The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  A spray of stone chips fell from the ceiling and rained down on the table as the White Tower shook from yet another blast. Saerin cursed to herself, wiping the chips away, then unrolled a wide piece of parchment, weighting the sides with some broken chunks of tile.

  Around her, the room was in virtual chaos. They were on the ground floor, in the forward gathering room, a large square chamber situated where the eastern wing met the Tower proper. Members of the Tower Guard pulled tables out of the way to make room for the groups passing through. Aes Sedai warily glanced out the windows, watching the skies. Warders stalked like caged animals. What were they to do about flying beasts? Their best place was here, guarding the center of operations. Such as it was. Saerin had only just arrived.

  A sister in green swept up to her. Moradri was a long-limbed Mayener with dark skin, and she was trailed by two handsome Warders, both also Mayener. Rumors said that they were her brothers, come to the White Tower to defend their sister, though Moradri didn’t speak of the matter.

  Saerin demanded, “How many?”

  “The ground floor has at least forty-seven sisters,” Moradri said. “Spread across the Ajahs. That’s the best count I could gather, as they’re fighting in small groups. I told them we were organizing a formal command center here. Most seemed to think that was a good idea, though many were too tired, too shocked or too dazed to respond with much else besides a nod.”

  “Mark their locations on the map here,” Saerin said. “Did you find Elaida?”

  Moradri shook her head.

  “Blast,” Saerin muttered as the Tower shook again. “What of any Green Sitters?”

  “I didn’t find any,” Moradri said, glancing over her shoulder, obviously eager to get back to the fighting.

  “A pity,” Saerin said. “They like to call themselves the Battle Ajah, after all. Well, that leaves me to organize the fighting.”

  Moradri shrugged. “I suppose.” She glanced over her shoulder again.

  Saerin eyed the Green sister, then tapped the map. “Mark the locations, Moradri. You can be back to the fighting soon enough, but your knowledge is more important right now.”

  The Green sister sighed, but quickly began to make notations on the map. As she worked, Saerin was pleased to note Captain Chubain entering. The man looked youthful for his forty-some winters, without a speck of gray in his black hair. Some men were inclined to disparage his abilities because of his too-pretty face; Saerin had heard of the humiliation those men had received by his sword in return for the insults.

  “Ah, good,” she said. “Finally something is going well. Captain, over here if you will.”

  He limped over, favoring his left leg. His white tabard, hanging over mail, was scorched; his face was smudged with soot. “Saerin Sedai,” he said, bowing.

  “You are wounded.”

  “An inconsequential wound, Aes Sedai, in the glory of a fight such as this.”

  “See yourself Healed anyway,” she ordered. “It would be ridiculous for our captain of the guard to risk death because of an ‘inconsequential’ wound. If it makes you stumble for a moment we could lose you.”

  The man stepped closer, speaking in a low voice. “Saerin Sedai, the Tower Guard is all but useless in this fight. With the Seanchan using those . . . monstrous women, we can barely reach them before being ripped to pieces or blasted to ashes.”

  “You need to change your tactics, then, Captain,” Saerin said firmly. Light, what a mess! “Tell the men to switch to bows. Do not risk closing on the enemy’s channelers. Shoot from a distance. A single arrow could turn the battle to our side; we have their soldiers grossly outnumbered.”

  “Yes, Aes Sedai.”

  “As a White might say, it’s simple logic,” she said. “Captain, our most important task is to form a center of operations. Aes Sedai and soldiers alike are scrambling about independently, acting like rats faced by wolves. We need to stand together.”

  What she didn’t mention was how embarrassed she was. The Aes Sedai had spent centuries guiding kings and influencing wars, but now—with their sanctuary assaulted—they had proven woefully inadequate in defending it. Egwene was right, she thought. Not just in predicting this attack, but in berating us for being divided. Saerin didn’t need reports from Moradri or scouts to know that the Ajahs were each fighting this battle independently.

  “Captain,” she said. “Moradri Sedai is marking pockets of fighters on the map. Ask her which Ajah is represented in each group; she has an excellent memory, and will be able to tell you specifics. Send runners in my authority to any group of Yellow or Brown sisters. Tell them to report here, to this chamber.

  “Next, send runners to the other groups and tell them that we are going to send one Brown or Yellow sister to them for Healing purposes. There will also be a group of sisters here providing Healing. Anyone wounded is to report here immediately.”

  He saluted.

  “Oh,” she added. “And send someone to the outer grounds to spot the main breaches above. We need to know where the invasion is deepest.”

  “Aes Sedai, . . .” he said. “The outer grounds are dangerous. Those flying above fire on anyone they see moving.”

  “Then send men who are good at concealing themselves,” she growled.

  “Yes, Aes Sedai. We—”

  “This is a disaster!” an angry voice shouted.

  Saerin turned to find four Red sisters entering the room. Notasha was wearing a white dress bloodied up the left side, though if the blood was her own, she’d been Healed. Katerine’s mass of long black hair was frazzled and tangled with chips of stone. The other two women wore ripped dresses, faces soiled with ash.

  “How dare they strike here!” Katerine continued, crossing the room. Soldiers ducked out of her way, and several less-influential sisters who had gathered at Saerin’s order suddenly found things to do at the corners of the room. Distant booms sounded, like the noises of an Illuminator’s display.

  “They dare because they have the means and the desire, obviously,” Saerin replied, shoving down her annoyance and maintaining her calm. With difficulty. “So far, the strike has proven remarkably effective.”

  “Well, I’m assuming command here,” Katerine growled. “We need to scour the Tower and eliminate each of them!”

  “You will not take command,” Saerin said firmly. Insufferable woman! Calm, remain calm. “Nor will we go on the offensive.”

  “And you will dare stop me?” Katerine snarled, the glow of saidar a burning light around her. “A Brown?”

  Saerin raised an eyebrow. “Since when did the Mistress of Novices outrank a Sitter in the Hall, Katerine?”

  “I—”

  “Egwene al’Vere predicted this,” Saerin said, grimacing. “We can assume, therefore, that the other things she told us about the Seanchan are true. The Seanchan seize women who can channel and use them as weapons. They have brought no ground force; it would be near impossible to march them this far through hostile territory anyway. That means this is a raid, intended to seize as many sisters as possible.

  “The battle has already stretched long for a raid, perhaps because we’ve done such a poor job of resisting that they feel they can take their time. Either way, we need to form a unified front and hold our ground. Once the battle goes more roughly for them, they will withdraw. We are in no position whatsoever to ‘scour the Tower’ and force them out.”

  Katerine hesitated, considering that. Another boom sounded outside.

  “Where do those keep coming from?” Saerin asked in annoyance. “Haven’t they made enough holes?”

  “That wasn’t directed at the Tower, Saerin Sedai!” called one of the soldiers at the room’s doorway, standing just outside in the garden.

  He’s right, Saerin realized. The Tower didn’t shake. It didn’t the time before, either. “What are they firing on? People down below?”

  “No, Aes Sedai!” the guard said. “I think it was a blast thrown from within the Tower, launched fro
m one of the upper floors out at the flying creatures.”

  “Well, at least someone else is fighting back,” Saerin said. “Where was it launched from?”

  “I didn’t see,” the soldier said, still watching the skies. “Light, there it goes again! And again!” Red and yellow reflected from the smoke above, bathing the garden in light barely visible through the door and windows. Raken screamed in pain.

  “Saerin Sedai!” Captain Chubain said, turning from a group of wounded soldiers. Saerin hadn’t seen them enter; she’d been too caught up with Katerine. “These men are down from the upper levels. It appears that there’s a second rallying point for the defense, and it’s doing very well. The Seanchan are breaking off their attack below to focus there.”

  “Where?” Saerin asked eagerly. “Specifically?”

  “The twenty-second, Aes Sedai. Northeastern quarter.”

  “What?” Katerine asked. “The Brown Ajah sections?”

  No. That was what had been there before. Now, with the swapping of the Tower’s corridors, that area of the Tower was . . . “The novices’ quarters?” Saerin said. That seemed even more ridiculous. “How in the world. . . .” She trailed off, eyes widening slightly. “Egwene.”

  Each faceless Seanchan that Egwene struck down seemed to be Renna in her mind’s eye. Egwene stood at an open hole in the side of the White Tower, wind pulling at her white dress, tugging at her hair, howling as if in accompaniment to her rage.

  Her anger was not out of control. It was cold and distilled. The Tower was burning. She had Foretold this, she had Dreamed it, but the reality was far worse than she had feared. If Elaida had prepared for the event, the damage would have been much less. But there was no point in longing for what had not been.

  Instead, she directed her anger—the anger of justice, the wrath of the Amyrlin. She blasted to’raken after to’raken from the air. They were much less maneuverable than their smaller cousins. She must have felled a dozen by now, and her actions had drawn the attention of those outside. The attack below was breaking off, the entire raid focusing on Egwene. The novices fought Seanchan raiding parties on the stairs, forcing them back. To’raken winged about in the air, swooping around the Tower, trying to take Egwene with shields or blasts of fire. Smaller raken darted through the air, crossbowmen on their backs launching bolts at her.

  But she was a fount of Power, drawn from deep within the fluted rod in her hands, channeled through a group of novices and Accepted hiding in the room behind, bound to her in circle. Egwene was part of the fires that burned in the Tower, bloodying the sky with their flames, painting the air with their smoke. She almost seemed not a being of flesh, but one of pure Power, sending judgment to those who had dared bring war to the Tower itself. Blasts of lightning stormed from the sky, the clouds churning above. Fire sprouted from her hands.

  Perhaps she should have feared breaking the Three Oaths. But she did not. This was a fight that needed to be fought, and she did not lust for death—though, perhaps, her rage against the sul’dam approached it. The soldiers and damane were unfortunate casualties.

  The White Tower, the sacred dwelling of the Aes Sedai, was under attack. They were all in danger, a danger greater than death. Those silvery collars were far worse. Egwene defended herself and each woman in the Tower.

  She would make the Seanchan withdraw.

  Shield after shield came to sever her from the source, but they were like the hands of children trying to stem the roaring flow of a waterfall. With this much power, she could not be stopped save by a full circle, and the Seanchan didn’t use circles; the a’dam prevented it.

  The attackers prepared weaves to strike her down, but each time Egwene struck first, either deflecting the balls of fire with a blast of air or simply bringing down the to’raken who carried the women trying to kill her.

  Some beasts had flown away into the night, bearing captives. Egwene had felled the ones she could, but there had been so many to’raken in this raid. Some would escape. Sisters would be captured.

  She formed a ball of fire in each hand, blasting another beast from the sky as it swooped too close. Yes, some would escape. But they would pay dearly. That was another goal. She had to make certain they never attacked the Tower again.

  This raid had to cost them.

  “Bryne! Above you!”

  Gareth dodged to the side, rolling with a grunt, breastplate digging into his sides and belly as he hit cobblestones. Something massive in the air passed just above him, and a thudding crash followed. He came up on one knee to see a burning raken tumbling across the ground where he had been standing, its rider—already dead from the fireblast that had killed his mount—tumbling free like a rag doll. The raken corpse, still smoldering, slumped to a rest beside the Tower wall. The rider lay where he had fallen, the helm bouncing away into the darkness. One of the corpse’s boots was missing.

  Bryne heaved himself to his feet and pulled his belt knife free—he’d dropped his sword in the roll. He spun, scanning for danger. There was plenty of it to be found. Raken swooped—big ones and small ones—though most were fixated on the Tower above. The inner green at the front of the Tower was studded with chunks of stone and bodies twisted into horrific positions. Bryne’s men were fighting a squadron of Seanchan soldiers; the invaders in their insectile armor had piled out of the Tower moments ago. Were the Seanchan running away from something or just looking for a fight? There were a good thirty of them.

  Had the soldiers come out to this courtyard to be lifted away? Well, either way, they had met an unexpected force in Bryne’s soldiers. Light be blessed, there were no channelers in the group.

  With over two-to-one odds, Bryne’s men should have had an easy time of it. Unfortunately, there were some few of the bigger raken above dropping stones and fireballs on the courtyard’s occupants. And these Seanchan fought well. Very well.

  Bryne called for his men to stand fast, glancing about for his sword. Gawyn—the one who had warned him earlier—stood near it, dueling two Seanchan at once. Had the boy no sense? Gawyn’s force had the upper hand. He should have a swordmate with him. He—

  Gawyn dispatched both Seanchan with one fluid motion. Was that Lotus Closes Its Blossom? Bryne had never seen it used so effectively against two men at once. Gawyn wiped his weapon as part of the traditional finishing flourish, then sheathed it and kicked Bryne’s fallen sword up into the air and snatched it. He fell into a guard position, holding the sword, wary. Bryne’s line of men was holding, despite the attacks from above. Gawyn nodded to Bryne, waving him forward with the sword.

  Metal on metal rang across the courtyard, shadows thrown across the scarred grass, lit by the fires above. Bryne took his sword back and Gawyn unsheathed his own blade, on edge. “Look up there,” he said and pointed with his sword.

  Bryne squinted. There was a great deal of activity near a hole in one of the upper floors. He pulled free his spyglass, focusing on the location, trusting in Gawyn to warn him if danger approached.

  “By the Light . . .” Bryne whispered, focusing on the gap. A solitary figure wearing white stood in the Tower’s rent. It was too distant to make out her face, even with the spyglass, but whoever she was, she was certainly doing some damage to the Seanchan. Her arms were upraised with fire glowing between her hands, the burning light throwing shadows across the outer Tower wall around her. Blasts of fire flew in a steady stream, flinging raken from the sky.

  He raised his spyglass higher, scanning the length of the Tower, searching for other signs of resistance. There was activity on the flat, circular roof. It was so distant he could barely make it out. It looked like poles being raised, followed by raken swooping down and . . . What? Each time a raken swooped by, it left dragging something.

  Captives, Bryne realized with a chill. They’re taking captive Aes Sedai to the roof, tying ropes to them, then the raken are snatching those ropes and towing the women into the air. Light! He caught a glimpse of one of the captives being pulled away. It looke
d as if she had a sack tied over her head.

  “We have to get into the Tower,” Gawyn said. “This fight is just a distraction.”

  “Agreed,” Bryne said, lowering the spyglass. He glanced to the side of the courtyard, where Siuan had said she’d wait while the men fought. Time to collect her and—

  She was gone. Byrne felt a spike of shock, followed by one of terror. Where was she? If that woman had gotten herself killed. . . .

  But no. He could sense her inside the Tower. She wasn’t hurt. This bond was such a wondrous thing, but he was too unaccustomed to it. He should have noticed that she was gone! He scanned his line of soldiers. The Seanchan had fought well, but they were visibly routed now. Their line was breaking, scattering in all directions, and Bryne barked the order for his men not to follow.

  “First and second squads, gather the wounded quickly,” he called. “Carry them to the side of the courtyard. Those who can walk should head directly for the boats.” He grimaced. “Those who can’t walk will need to wait for Aes Sedai to Heal them.” The soldiers nodded. The badly wounded would be abandoned into enemy hands, but they had been warned of that possibility before coming on this mission. Recovering the Amyrlin outweighed all other concerns.

  Some men would die from their wounds while they waited. There was nothing he could do about that. Hopefully, most would be Healed by the White Tower Aes Sedai. That healing would be followed by imprisonment, but there was no other choice. The team of soldiers had to keep moving quickly, and there was no time for litters to carry the wounded.

  “Third and fourth squads,” he began, urgent. He stopped as a familiar form in a blue dress strode out of the Tower, towing a girl in white. Of course, Siuan herself looked only faintly older than the girl, now. At times, he had difficulty connecting her to the stern woman he had met years ago.

  Feeling a surge of relief, he confronted Siuan as she approached. “Who is that?” he demanded. “Where did you go?”