The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  “I will accept and review a list of noble families you feel should be raised to the low Blood, and I will raise no fewer than twenty of them. Altara will become the permanent seat of the Empress on this side of the ocean. As such, it will be the most powerful kingdom here. You may choose.”

  She leaned forward, unlacing her fingers. “But understand this. If you decide to join with us, you will give me your heart, and not just your words. I will not allow you to ignore your oaths. I have given you this chance because I believe you can be a strong ally, and I think that you were misguided, perhaps by Suroth’s twisted webs.

  “You have one day to make your decision. Think well. Your mother thought this to be the best course, and she was a wise woman. The Empire means stability. A rebellion would mean only suffering, starvation and obscurity. These are not times to be alone, Beslan.”

  She sat back as Beslan regarded the satchel in his hands. He bowed in supplication to withdraw, though the motion was jerky, as if he were distracted.

  “You may go,” she said to him.

  He rose, but did not turn to leave. The room fell still as he stared down at his hands and the satchel. She could read his struggle in his expression. A da’covale approached to hasten him on his way, as he had been dismissed, but Tuon raised her hand, stilling the servant.

  She leaned forward, several members of the Blood shuffling their feet as they waited. Beslan just stared at that satchel. Finally, he looked up, eyes determined. And then, surprisingly, he got back down on his knees.

  “I, Beslan of House Mitsobar, pledge my fealty and service to the Daughter of the Nine Moons and through her to the Seanchan Empire, now and for all time, save that she chooses to release me of her own will. My lands and throne are hers, and I yield them to her hand. So I do swear before the Light.”

  Tuon let herself smile. Behind Beslan, Captain-General Galgan stepped forward, addressing the King. “That is not the proper way to—”

  Tuon silenced him with a gesture. “We demand that this people adopt our ways, General,” she said. “It is fitting that we accept some of theirs.” Not too many of those ways, of course. But she could thank her long conversations with Mistress Anan for allowing her to understand this. The Seanchan had, perhaps, made a mistake with this people in making them swear Seanchan oaths of obedience. Matrim had sworn those oaths, but ignored them handily when the time came—yet he had been certain to keep his word to her, and his men had assured her he was a man of honor.

  How strange that they would be willing to elevate one oath over another. These people were odd. But she would have to understand them in order to rule them—and she would have to rule them to gather strength for her return to Seanchan.

  “Your oath is pleasing to me, King Beslan. I raise you to the High Blood and give you and your House dominance over the kingdom of Altara, for now and all time, your will for the administration and governance of it second only to that of the Imperial Throne itself. Rise.”

  He stood, legs looking shaky. “Are you certain you’re not ta’veren, my Lady?” he asked. “Because I certainly wasn’t expecting to do that when I walked in here.”

  Ta’veren. These people and their foolish superstitions! “I am pleased with you,” she said to him. “I knew your mother for only a short time, but I did find her quite capable. I would not have enjoyed being forced to execute her only remaining son.”

  He nodded in appreciation. To the side, Selucia covertly signed, That was well handled. Unconventional, perhaps, but very delicately done.

  Tuon felt a warm sense of pride. She turned to the white-haired General Galgan. “General. I realize you have been waiting to speak with me, and your patience is to be commended. You may now speak your thoughts. King Beslan, you may withdraw or remain. It is your right to attend any public conferences I have in your kingdom, and you need no permission or invitation to attend.”

  Beslan nodded, bowing but retreating to the side of the room to watch.

  “Thank you, Highest Daughter,” Galgan said reverently, stepping forward. He waved to his so’jhin, who stood in the hallway outside. They entered—first prostrating themselves before Tuon—then quickly set up a table and several maps. One servant brought Galgan a bundle, which he carried, approaching Tuon. Karede was at her right shoulder in a moment, Selucia at her left, but Galgan kept a respectful distance. He bowed and unrolled the item on the ground. It was a banner of red, bearing a circle in the center, split by a sinuous line. One half of the circle was black, the other white.

  “What is it?” Tuon asked, leaning forward.

  “The banner of the Dragon Reborn,” Galgan said. “He sent it with a messenger, asking yet again for a meeting.” He glanced up—not meeting her eyes, but showing a thoughtful, concerned face.

  “This morning when I arose,” Tuon said, “I saw a pattern like three towers in the sky and a hawk, high in the air, passing between them.”

  The various members of the Blood in the room nodded appreciatively. Only Beslan seemed confused. How did these people live, not knowing the omens? Had they no desire to understand the visions of fate the Pattern was giving them? The hawk and three towers were an omen of difficult choices to come. They indicated that boldness would be needed.

  “What are your thoughts on the Dragon Reborn’s request for a meeting?” Tuon asked Galgan.

  “Perhaps it would be unwise to meet with this man, Highest Daughter. I am not certain of his claims to his title. Beyond this question, does the Empire not have other concerns at this time?”

  “You wonder why our forces have not retreated,” Tuon said. “Why we have not struck out for Seanchan to secure the throne.”

  He bowed his head. “I trust your wisdom, Highest Daughter.”

  “This is the Dragon Reborn,” Tuon said. “And not just an impostor. I am convinced of it. He must bow before the Crystal Throne before the Last Battle can begin. And so we must stay. It is not an accident that the Return happened now. We are needed here. More than we are needed, unfortunately, in our homeland.”

  Galgan nodded slowly. He agreed with her on not retreating to Seanchan; he had simply assumed it would be what she wished. In declaring they would stay, she had earned his respect. Not that he wouldn’t still consider seizing the throne for himself. A man could not hold his position without a great deal of ambition.

  However, he was known to be a prudent man as well as an ambitious one. He would not strike unless he was convinced it was for the best. He would have to believe that he had a strong potential for success and that removing Tuon would be better for the Empire. That was the difference between an ambitious fool and an ambitious wise man. The latter understood that killing someone was only the beginning. Taking Tuon’s life and assuming the throne himself would gain him nothing if it alienated the rest of the Blood.

  He walked to his table with maps. “If you wish to continue to prosecute the war, Highest Daughter, permit me to explain the condition of your army. One of our most ambitious plans is being organized by Lieutenant-General Yulan.”

  Galgan gestured to the assembled officers and a short, dark-skinned man of the low Blood stepped forward. He wore a black wig to hide his baldness, and he approached and knelt before Tuon, bowing.

  “You are commanded to rise and speak, General,” Selucia Voiced.

  “The Highest Daughter should know my thanks,” Yulan said, rising. At the map table, he gestured for several aides to hold up a map so that Tuon could see. “Aside from setbacks in Arad Doman, the process of reclaiming these lands has proceeded as expected. More slowly than we would wish, but not without great victories. The people of these kingdoms do not rally to the defense of their neighboring nations. We have had great success seizing them one at a time. Only two issues cause us worry. The first is this Rand al’Thor, the Dragon Reborn, who has been pursuing an aggressive war of unification to the north and east. The Highest Daughter’s wisdom will be needed in teaching us to subdue him.

  “The other concern has bee
n the large number of marath’damane concentrated in the place known as Tar Valon. I believe the Highest Daughter has heard of the great weapon they used to destroy a large patch of land north of Ebou Dar.”

  Tuon nodded.

  “The sul’dam have never seen its like,” Yulan continued. “We assume it is a thing of damane, which can be taught to them, if the right marath’damane are taken. This wondrous ability they have to transport instantly from one place to another—if true—will prove a second technique of great tactical advantage that we must capture.”

  Tuon nodded again, studying the map, which showed the place called Tar Valon. Selucia Voiced, “The Highest Daughter is curious as to your plans. You will proceed.”

  “My thanks are expressed deeply,” Yulan said, bowing. “As Captain of the Air, I have the honor of commanding the raken and to’raken serving the Return. I believe that a strike at the very heart of our enemy’s lands would not only be possible, but highly advantageous. We have not yet had to fight many of these marath’damane in combat, but as we advance into lands controlled by the Dragon Reborn, we will undoubtedly face them in great numbers.

  “They assume that they are safe from us at this time. A strike now could have great impact on the future. Each marath’damane we leash is not only a powerful tool gained by our forces, but one lost by the enemy. Preliminary reports claim that there are hundreds upon hundreds of marath’damane congregated in this place called the White Tower.”

  That many? Tuon thought. A force like that could turn the war entirely. True, those marath’damane who had traveled with Matrim had said that they would not take part in wars. Indeed, marath’damane who had once been Aes Sedai had—so far—proven useless as weapons. But could there be some way to twist their supposed vows? Something Matrim had said in passing made her suspect they could. Her fingers flew.

  “The Daughter of the Nine Moons wonders how a strike against them could be feasible,” Selucia Voiced. “The distance is great. Hundreds of leagues.”

  “We would use a force of mostly to’raken,” General Yulan said. “With some raken for scouting. Our captured maps show large grasslands with very few inhabitants, which could be used as resting points along the way. We could strike across Murandy here,” he pointed at a second map, which aides held up, “and come at Tar Valon from the south. If it pleases the Highest Daughter, we could raid at night, while the marath’damane are asleep. Our objective would be to capture as many of them as possible.”

  “It is wondered if this really could be accomplished,” Selucia Voiced. Tuon was intrigued. “What numbers would we be able to use for such a raid?”

  “If we were fully committed?” Yulan asked. “I believe I could gather up between eighty and a hundred to’raken for the assault.”

  Eighty to a hundred to’raken. So, perhaps around three hundred soldiers, with equipment, leaving room to bring back captured marath’damane. Three hundred would be a considerable force for a raid like this, but they would have to move quickly and lightly, so as to not be trapped.

  “If it pleases the Highest Daughter,” General Galgan said, stepping forward again. “I believe General Yulan’s plan has much merit. It is not without potential for great loss, but we will never have another such opportunity. If brought to bear in our conflict, those marath’damane could disable us. And if we could gain access to this weapon of theirs, or even their ability to travel great distances. . . . Well, I believe that the risk of every to’raken in our army is worth the gains.”

  “If it pleases the Highest Daughter,” General Yulan continued. “Our plan calls for the use of twenty squads of the Fists of Heaven—two hundred troops total—and fifty linked sul’dam. We think that, perhaps, a small group of Bloodknives would be appropriate as well.”

  Bloodknives, the most elite members of the Fist of Heaven, itself an exclusive group. Yulan and Galgan were dedicated to this action! One never committed Bloodknives unless one was very serious, for they did not return from their missions. Their duty was to stay behind after the Fists withdrew and cause damage—as much damage as possible—to the enemy. If they could place some of them in Tar Valon, with orders to kill as many marath’damane as possible. . . .

  “The Dragon Reborn will not react well to this raid,” Tuon said to Galgan. “Is he not connected to these marath’damane?”

  “By some reports,” Galgan said. “Others say he is opposed to them. Still others say they are his pawns. Our poor intelligence in this area lowers my eyes, Highest Daughter. I have not been able to sort the lies from the truths. Until we have better information, we must assume the worst, that this raid will anger him greatly.”

  “And you still think it worthwhile?”

  “Yes,” Galgan said without hesitation. “If these marath’damane are connected to the Dragon Reborn, then we have greater reason to strike now, before he can use them against us. Perhaps the raid will enrage him—but it will also weaken him, which will place you in a better position for negotiating with him.”

  Tuon nodded thoughtfully. Undoubtedly, this was the difficult decision of the omen. But her choice seemed very obvious. Not a difficult decision at all. All of the marath’damane in Tar Valon must be collared, and this was an excellent way to weaken resistance to the Ever Victorious Army with a single, powerful blow.

  But the omen spoke of a difficult decision. She gestured to Selucia. “Are there any in the room who disapprove of this plan?” the Voice asked. “Any who would offer objection to what General Yulan and his men have advanced?”

  The Blood in the room regarded one another. Beslan might have stirred, but he remained silent. The Altarans had not made any objections to their marath’damane being collared; it seemed they had little trust for those who could channel. They had not been as prudent as Amadicia in outlawing these Aes Sedai, but neither were they welcoming. Beslan would not object to a strike against the White Tower.

  She sat back, waiting . . . For what? Perhaps this wasn’t the decision the omen had referred to. She opened her mouth to give the order to go forward with the raid, but at that moment the opening of the doors made her pause.

  The Deathwatch Guards who guarded the door stepped aside a moment later, admitting a so’jhin who served in the hallway. The strong-armed man, Ma’combe, bowed himself low to the ground, the black braid over his right shoulder dropping to the side and hitting the tiled floor. “May it please the Daughter of the Nine Moons, Lieutenant-General Tylee Khirgan would like an audience.”

  Galgan looked shocked.

  “What is it?” Tuon asked him.

  “I had not realized that she had returned, Highest Daughter,” he said. “I suggest in humility that she be given leave to speak. She is one of my finest officers.”

  “She may enter,” Selucia Voiced.

  A male da’covale in a white robe entered, preceding a woman in armor, her helm under her arm. Dark of skin, with short black hair worn in tight curls against her scalp, she was tall and lean. Her hair was sprinkled with white at the temples. The overlapping plates of her armor were striped with red, yellow and blue lacquer, and creaked as she walked. She was only of the low Blood—recently raised by General Galgan’s order—but she had been informed of this via raken. She wore her hair barely shaved a finger’s width up the sides of her head.

  Tylee’s eyes were red with fatigue. Judging by the scent of sweat and the stink of horse she gave off, she had come straight to Tuon upon arriving in the city. She was followed into the room by several younger soldiers, also exhausted, one bearing a large brown sack. Upon reaching the supplication space—a red square of cloth—all went down on their knees. The common soldiers proceeded to touch foreheads to the floor, and Tylee jerked as if to follow, but stopped herself. She was not yet accustomed to being one of the Blood.

  “It is obvious that you are tired, warrior,” Selucia Voiced. Tuon leaned forward. “It is presumed that you have news of great import?”

  Tylee rose to one knee, then gestured to the side. One of
her soldiers rose to his knees and lifted up his brown sack. It was stained on the bottom with a dark, crusted liquid. Blood.

  “If it pleases the Highest Daughter,” Tylee said, voice betraying exhaustion. She nodded to her man, and he opened his sack, dumping things onto the floor. The heads of several animals. A boar, a wolf, and . . . a hawk? Tuon felt a chill. That hawk’s head was as large as a person’s. Perhaps larger. But they were not . . . right. The heads were horribly deformed.

  She could swear that the hawk’s head, which rolled so that she could see the face clearly, had human eyes. And . . . the other heads had . . . human features as well. Tuon suppressed a shiver. What foul omen was this?

  “What is the meaning of this?” Galgan demanded.

  “I presume that the Highest Daughter knows of my military venture against the Aiel,” Tylee said, still on one knee. Tylee had captured damane during that engagement, though Tuon didn’t know much more than that. General Galgan had been awaiting her return with some curiosity to receive the full story.

  “In my venture,” Tylee continued, “I was joined by men of various nationalities, none of whom had sworn the oaths. I will give a full report on them when there is time.” She hesitated, then glanced at the heads. “These . . . creatures . . . attacked my company during our return ride, ten leagues from Ebou Dar. We took heavy casualties. We brought several full bodies as well as these heads. They walked on two feet, like men, but had much the appearance of animals.” She hesitated again. “I believe them to be what some on this side of the ocean speak of as Trollocs. I believe them to be coming here.”

  Chaos. The Blood began to argue about the implausibility of it. General Galgan immediately ordered his officers to organize patrols and send runners to warn of a potential attack on the city. The sul’dam at the side of the room hurried forward to inspect the heads while the Deathwatch Guards quietly surrounded Tuon, to give an extra layer of defense, watching everyone—Blood, servants, and soldiers—with equal care.