The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  Light burn the woman! Why had she invited so many of the women that Egwene had been working to influence? Was it simple happenstance? Egwene joined the false Amyrlin at the head of the table, and a servant handed her a crystal pitcher of glistening red wine. “You are to keep my cup full,” Elaida said. “Wait there, but don’t come too close. I’d rather not have to smell the soot on you from your punishments this afternoon.”

  Egwene clenched her jaw. Smell the soot? After an hour of scrubbing? Doubtful. From the side, she could see the satisfaction in Elaida’s eyes as she sipped her wine. Then Elaida turned to Shevan, who sat in the chair to Elaida’s right. The Brown was a lanky woman, with knobbed arms and an angular face, like a person made of gnarled sticks. Her eyes were thoughtful as she studied her hostess.

  “Tell me, Shevan,” Elaida said. “Do you still insist on those foolish talks with the rebels?”

  Shevan responded. “The sisters must be given a chance to reconcile.”

  “They’ve had their chance,” Elaida said. “Honestly, I expected more of a Brown. You’re behaving doggedly, without a whit of understanding how the real world works. Why, even Meidani agrees with me, and she’s a Gray! You know how they are.”

  Shevan turned away, seeming more disturbed than before. Why did Elaida invite them to dinner, if only to insult them and their Ajahs? As Egwene watched, the Red turned her attention to Ferane, and complained to her about Rubinde, a Sitter from the Green who also resisted Elaida’s efforts to end the talks. As she spoke, she raised her cup to Egwene, tapping it. Elaida had barely taken a few sips.

  Egwene ground her teeth, filling the cup. The others had seen her do labor before—why, she’d cracked walnuts for Ferane. This wouldn’t ruin her reputation, not unless Elaida forced her to abase herself somehow.

  But what was the point of this dinner? Elaida didn’t seem to be making any attempt to bring the Ajahs together. If anything, she was prying those rifts wider, the way she was dismissing those who disagreed with her. Occasionally, she would have Egwene refill her cup, but it never had room for more than a sip or two.

  Slowly, Egwene began to understand. This dinner wasn’t about working with the Ajahs. It was about bullying the Sitters into doing as Elaida felt they should. And Egwene was simply there to be shown off! This was all about proving to the others how much power Elaida had—she could take someone that others had named Amyrlin, put a novice dress on her and send her to penance every day.

  Egwene felt herself grow angry again. Why could Elaida always stir her emotions? Soup bowls were removed and plates of steamed, buttered carrots were brought, a hint of cinnamon striking the air. Egwene had not been given dinner, but she felt too sick to care about eating.

  No, she thought, steeling herself. I will not end this early, like last time. I will endure. I am stronger than Elaida. I’m stronger than her madness.

  The conversation continued, Elaida making insulting comments to the others, sometimes with intent, sometimes with apparent unawareness. The others steered the talk away from the rebels and toward the strangely overcast skies. Eventually, Shevan mentioned a rumor about the Seanchan working with Aiel far to the south.

  “The Seanchan again?” Elaida said with a sigh. “You needn’t worry about them.”

  “My sources say otherwise, Mother,” Shevan said stiffly. “I think we need to pay close attention to what they are doing. I have had some sisters ask this child about her experience with them, which has been extensive. You should hear the things they do to Aes Sedai.”

  Elaida laughed a tinkling, melodic laugh. “Surely you know how the child is prone to exaggerate!” She glanced at Egwene. “Have you been spreading lies for your friend, the fool al’Thor? What did he tell you to say about these invaders? They are working for him, are they not?”

  Egwene didn’t respond.

  “Speak,” Elaida said, gesturing with her cup. “Tell these women you have been speaking lies. Confess or I’ll have you in penance again, girl.”

  The penance she would take for not speaking would be better than suffering Elaida’s rage at contradicting her. Silence was the path to victory.

  And yet, as Egwene glanced down the long mahogany table, set with bright white Sea Folk porcelain and flickering red candles, she saw five pairs of eyes studying her. She could see their questions. Egwene had spoken boldly to them when alone, but would she hold to her assertions now, faced by the most powerful woman in the world? A woman who held Egwene’s life in her hands?

  Was Egwene the Amyrlin? Or was she just a girl who liked to pretend?

  Light burn you, Elaida, she thought, gritting her teeth, seeing that she had been wrong. Silence wouldn’t lead to victory, not in front of these women. You are not going to like how this proceeds.

  “The Seanchan are not working for Rand,” Egwene said. “And they are a severe danger to the White Tower. I have spread no lies. To say otherwise would be to betray the Three Oaths.”

  “You haven’t taken the Three Oaths,” Elaida said sternly, turning toward her.

  “I have,” Egwene said. “I’ve held no Oath Rod, but it isn’t the Rod that makes my words true. I have spoken the words of the oaths in my heart, and to me they are more dear, for I have nothing forcing me to hold to them. And by that oath holding me, I tell you again. I am a Dreamer, and I have Dreamed that the Seanchan will attack the White Tower.”

  Elaida’s eyes flared for a moment, and she gripped her fork until her knuckles whitened. Egwene held her eyes, and finally Elaida laughed again. “Ah, stubborn as ever, I see. I shall have to tell Katerine that she was right. You’ll have penance for your exaggerations, child.”

  “These women know I don’t speak lies,” Egwene said calmly. “And each time you insist that I do, you lower yourself in their eyes. Even if you disbelieve my Dream, you must admit that the Seanchan are a threat. They leash women who can channel, using them as weapons with a kind of twisted ter’angreal. I have felt the collar on my neck. I still feel it, sometimes. In my dreams. My nightmares.”

  The room fell still.

  “You are a foolish child,” Elaida said, obviously trying to pretend that Egwene was no threat. She should have turned to look at the eyes of the others. If she had, she’d have seen the truth. “Well, you have forced my hand. You will kneel before me, child, and beg forgiveness. Right now. Otherwise, I will lock you away alone. Is that what you want? Don’t think that the beatings will stop, however. You’ll still get your daily penance, you’ll just be thrown back into your cell after each one. Now, kneel and beg forgiveness.”

  The Sitters glanced at one another. There was no backing down now. Egwene wished it hadn’t come to this. But it had, and Elaida had demanded a fight.

  It was time to give her one. “And if I do not bow before you?” Egwene asked, meeting the woman’s eyes. “What then?”

  “You will kneel, one way or another,” Elaida growled, embracing the Source.

  “You’ll use the Power on me?” Egwene asked calmly. “Do you have to resort to that? Have you no authority without channeling?”

  Elaida paused. “It is within my rights to discipline one who isn’t showing proper respect.”

  “And so you will make me obey,” Egwene said. “Is this what you will do to everyone in the Tower, Elaida? An Ajah opposes you, and it is disbanded. Someone displeases you, and you try to destroy her right to be Aes Sedai. You will have every sister bowing down before you by the end of this.”

  “Nonsense!”

  “Oh?” Egwene asked. “And have you told them about your idea for a new oath? Sworn on the Oath Rod by every sister, an oath to obey the Amyrlin and support her?”

  “I—”

  “Deny it,” Egwene said. “Deny that you made the statement. Will the Oaths let you?”

  Elaida froze. If she were Black, she could deny it, Oath Rod or not. But either way, Meidani could substantiate what Egwene had said.

  “It was idle talk,” Elaida said. “Just speculation, thoughts spo
ken out loud.”

  “There is often truth in speculation,” Egwene said. “You locked the Dragon Reborn himself in a box; you just threatened to do the same to me, in front of all of these witnesses. People call him a tyrant, but you are the one destroying our laws and ruling by fear.”

  Elaida’s eyes opened wide, her anger visible. She seemed . . . shocked. As if she couldn’t understand how she’d gone from disciplining an unruly novice into debating an equal. Egwene saw the woman begin to weave a thread of Air. That had to be stopped. A gag of Air would end this debate.

  “Go ahead,” Egwene said calmly. “Use the Power to silence me. As Amyrlin, shouldn’t you be able to talk an opponent into obedience, rather than resorting to force?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Egwene saw diminutive Yukiri, of the Gray, nod at that comment.

  Elaida’s eyes flared in anger as she dropped the thread of Air. “I don’t need to rebut a mere novice,” Elaida snapped. “The Amyrlin doesn’t explain herself to one such as you.”

  “ ‘The Amyrlin understands the most complex of creeds and debates,’ ” Egwene said, quoting from memory. “ ‘Yet in the end, she is the servant of all, even the lowest of laborers.’ ” That had been said by Balladare Arandaille, the first Amyrlin to be raised from the Brown Ajah. She’d used the words in her last writings before her death; those writings had been an explanation of her reign and what she had done during the Kavarthen wars. Arandaille had felt that once a crisis was passed, it was the moral duty of an Amyrlin to explain herself to the common people.

  Sitting beside Elaida, Shevan nodded appreciatively. The quote was somewhat obscure; Egwene blessed Siuan’s quiet training in the wisdom of the former Amyrlins. Much of what she’d said had come from the secret histories, but there had been a number of nuggets from women such as Balladare as well.

  “What is this nonsense you’re sputtering?” Elaida spat.

  “What did you intend to do with Rand al’Thor once you captured him?” Egwene said, ignoring the comment.

  “I don’t—”

  “You’re not answering me,” Egwene said, nodding to the table of women, “but them. Have you explained yourself, Elaida? What were your plans? Or will you dodge this question just as you have the others I’ve asked?”

  Elaida’s face was turning red, but she calmed herself with some effort. “I would have kept him secure, and well shielded, here in the Tower until it was time for the Last Battle. That would have prevented him from causing the suffering and chaos he’s created in many nations. It was worth the risk of angering him.”

  “ ‘As the plow breaks the earth shall he break the lives of men, and all that was shall be consumed in the fire of his eyes,’ ” Egwene said. “ ‘The trumpets of war shall sound at his footsteps, the ravens feed at his voice, and he shall wear a crown of swords.’ ”

  Elaida frowned, taken aback.

  “The Karaethon Cycle, Elaida,” Egwene said. “When you had Rand locked away to be kept ‘secure,’ had he yet taken Illian? Had he yet worn what he was to name the Crown of Swords?”

  “Well, no.”

  “And how did you expect him to fulfill the prophecies if he was hidden away in the White Tower?” Egwene said. “How was he to cause war, as the prophecies say he must? How was he to break the nations and bind them to him? How could he ‘slay his people with the sword of peace’ or ‘bind the nine moons to serve him’ if he was locked away? Do the prophecies say that he will be ‘unfettered’? Do they not speak of the ‘chaos of his passing’? How can anything pass at all if he is kept in chains?”

  “I. . . .”

  “Your logic is astounding, Elaida,” Egwene said coldly. At that, Ferane smiled slyly; she was probably thinking yet again that Egwene would fit well in the White Ajah.

  “Bah,” Elaida said, “you ask meaningless questions. The prophecies would have to have been fulfilled. There was no other way.”

  “So you’re saying that your attempt to bind him was destined to fail.”

  “No, not at all,” Elaida said, red-faced again. “We shouldn’t be bothering with this—it’s not for you to decide upon. No, we should be talking about your rebels, and what they’ve done to the White Tower!”

  A good turn of the conversation, an attempt to put Egwene on the defensive. Elaida wasn’t completely incompetent. Just arrogant.

  “I see them trying to heal the rift between us,” Egwene said. “We cannot change what has happened. We can’t change what you did to Siuan, even if those with me did discover a method of Healing her stilling. We can only move forward and try our best to smooth the scars. What are you doing, Elaida? Refusing talks, trying to bully the Sitters into withdrawing? Insulting Ajahs that are not your own?”

  Doesine, of the Yellow, gave a quiet murmur of agreement. That drew Elaida’s eyes, and she fell silent for a moment, as if realizing that she had lost control of the debate. “Enough of this.”

  “Coward,” Egwene said.

  Elaida’s eyes flared wide. “How dare you!”

  “I dare the truth, Elaida,” Egwene said quietly. “You are a coward and a tyrant. I’d name you Darkfriend as well, but I suspect that the Dark One would perhaps be embarrassed to associate with you.”

  Elaida screeched, weaving in a flash of Power, slamming Egwene back against the wall, toppling the pitcher of wine from her hands. It shattered on a patch of wooden floor beside the rug, throwing a spray of bloodlike liquid across the table and half of its occupants, staining the white tablecloth with a smear of red.

  “You name me Darkfriend?” Elaida screamed. “You are the Darkfriend. You and those rebels outside, who seek to distract me from doing what must be done.”

  A blast of woven Air slammed Egwene against the wall again, and she dropped to the ground, hitting shards of the broken pitcher that sliced open her arms. A dozen switches beat her, ripping her clothing. Blood seeped from her arms, and it began to splash into the air, smirching the wall as Elaida beat her.

  “Elaida, stop it!” Rubinde said, standing, green dress swishing. “Are you mad?”

  Elaida turned, panting. “Do not tempt me, Green!”

  The switches continuing to beat Egwene. She bore it silently. With effort, she stood up. She could feel her face and arms swelling already. But she maintained a calm gaze at Elaida.

  “Elaida!” Ferane yelled, standing. “You violate Tower law! You cannot use the Power to punish an initiate!”

  “I am Tower law!” Elaida raved. She pointed at the sisters. “You mock me. I know you do it. Behind my back. You show me deference when you see me, but I know what you say, what you whisper. You ungrateful fools! After what I’ve done for you! Do you think I’ll suffer you forever? Take this one as an example!”

  She spun, pointing at Egwene, then stumbled back in shock to find Egwene calmly watching her. Elaida gasped softly, raising a hand to her breast as the switches beat. They could all see the weaves, and they could all see that Egwene did not scream, although her mouth was not gagged with Air. Her arms dripped blood, her body was beaten before them, and yet she found no reason to scream. Instead, she quietly blessed the Aiel Wise Ones for their wisdom.

  “And what,” Egwene said evenly, “am I to be an example of, Elaida?”

  The beating continued. Oh, how it hurt! Tears formed in the corners of Egwene’s eyes, but she had felt worse. Far worse. She felt it each time she thought of what this woman was doing to the institution she loved. Her true pain was not from the wounds, but from how Elaida had acted before the Sitters.

  “By the Light,” Rubinde whispered.

  “I wish I weren’t needed here, Elaida,” Egwene said softly. “I wish that the Tower had a grand Amyrlin in you. I wish I could step down and accept your rule. I wish you deserved it. I would willingly accept execution, if it would mean leaving a competent Amyrlin. The White Tower is more important than I am. Can you say the same?”

  “You want execution!” Elaida bellowed, recovering her tongue. “Well, you shall
not have it! Death is too good for you, Darkfriend! I shall see you beaten—everyone shall see you beaten—until I am through with you. Only then will you die!” She turned to the servants, who stood, gaping, at the sides of the room. “Send for soldiers! I want this one cast into the deepest cell this Tower can provide! Let it be voiced through the city that Egwene al’Vere is a Darkfriend who has rejected the Amyrlin’s grace!”

  Servants ran to do as she demanded. The switches continued to beat, but Egwene was growing numb. She closed her eyes, feeling faint—she had lost much blood from her left arm, which bore the deepest of her gashes.

  It had come to a head, as she’d feared that it would. She had cast her lot.

  But she didn’t fear for her life. Instead, she feared for the White Tower. As she leaned back against the wall, thoughts fading, she was overcome with sorrow.

  Her battle from within the Tower was at an end, one way or another.

  CHAPTER 17

  Questions of Control

  “You should be more careful,” Sarene said from inside the room. “The Amyrlin Seat, we have much influence with her. Your punishments, we may be able to persuade her to lessen them, if you are helpful.”

  Semirhage’s sniff of disdain was quite audible to Cadsuane, listening from the hallway outside the interrogation room, sitting in a comfortable log chair. Cadsuane sipped at a cup of warm sweetleaf. The hallway was of simple wood, carpeted with a long maroon and white rug, prismlike lamps on the walls flickering with light.

  There were several others in the hallway with her—Daigian, Erian, Elza—whose turn it was to maintain Semirhage’s shield. Aside from Cadsuane, each Aes Sedai in the camp took turns. It was too dangerous to risk forcing the duty only on the Aes Sedai of lesser stature, lest they grow weary. The shield had to remain strong. Light only knew what would happen if Semirhage got free.

  Cadsuane sipped her tea, her back to the wall. Al’Thor had insisted that “his” Aes Sedai be allowed opportunities to interrogate Semirhage, instead of just those Cadsuane had chosen. She wasn’t certain if this was some attempt at asserting his authority or if he genuinely thought that they might succeed where she—so far—had failed.