The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  She clicked her tongue, telling the novice to wait, then pulling Bryne away to speak to him in a low voice. “Your soldiers were busy, and I decided it would be a good time to gather some information. And, I might note, we’re going to have to work on your attitude, Gareth Bryne. That’s not the proper way for a Warder to speak to his Aes Sedai.”

  “I’ll start worrying about that when you start acting like you have two bits of sense in your head, woman. What if you’d run into Seanchan?”

  “Then I would have been in danger,” she said, hands on hips. “It wouldn’t be the first time. I couldn’t risk being seen by other Aes Sedai with you or your soldiers. Such simple disguises won’t fool a sister.”

  “And if you’d been recognized?” he demanded. “Siuan, these people tried to execute you!”

  She sniffed. “Moiraine herself wouldn’t recognize me with this face. The women in the Tower will just see a young Aes Sedai who looks faintly familiar. Besides, I didn’t run into any of them. Just this child.” She glanced at the novice; the girl had a short bob of black hair and stared, terrified, at the battle in the sky above. “Hashala, come here,” Siuan called.

  The novice scurried over.

  “Tell this man what you told me,” Siuan commanded.

  “Yes, Aes Sedai,” the novice said with an anxious curtsy. Bryne’s soldiers made an honor guard around Siuan, and Gawyn stepped up beside Bryne. The young man’s eyes kept flicking toward the deadly sky.

  “The Amyrlin, Egwene al’Vere,” the novice said in a quivering voice. “She was released from the cells earlier today and allowed to return to the novices’ quarters. I was down in the lower kitchens when the attack came, so I don’t know what has happened to her. But she’s probably up on the twenty-first or twenty-second level somewhere. That’s where the novices’ quarters are now.” She grimaced. “The inside of the Tower is a mess, these days. Nothing is where it should be.”

  Siuan met Bryne’s eyes. “Egwene’s been given forkroot in heavy doses. She’ll barely be able to channel.”

  “We’ve got to reach her!” Gawyn said.

  “Obviously,” Bryne said, rubbing his chin. “That’s why we’re here. I guess we go up instead of down, then.”

  “You’re here to rescue her, aren’t you?” The novice sounded eager.

  Bryne eyed the girl. Child, I wish you hadn’t made that connection. He hated the thought of leaving a mere novice tied up in the middle of this mess. But they couldn’t have her running to give warning to the White Tower Aes Sedai.

  “I want to go with you,” the novice said fervently. “I’m loyal to the Amyrlin. The real Amyrlin. Most of us are.”

  Bryne raised an eyebrow, glancing at Siuan.

  “Let her come,” the Aes Sedai said. “It’s the easier option anyway.” She moved over to begin asking the girl a few more questions.

  Bryne glanced to the side as one of his captains, a man named Vestas, approached. “My Lord,” Vestas said urgently, his voice a deep whisper. “The wounded are sorted. We lost twelve men. Another fifteen are wounded but can walk and are heading for the boats. Six are wounded too badly to go with them.” Vestas hesitated. “Three men won’t last the hour, my Lord.”

  Bryne gritted his teeth. “We move on.”

  “I feel that pain, Bryne,” Siuan said, turning around and eyeing him. “What is it?”

  “We don’t have time. The Amyrlin—”

  “Can wait another moment. What is it?”

  “Three men,” he said. “I have to leave three of my men to die.”

  “Not if I Heal them,” Siuan said. “Show me.”

  Bryne made no further objection, though he did glance at the sky. Several of the raken had landed elsewhere in the Tower grounds, vague black shapes, lit by the fires in flickering orange. The fleeing Seanchan were congregating at them.

  Those were the ground assault troops, he thought. They really are pulling out. The raid is ending.

  Which meant they were running out of time. As soon as the Seanchan left, the White Tower would start to reorganize. They needed to reach Egwene! Light send that she hadn’t been captured.

  Still, if Siuan wanted to Heal the soldiers, then it was her decision. He just hoped that these three lives did not end up costing the life of the Amyrlin.

  Vestas had set the three soldiers by themselves at the side of the green, beneath the boughs of a large shade tree. Bryne brought a squad of soldiers, leaving Gawyn to organize the rest of the men, and followed Siuan over to the wounded. She knelt beside the first man. Her skill in Healing was not the best; she’d warned Bryne of this ahead of time. But perhaps she could make these three well enough that they would survive to be discovered and taken by the White Tower.

  She worked quickly, and Bryne noticed that she’d done herself an injustice. She seemed to do a creditable job with the Healing. Still, it took time. He scanned the courtyard, feeling his anxiety rise. Though blasts were still being exchanged on the upper floors, the lower floors and grounds were silent. The only sounds nearby were those of the groaning wounded and the crackling of flames.

  Light, he thought, surveying the rubble, running his eyes over the Tower’s base. The east wing’s roof and far wall had been leveled, and flames flickered inside the structure. The courtyard was a mess of rubble and gouges. Smoke hung in the air, pungent and thick. Would the Ogier be willing to return and rebuild this magnificent structure? Would it ever be the same again, or had a seemingly eternal monument fallen this evening? Was he proud or grieved to have witnessed it?

  A shadow moved in the darkness beside the tree.

  Bryne moved without thought. Three things in him mixed: years of training with the sword, a lifetime of practiced battlefield reflexes and a new bond-enhanced awareness. All came together in one motion. His sword was out in a heartbeat, and he performed Blacklance’s Last Strike, slamming his sword straight into the neck of the dark figure.

  All was still. Siuan, shocked, looked up from the man she was Healing. Bryne’s sword extended directly over her shoulder and into the neck of a Seanchan soldier in pure black armor. The man silently dropped a wickedly barbed shortsword slathered with a viscous liquid. Twitching, he reached for Bryne’s sword, as if to push it free. His fingers gripped Bryne’s arm for a moment.

  Then the man slid backward off of Bryne’s blade and to the ground. He spasmed once, whispering something distinct despite the bubbling of his bleeding throat. “Marath . . . damane . . .”

  “Light burn me!” Siuan breathed, raising a hand to her breast. “What was that?”

  “He wasn’t dressed like the others,” Bryne said, shaking his head. “The armor is different. Assassin of some sort.”

  “Light,” Siuan said. “I didn’t even see him! He almost seemed part of the darkness itself!”

  Assassins. They always seemed to look the same, regardless of the culture. Bryne sheathed his sword. That was the first time he’d ever used Blacklance’s Last Strike in combat. It was a simple form, intended for only one thing: speed. Draw the sword and strike into the neck in one fluid motion. If you missed, you usually died.

  “You saved my life,” Siuan said, looking up at Bryne. Her face was mostly shadowed. “By the seas at midnight,” she said, “the blasted girl was right.”

  “Who?” Bryne asked, warily scanning the darkness for more assassins. He waved curtly, and his men sheepishly opened their lanterns further. The assassin’s attack had come so quickly that they had barely moved. If Bryne hadn’t had the speed of a Warder bond. . . .

  “Min,” Siuan said, sounding tired. Those Healings seemed to have taken a lot out of her. “She said I had to stay near you.” She paused. “If you hadn’t come tonight, I would have died.”

  “Well,” Bryne said, “I am your Warder. I suspect it won’t be the only time I save you.” Why had it grown so warm all of a sudden?

  “Yes,” Siuan said, standing up. “But this is different. Min said I’d die, and . . . No, wait. That’s not what Min
said exactly. She said that if I didn’t stay close to you, we’d both die.”

  “What are you—” Bryne said, turning toward her.

  “Hush!” Siuan said, taking his head in her hands. He felt a strange prickling sensation. Was she using the Power on him? What was going on? He recognized that shock, like ice in the veins! She was Healing him! But why? He wasn’t wounded.

  Siuan took her hands off his face, then teetered slightly with a sudden look of exhaustion. He grabbed her, to help steady her, but she shook her head and righted herself. “Here,” she said, grabbing his sword arm, twisting it so that the wrist was visible. There, pressed into his skin, was a tiny black pin. She yanked it free. Bryne felt a chill totally unrelated to the Healing.

  “Poisoned?” he asked, glancing at the dead man. “When he reached for my arm, it wasn’t a simple death spasm.”

  “Probably had a numbing agent on it,” Siuan muttered angrily, letting him help her sit down. She tossed the pin aside and it suddenly burst into flames, the poison evaporating beneath the heat of her channeling.

  Bryne ran a hand through his hair. His brow was damp. “Did you . . . Heal it?”

  Siuan nodded. “It was surprisingly easy; there was only a little in your system. It would have killed you anyway. You’ll have to thank Min next time you see her, Bryne. She just saved both of our lives.”

  “But I wouldn’t have been poisoned if I hadn’t come!”

  “Don’t try to apply logic to a viewing or Foretelling like this,” Siuan said, grimacing. “You’re alive. I’m alive. I suggest we leave it at that. You feel good enough to keep going?”

  “Does it matter?” Bryne said. “I’m not about to let you go on without me.”

  “Let’s move, then,” Siuan said, taking a deep breath and climbing to her feet. That rest hadn’t been nearly long enough, but he didn’t challenge her. “These three soldiers of yours will survive the night. I’ve done what I can for them.”

  Egwene sat, exhausted, on a pile of rubble, staring out of the hole in the White Tower, watching fires burning below. Figures moved about them, and one by one, the fires winked out. Whoever had been running the resistance was quick-minded enough to realize that the fires could prove as dangerous as the Seanchan. But a few sisters weaving Air or Water could make short work of the flames, preserving the Tower. What was left of it.

  Egwene closed her eyes and lay back, resting against the fragments of a wall, feeling the fresh breeze blow across her. The Seanchan were gone, the last to’raken vanishing into the night. That moment, watching it flee, was the moment when Egwene realized how hard she’d taxed herself and the poor novices she’d been drawing through. She’d released them with orders to go directly to sleep. The other women she’d gathered were caring for wounded or working on the fires on the upper levels.

  Egwene wanted to help. A part of her did, at least. A sliver. But Light, she was tired! She couldn’t channel another trickle, not even using the sa’angreal. She’d pushed the limits of what she could manage. But she was so worn out now that she wouldn’t be able to embrace the Source if she tried.

  She’d fought. She’d been glorious and destructive, the Amyrlin of judgment and fury, Green Ajah to the core. And still, the Tower had burned. And still, more to’raken had escaped than had fallen. The count of wounded among those she’d gathered was somewhat encouraging. Only three novices and one Aes Sedai dead, while they’d gathered ten damane and killed dozens of soldiers. But what of the other floors? The White Tower would not come out ahead in this battle.

  The White Tower was broken, physically now as well as spiritually. They’d need a strong leader to rebuild. The next few days would be pivotal. It made her more than exhausted to consider the work she’d need to do.

  She had protected many. She had resisted and fought. But this day would still mark one of the greatest disasters in the history of the Aes Sedai.

  Can’t think of that, she told herself. Have to focus on what to do to fix things. . . .

  She would get up soon. She would lead the novices and Aes Sedai on these upper floors as they cleaned up and assessed the damage. She would be strong and capable. The others would be tempted to fall into despair, and she needed to be positive. For them.

  But she could take a few minutes. She just needed to rest for a little while. . . .

  She barely noticed when someone picked her up. She tiredly opened her eyes, and—though numb of mind—was astonished to find that she was being carried by Gawyn Trakand. His forehead was smeared with crusty dried blood, but his face was determined. “I’ve got you, Egwene,” he said, glancing down. “I’ll protect you.”

  Oh, she thought, closing her eyes again. Good. Such a pleasant dream. She smiled.

  Wait. No. That wasn’t right. She wasn’t supposed to be leaving the Tower. She tried to voice complaint, but she could barely mumble.

  “Fish guts,” she heard Siuan Sanche say. “What did they do to her?”

  “Is she wounded?” another voice. Gareth Bryne.

  No, Egwene thought numbly. No, you have to let me go. I can’t leave. Not now. . . .

  “They just left her there, Siuan,” Gawyn said. His voice was so nice to hear. “Defenseless in the hallway! Anyone could have come upon her like that. What if the Seanchan had discovered her?”

  I destroyed them, she thought with a smile, thoughts slipping away from her. I was a burning warrior, a hero called by the Horn. They won’t dare face me again. She almost fell asleep, but being jostled by Gawyn’s steps kept her awake. Barely.

  “Ho!” She distantly heard Siuan’s voice. “What’s this? Light, Egwene! Where did you get this? This is the most powerful one in the Tower!”

  “What is it, Siuan?” Bryne’s voice asked.

  “Our way out,” Siuan said distantly. Egwene sensed something. Channeling. Powerful channeling. “You asked about sneaking back out with all the activity in the courtyard? Well, with this, I’m strong enough for Traveling. Let’s go collect those soldiers with the boats and hop back to camp.”

  No! Egwene thought, clawing through her drowsiness, forcing her eyes open. I’m winning, don’t you see? If I offer leadership now, when the rubble is being cleared, they’ll see me as Amyrlin for certain! I have to stay! I have to—

  Gawyn carried her through the gateway, leaving the hallways of the White Tower behind.

  Saerin finally let herself sit. The gathering room that was her center of operations had also become a room for separating and Healing the wounded. Yellow and Brown sisters moved down the lines of soldiers, servants, and other sisters, focusing on the worst cases first. There were a frightful number of dead, including over twenty Aes Sedai so far. But the Seanchan had withdrawn, as Saerin had predicted. Thank the light for that.

  Saerin herself sat at the far northwestern corner of the room, beneath a fine painting of Tear in spring, perched on a short stool and accepting reports as they came. The wounded groaned and the room smelled of blood and of healall, which was used on those whose wounds didn’t demand immediate Healing. The room also smelled of smoke. That was ever-present tonight. More and more soldiers approached her, handing in reports of damage and casualties. Saerin didn’t want to read further, but it was better than listening to those groans. Where under the Light was Elaida?

  Nobody had seen anything of the Amyrlin during the battle, but much of the upper Tower had been cut off from the lower portions. Hopefully, the Amyrlin and the Hall could be gathered soon to present a strong leadership in the crisis.

  Saerin accepted another report, then raised her eyebrows at what it said. Only three novices in Egwene’s group of over sixty had died? And only one sister out of some forty she had gathered? Ten Seanchan channelers captured, over thirty raken blown from the air? Light! That made Saerin’s own efforts seem downright amateur by comparison. And this was the woman Elaida kept trying to insist was simply a novice?

  “Saerin Sedai?” a man’s voice asked.

  “Hmm?” she asked, distr
acted.

  “You should hear what this Accepted has to say.”

  Saerin looked up, realizing that the voice belonged to Captain Chubain. He had his hand on the shoulder of a young Arafellin Accepted with blue eyes and a plump round face. What was her name? Mair, that was it. The poor child looked ragged. Her face sported a number of cuts and some scrapes that would likely bruise. Her Accepted dress was ripped on the sleeve and shoulder.

  “Child?” Saerin asked, glancing at Chubain’s worried face. What was wrong?

  “Saerin Sedai,” the girl whispered, curtsying, then wincing at the action. “I. . . .”

  “Spit it out, child,” Saerin demanded. “This isn’t a night for dawdling.”

  Mair looked down. “It’s the Amyrlin, Saerin Sedai. Elaida Sedai. I was attending her tonight, taking transcriptions for her. And. . . .”

  “And what?” Saerin said, feeling a growing chill.

  The girl started crying. “The entire wall burst in, Saerin Sedai. The rubble covered me; I think they thought I was dead. I couldn’t do anything! I’m sorry!”

  Light intercede! Saerin thought. She can’t be saying what I think she is. Can she?

  Elaida awoke to a very odd sensation. Why was her bed moving? Rippling, undulating. So rhythmic. And that wind! Had Carlya left the window open? If so, the maid would be beaten. She’d been warned. She’d been—

  This was not her bed. Elaida opened her eyes and found herself looking down at a dark landscape hundreds of feet below. She was tied to the back of some strange beast. She couldn’t move. Why couldn’t she move? She reached for the Source, then felt a sudden, sharp pain, as though she had suddenly been beaten on every inch of her body with a thousand rods.

  She reached up, dazed, feeling the collar at her throat. There was a dark figure riding in the saddle next to her; no lanterns lit the woman’s face, but Elaida could feel her somehow. Elaida could just barely remember spending time dangling in the air, tied to a rope, as she fell in and out of consciousness. When had she been pulled up? What was happening?