The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  But never had the dissension extended beyond the doors of the Tower itself. Never had Aes Sedai led troops across those bridges. To do so now would attach the event forever to Egwene’s tenure as Amyrlin. Whatever else she achieved, it would likely be overshadowed by this day.

  She had hoped to liberate and unite. Instead, she would turn to war and subjugation. If it had to be so, then she would give the command. But she wanted to wait until the last possible moment. If that meant a grim hour beneath the overcast sky, horses snorting as they sensed their riders’ tension, then so be it.

  Bryne’s hour came and passed. Egwene hesitated for a few minutes longer—as long as she dared. No relief came to the poor soldiers standing on the bridge. They just stared out behind their little barricade, resolute.

  Reluctantly, Egwene turned to give the command.

  “Here now.” Bryne leaned forward in his saddle. “What is this?”

  Egwene turned back to the bridge. Distantly, just barely visible, a procession was coming over the top. Had she waited too long? Had the White Tower sent reinforcements? Had she cost the lives of her men by her stubborn reluctance?

  But no. That group wasn’t soldiers, but women in skirts. Aes Sedai!

  Egwene held up her hand, staying any attacks by her soldiers. The procession rode directly up to the Tower Guard fortification. A moment later, a woman in a gray dress stepped out in front of the blockade, accompanied by a single Warder. Egwene squinted, trying to make out the woman’s features, and Bryne hastily handed her his spyglass. Egwene accepted it thankfully, but had already recognized the woman. Andaya Forae, one of the new Sitters to the Hall chosen after the split. Gray Ajah. That implied a willingness to negotiate.

  The glow of power surrounded the woman, and Siuan hissed, causing several nearby soldiers to raise their bows. Again Egwene held up a hand. “Bryne,” she said sternly, “I will not have the first shot fired until I give permission.”

  “Stand down, men!” Bryne bellowed. “I’ll have your hides if you so much as nock an arrow!” The men snapped their bows back down from the ready.

  The distant woman used a weave Egwene couldn’t make out, and then spoke in a voice that was obviously amplified. “We would speak with Egwene al’Vere,” Andaya said. “Is she in attendance?”

  Egwene made her own weave to amplify her voice. “I am here, Andaya. Tell the others with you to come out so that I can see them.”

  Surprisingly, they obeyed the command. Nine more women filed out, and Egwene studied each one. “Ten Sitters,” she said, handing Bryne back his spyglass and releasing her weave so that she could speak without her words being projected. “Two from each Ajah except the Blue and the Red.”

  “That’s promising.” Bryne rubbed his chin.

  “Well, they could be here to demand my surrender,” Egwene noted. “All right,” she said, amplifying her voice with the Power again. “What do you wish of me?”

  “We have come,” Andaya said. She hesitated. “We have come to inform you that the Hall of the White Tower has chosen to raise you to the Amyrlin Seat.”

  Siuan gasped in shock, and Bryne cursed quietly to himself. Several of the soldiers muttered about it being a trap. But Egwene just closed her eyes. Dared she hope? She’d assumed that her unwanted rescue had come too soon. But if she’d laid enough groundwork before being taken by Siuan and Gawyn. . . .

  “What of Elaida?” Egwene demanded, opening her eyes, her voice booming across the expanse. “Have you deposed yet another Amyrlin?”

  The other side was silent for a moment. “They’re conferring.” Bryne had raised his spyglass.

  Andaya spoke a moment later. “Elaida do Avriny a Roihan, Watcher of the Seals, the Flame of Tar Valon, the Amyrlin Seat . . . was taken in the raid last night. Her whereabouts are unknown. She is presumed dead or otherwise unable to fulfill her duties.”

  “By the Light!” Bryne lowered the glass.

  “No more than she deserved,” Siuan muttered.

  “No woman deserves that,” Egwene said to Siuan and Bryne. Absently she raised fingers to her neck. “Better she had died.”

  Bryne said, “This could be a trap.”

  “I don’t see how,” Siuan said. “Andaya is bound by the oaths. She wasn’t on your list of Black, was she, Egwene?”

  Egwene shook her head.

  “I’m still hesitant, Mother,” Bryne said.

  Egwene restored her weave. “You will let my army enter? You will accept the other Aes Sedai back in fellowship and will reinstate the Blue Ajah?”

  “We anticipated these demands,” Andaya said. “They will be met.”

  There was silence, the only sound that of the waters lapping against their banks below.

  “Then I accept,” Egwene said.

  “Mother,” Siuan said cautiously. “This might be rash. Perhaps you should speak with—”

  “It is not rash,” Egwene released her weave and felt a surge of hope. “It is what we’ve wanted.” She eyed Siuan. “Besides. Who are you to lecture me on being rash?” Siuan looked down. “General, prepare your men to cross, and bring the Sitters at the back forward. Send runners back to the Aes Sedai camp with the news, and make certain your men at the other bridges know to stand down.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Bryne wheeled his horse about and gave the necessary orders.

  Taking a deep breath, Egwene kicked her horse into motion onto the bridge. Siuan muttered a fisher’s curse and followed. Egwene could hear Gawyn’s horse following as well, then a squad of soldiers obeying a curt command from Bryne.

  Egwene rode across the waters, hair blowing out behind her, laced with red ribbons. She felt an odd sense of moment—a weight of realization—as she considered what they had all just avoided. It was soon replaced with growing satisfaction and joy.

  Her white mare bucked her head slightly, brushing a silky mane across Egwene’s hands. On the bridge, the Sitters turned to make their way into the city. The Tower rose just ahead. Wounded. Bleeding.

  But it still stood. Light, it stood!

  CHAPTER 46

  To Be Forged Again

  After crossing the bridge to Tar Valon as a victor, the day nearly became a blur for Egwene. She hastened to the White Tower, Siuan and Gawyn barely managing to keep up with her. At the Tower, Egwene was met by a group of servants; the Sitters themselves were waiting in the Hall for Egwene.

  The servants led her to an unadorned, wood-paneled chamber set with a pair of leather-padded chairs. Egwene had never been here before; it appeared to be a kind of waiting room near the Hall. It smelled of leather, and a small brazier burned coals in the corner.

  Soon, a short, toadlike Brown sister named Lairain entered and instructed Egwene on the proper way to go about the ceremony. The little curly-haired woman seemed completely indifferent to the importance of the moment, and Egwene had never met her before. Likely, she was one of the Browns who spent her life roaming the back library stacks, and only surfaced once a century or so to recite instructions to prospective Amyrlins. Egwene listened carefully; she’d gone through the ceremony once, but it was very complex.

  She could still remember her nervousness on that day, months ago, when she’d been raised in Salidar. Back then, she’d still been confused as to what was happening. Her? Amyrlin?

  That hesitation was gone. She did not really worry about getting the ceremony wrong. It was only a ceremony, and the important decision had already been made. As Egwene listened to Lairain, she heard Siuan arguing outside the doors with one of the sisters, claiming that Egwene had already been raised, and that this ceremony wasn’t needed. Egwene quieted Lairain with a raised hand and called out to Siuan.

  Siuan peeked in the door.

  “I was raised by the rebels, Siuan,” Egwene said sternly. “These women deserve the chance to stand for me as well. Otherwise, I will never have a claim to their loyalty. The ceremony must be performed again.”

  Siuan scowled, but nodded. “Very well.”

 
Lairain opened her mouth to continue instructions, but Egwene silenced her with another motion, earning a huff. “What news have you, Siuan?”

  “Well,” Siuan said, cracking the door a little wider, “Bryne moved most of his troops across the bridges, and has relieved the Tower Guard from their positions at the fortifications, sending them in—along with a number of his own squads—to help put out flareups around the city. The Seanchan set some homes on fire to cover their retreat as they fled.”

  That explained the lack of troops at the barricade—that, along with the knowledge that the Hall was busy debating whether or not to raise Egwene. They likely didn’t realize how close they’d come to war.

  “What do you want to do with the sisters from your camp?” Siuan asked. “They’re starting to wonder.”

  “Tell them to gather in front of the Sunset Gate,” Egwene said. “Have them stand in ranks by Ajah, with Sitters in a line at the front. Once I am finished with the ceremony, I will greet them and formally accept their apology for their rebellion and welcome them back into the Tower.”

  “Accept their apology?” Siuan asked incredulously.

  “They rebelled against the Tower, Siuan,” Egwene said, looking at her. “Whatever the need of what they did, there is reason for apology.”

  “But you were with them!”

  “I no longer represent just them, Siuan,” Egwene said firmly. “I represent the Tower. The entire Tower. And the Tower needs to know that the rebels regret the division. They needn’t lie and say that they wished they had stayed, but I think it is appropriate for them to express sorrow over the hardships the division caused. I will acquit them, and we can get on with healing.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Siuan said in resignation. Egwene caught sight of Tesan standing behind, the woman nodding her Taraboner-braided head at Egwene’s words.

  Egwene let Lairain continue her instructions, then repeated back to her the lines she would have to say and the actions she’d have to take. When the Brown was satisfied, Egwene rose, pulled open the door and found that Siuan had left to relay her orders. Tesan stood in the hallway outside, arms folded, regarding Gawyn. He leaned against the wall a short distance away, his hand resting on the pommel of his sheathed sword.

  “Your Warder?” Tesan asked of Egwene.

  She regarded Gawyn, and was forced to confront a whole mess of emotions. Anger, affection, passion and regret. What a strange mix. “No,” she said. She stared Gawyn in the eyes. “What I am going to do next you cannot be part of, Gawyn. Wait here.”

  He opened his mouth to object, thought better of it, then stood up stiffly and bowed. That gesture felt even more insolent than an argument would have.

  Egwene sniffed softly—yet loud enough for him to hear—then allowed Tesan to lead her to the Hall of the Tower. The Hall: both a place and a group of people. For they were one, just as the Amyrlin Seat was a person, yet was also the chair in which she sat.

  She stopped before the doors to the Hall, the dark wood inlaid with the silver Flame of Tar Valon, and felt her heart flutter rebelliously. Siuan suddenly appeared, with a pair of slippers, gesturing at Egwene’s riding boots. Of course; the Hall floor was delicately painted. She changed into the slippers; Siuan took her boots away. There was no need to be nervous! I’ve been here before, she thought suddenly. Not just in Salidar. In my testing. I’ve faced this door, confronted the women beyond. In my testing . . .

  A gong suddenly sounded; it seemed loud enough to shake the entire Tower, ringing to warn that an Amyrlin was about to be raised. The gong rang again, then again, and those ornate doors swung open. Yes, this was a different experience entirely from the one she’d had back in that humble wooden building where she’d been raised by the Salidar Aes Sedai. In many ways, her performance in Salidar had been but a rehearsal.

  The doors finished opening, and Egwene stifled a gasp. The grand, domed room beyond now had a blasted hole—a gaping emptiness—directly across from the entrance. It looked out at Dragonmount. The chamber wasn’t as damaged as some had been in the Seanchan attack; the rubble was minimal, and the destruction had barely reached past that outer wall. The raised platform still ran around the outside of the room, and the chairs it held were undamaged. Eighteen of them, in clusters of three, each painted and cushioned to declare the Ajah of its inhabitant.

  The Amyrlin Seat stood by the far wall, directly in front of the broken wall, its back to the sprawling landscape beyond and distant Dragonmount. If the Seanchan blast had gone a few feet farther inward, the Seat would have been destroyed. Thank the Light, it was unmarred.

  Egwene could faintly smell paint in the air. Had they hurriedly had the Seat repainted to bear all seven colors again? If so, they’d worked quickly. They hadn’t had time to replace the seats of the Blue Sitters, however.

  Egwene noted Saerin, Doesine and Yukiri sitting with their respective Ajahs. Seaine was there as well, regarding Egwene with those calculating blue eyes. How much power had these four women wielded in these events? Square-faced Suana, of the Yellow, was smiling openly in satisfaction as she regarded Egwene, and while most of the faces bore the serene, unemotional faces of Aes Sedai, Egwene sensed approval in their postures. Or, at least, a lack of hostility. More than just the Black Ajah hunters had been behind this decision.

  Saerin stood up from her chair in the Brown section. “Who comes before the Hall of the Tower?” she asked in a ringing voice.

  Egwene hesitated, still looking over the Sitters, their seats arranged around the outer platform, equally spaced. Too many of those chairs were empty. There were only two Green Sitters; Talene had fled weeks ago. The Gray were missing Evanellein, who had vanished earlier in the day. Velina and Sedore were gone as well. That didn’t bode well; those two were on Verin’s list of Black Ajah. Had they been warned? Did Evanellein’s disappearance mean Verin had missed her?

  There were no Red sisters either. With a start, Egwene remembered that Duhara had left the Tower some weeks before—nobody knew why, but some said it had been on a mission for Elaida. Perhaps she was about Black Ajah business. The other two red Sitters, Javindhra and Pevara, had vanished mysteriously.

  That left eleven Sitters. Not enough to raise an Amyrlin by the old laws of the Tower—but those had been revised with Elaida’s disbanding of the Blue. Fewer Sitters meant fewer women needed to raise an Amyrlin, and now only eleven were required. It would have to do. At least each and every Sitter currently in the Tower knew of this event; it wasn’t in secret, like Elaida’s raising. And Egwene could be reasonably certain no Black Sitters would stand for her.

  Saerin cleared her throat, glancing at Egwene uncertainly, and called again, “Who comes before the Hall of the Tower?”

  Tesan leaned in from the side, as if to hiss the proper response to Egwene. Egwene, however, cut her off by holding up a hand.

  There was something Egwene had been considering, something audacious. Yet it was appropriate. She knew that it was. She could feel that it was. “The Red Ajah is in disgrace?” she asked quietly of Tesan.

  The White nodded, braided hair brushing the sides of her face. “The Reds, you needn’t worry about them,” she said in her light Taraboner accent. “Following Elaida’s disappearance, they retreated back to their quarters. The Sitters here, they worried that the Red would choose new Sitters quickly and send them to this proceeding. I believe some . . . curt missives from the Hall of the Tower were enough to cow them.”

  “And Silviana Brehon? Still imprisoned?”

  “She is, as far as I know, Mother,” Tesan said, slipping for a moment and using the title, though Egwene hadn’t been formally raised by the Hall yet. “Don’t worry, Leane—she has been freed. We had her escorted out to stand with the other rebels, awaiting your forgiveness.”

  Egwene nodded thoughtfully. “Have Silviana brought here, to the Hall of the Tower, immediately.”

  Tesan’s brow wrinkled. “Mother, I don’t think this is the time—”

  “Just do it,” Egwe
ne hissed, then turned to face the Hall. “One who comes obediently, in the Light,” she pronounced in a firm voice.

  Saerin relaxed. “Who comes before the Hall of the Tower?”

  “One who comes humbly, in the Light,” Egwene responded. She stared at each of the Sitters. A firm hand. She would have to be firm. They needed leadership.

  “Who comes before the Hall of the Tower?” Saerin finished.

  “One who comes at the summons of the Hall,” Egwene said, “obedient and humble in the Light, asking only to accept the will of the Hall.”

  The ceremony proceeded, each of the Sitters stripping to the waist to prove she was a woman. Egwene did the same, and barely gave a blush at the thought of Gawyn, who had clearly thought she should bring him along to the event.

  “Who stands for this woman?” Saerin asked after the Sitters had re-dressed. Egwene had to remain stripped to the waist for now, and the cool breeze through the broken wall was chill on her skin. “And pledges for her, heart for heart, soul for soul, life for life?”

  Yukiri, Seaine and Suana stood quickly. “I so pledge,” each of them announced.

  The first time Egwene had experienced this ceremony, she had been in shock. At each step, she’d been terrified she’d make an error. Worse, she’d been terrified that it would all turn out to be a ruse or a mistake.

  That fear was gone. As the ritual questions were asked—as Egwene stepped forward three steps and knelt on the smooth floor, repainted by Elaida’s order with only six colors spiraling out of the mark of the Flame of Tar Valon—Egwene saw through the pomp and looked at the core of what was happening. These women were terrified. As had been the women in Salidar. The Amyrlin Seat was a force of stability, and they reached for it.

  Why had she been chosen? Both times, it seemed the same answer. Because she was the only one they could all agree upon. There were smiling faces in this group. But they were the smiles of women who had succeeded in keeping rivals off of the Seat. Either that, or they were the smiles of women who were relieved that someone was stepping up to take leadership. And, perhaps, there were some who smiled because they weren’t the ones who had to take the Seat. Its recent history had been fraught with danger, dissension, and two dramatic tragedies.