so far, and reports, rumors, and gossip flowed to her in steady streams, to be studied before she and Egwene decided what to pass on to the Hall. Leane had her own network, to add to the flow. Most of it was passed on—some things the Hall had to know, and there was no guarantee that the Ajahs would pass on what their own agents learned—but it all had to be sieved for what might be dangerous, or serve to divert attention from the real goal.

  Few of those streams carried anything good, of late. Cairhien had produced any number of rumors of Aes Sedai allied with Rand, or, worse, serving him, yet at least those could be dismissed out of hand. The Wise Ones would not say much at all about Rand or anyone connected to him, but according to them, Merana was awaiting his return, and certainly sisters in the Sun Palace, where the Dragon Reborn kept his first throne, were more than seed enough to grow those tales. Others were not easily ignored, even when it was hard to know what to make of them. A printer in Illian asserted that he had proof Rand had killed Mattin Stepaneos with his own hands and destroyed the body with the One Power, while a laborer on the docks there claimed she had seen the former King carried, bound and gagged and rolled in a rug, aboard a ship that had sailed in the night with the blessings of the captain of the Port Watch. The first was far more likely, but Egwene hoped none of the Ajahs’ agents had picked up the same tale. There were already too many black marks against Rand’s name in the sisters’ books.

  It went on like that. The Seanchan seemed to be taking a firm hold in Ebou Dar, against very little resistance. That might have been expected in a land where the Queen’s true rule ended a few days’ ride from her capital, yet it was hardly
heartening. The Shaido seemed to be everywhere, though word of them always came from someone who had heard from someone who had heard. Most sisters seemed to believe the scattered Shaido were Rand’s work despite the Wise Ones’ denials, carried by Sheriam. No one wanted to probe the Wise Ones’ supposed lies too closely, of course. There were a hundred excuses, but no one was willing to meet them in Tel’aran’rhiod except the sisters sworn to Egwene, and they had to be ordered. Anaiya dryly called the encounters “quite compact lessons in humility,” and she did not seem at all amused.

  “There can’t be that many Shaido,” Egwene muttered. No herbs had been added to the second batch of charcoal, which was dying down in faint embers, and her eyes ached from the smoke that hung thin in the air. Channeling to get rid of it would disperse the last warmth, too. “Some of this must be bandits’ work.” After all, who could tell a village emptied by people fleeing brigands from one emptied by Shaido? Especially at third hand, or fifth. “There are certainly enough bandits around to account for some of it.” Most calling themselves Dragonsworn, which was no help at all. She worked her shoulders to loosen a few of the knots in her muscles.

  Abruptly she realized that Siuan was staring at nothing so intently that she appeared ready to slip off of her stool. “Siuan, are you falling asleep? We may have worked most of the day, but it’s still light out.” There was light at the smoke hole, though it did appear to be fading.

  Siuan blinked. “I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking about something lately, and trying to decide whether to share it with you. About the Hall.”

  “The Hall! Siuan, if you know something about the Hall—!”

  “I don’t know anything,” Siuan cut in. “It’s what I suspect.” She clicked her tongue in annoyance. “Not even suspect, really. At least, I don’t know what to suspect. But I see a pattern.”