Or maybe he was just stretching at nothing, struggling to find something he could do to help. A part of him thought that if he could aid Egwene with this, maybe she would soften toward him. Perhaps forgive him for rescuing her from the Tower during the Seanchan attack.
Chubain entered a moment later. “I trust Your Lordship has had sufficient time,” he said stiffly. “The staff is here to clean.”
Insufferable man! Gawyn thought. Does he have to be so dismissive toward me? I should—
No. Gawyn forced himself to keep his temper. Once, that hadn’t been nearly so hard.
Why was Chubain so hostile toward him? Gawyn found himself wondering how his mother would have handled such a man as this. Gawyn didn’t often think of her, as doing so brought his mind back to al’Thor. That murderer had been allowed to walk away from the White Tower itself! Egwene had held him in her hand, and had released him.
True, al’Thor was the Dragon Reborn. But in his heart, Gawyn wanted to meet al’Thor with sword in hand and ram steel through him, Dragon Reborn or not.
Al’Thor would rip you apart with the One Power, he told himself. You’re being foolish, Gawyn Trakand. His hatred of al’Thor continued to smolder anyway.
One of Chubain’s guards came up, speaking, pointing at the door. Chubain looked annoyed they hadn’t found the forced lock. The Tower Guard was not a policing force—the sisters had no need of that, and were more effective at this kind of investigation anyway. But Gawyn could tell that Chubain wished he could stop the murders. Protecting the Tower, and its occupants, was part of his duty.
So he and Gawyn worked for the same cause. But Chubain acted as if this were a personal contest between them. Though his side did, essentially, meet defeat by Bryne’s side in the Tower division, Gawyn thought. And as far as he knows, I’m one of Bryne’s favored men.
Gawyn wasn’t a Warder, yet he was a friend of the Amyrlin. He dined with Bryne. How would that look to Chubain, particularly now that Gawyn had been given power to look in on the murders?
Light! Gawyn thought as Chubain shot him a hostile glance. He thinks I’m trying to take his position. He thinks I want to be High Captain of the Tower Guard!
The concept was laughable. Gawyn could have been First Prince of the Sword—should have been First Prince of the Sword—leader of Andor’s armies and protector of the Queen. He was son to Morgase Trakand, one of the most influential and powerful rulers Andor had ever known. He had no desire for this man’s position.
That wouldn’t be how it looked to Chubain. Disgraced by the destructive Seanchan attack, he must feel that his position was in danger.
“Captain,” Gawyn said, “may I speak with you in private?”
Chubain looked at Gawyn suspiciously, then nodded toward the hallway. The two of them retreated. Nervous Tower servants waited outside, ready to clean the blood away.
Chubain folded his arms and inspected Gawyn. “What is it you wish of me, my Lord?”
He often emphasized the rank. Calm, Gawyn thought. He still felt the shame of how he’d bullied his way into Bryne’s camp. He was better than that. Living with the Younglings, enduring the confusion and then the shame of the events surrounding the Tower’s breaking, had changed him. He couldn’t continue down that path.
“Captain,” Gawyn said, “I appreciate you letting me inspect the room.”
“I didn’t have much choice.”
“I realize that. But you have my thanks nonetheless. It’s important to me that the Amyrlin see me helping. If I find something the sisters miss, it could mean a great deal for me.”
“Yes,” Chubain said, eyes narrowing. “I suspect it could.”
“Maybe she’ll finally have me as her Warder.”
Chubain blinked. “Her…Warder?”
“Yes. Once, it seemed certain that she would take me, but now…well, if I can help you with this investigation, perhaps it will cool her anger at me.” He raised a hand, gripping Chubain’s shoulder. “I will remember your aid. You call me Lord, but my title is all but meaningless to me now. All I want is to be Egwene’s Warder, to protect her.”
Chubain wrinkled his brow. Then he nodded and seemed to relax. “I heard you talking. You’re looking for marks of gateways. Why?”
“I don’t think this is the work of the Black Ajah,” Gawyn said. “I think it might be a Gray Man, or some other kind of assassin. A Darkfriend among the Tower staff, perhaps? I mean, look at how the women are killed. Knives.”
Chubain nodded. “There were some signs of a struggle too. The sisters doing the investigation mentioned that. The books swept from the table. They thought it was done by the woman flailing as she died.”
“Curious,” Gawyn said. “If I were a Black sister, I’d use the One Power, regardless of the fact that others might sense it. Women channel all the time in the Tower; this wouldn’t be suspicious. I’d immobilize my victim with weaves, kill her with the Power, then escape before anyone thought oddly of it. No struggle.”
“Perhaps,” Chubain said. “But the Amyrlin seems confident that this is the work of Black sisters.”
“I’ll talk to her and see why,” Gawyn said. “For now, perhaps you should suggest to those doing the investigation that it would be wise to interview the Tower servants? Give this reasoning?”
“Yes…I think I might do that.” The man nodded, seeming less threatened.
The two stepped aside, Chubain waving the servants to enter for their cleaning. Sleete came out, looking thoughtful. He held something up, pinched between his fingers. “Black silk,” he said. “There’s no way of knowing if it came from the attacker.”
Chubain took the fibers. “Odd.”
“A Black sister wouldn’t seem likely to proclaim herself by wearing black,” Gawyn said. “A more ordinary assassin, though, might need the dark colors to hide.”
Chubain wrapped the fibers in a handkerchief and pocketed them. “I’ll take these to Seaine Sedai.” He looked impressed.
Gawyn nodded to Sleete, and the two of them retreated.
“The White Tower is abuzz these days with returning sisters and new Warders,” Sleete said softly. “How would anyone—no matter how stealthy—travel the upper levels wearing black without drawing attention?”
“Gray Men are supposed to be able to avoid notice,” Gawyn said. “I think this is more proof. I mean, it seems odd that nobody has actually seen these Black sisters. We’re making a lot of assumptions.”
Sleete nodded, eyeing a trio of novices who had gathered to gawk at the guards. They saw Sleete looking and chittered to one another before scampering away.
“Egwene knows more than she’s saying,” Gawyn said. “I’ll talk to her.”
“Assuming she’ll see you,” Sleete said.
Gawyn grunted irritably. They walked down a series of ramps to the level of the Amyrlin’s study. Sleete remained with him—his Aes Sedai, a Green named Hattori, rarely had duties for him. She still had her eyes on Gawyn for a Warder; Egwene was being so infuriating, Gawyn had half a mind to let Hattori bond him.
No. No, not really. He loved Egwene, though he was frustrated with her. It had not been easy to decide to give up Andor—not to mention the Younglings—for her. Yet she still refused to bond him.
He reached her study, and approached Silviana. The woman sat at her neat, orderly Keeper’s desk in the antechamber before Egwene’s study. The woman inspected Gawyn, her eyes unreadable behind her Aes Sedai mask. He suspected that she didn’t like him.
“The Amyrlin is composing a letter of some import,” Silviana said. “You may wait.”
Gawyn opened his mouth.
“She asked not to be interrupted,” Silviana said, turning back to the paper she had been reading. “You may wait.”
Gawyn sighed, but nodded. As he did so, Sleete caught his eye and gestured that he was going. Why had he accompanied Gawyn down here in the first place? He was an odd man. Gawyn waved farewell, and Sleete vanished into the hallway.
The
antechamber was a grand room with a deep red rug and wood trim on the stone walls. He knew from experience that none of the chairs were comfortable, but there was a single window. Gawyn stepped up to it for some air and rested his arm on the recessed stone, staring out over the White Tower grounds. This high up, the air felt crisper, newer.
Below, he could see the new Warder practice grounds. The old ones were dug up where Elaida had begun building her palace. Nobody was sure what Egwene would end up doing with the construction.
The practice grounds were busy, a bustle of figures sparring, running, fencing. With the influx of refugees, soldiers and sell-swords, there were many who presumed themselves Warder material. Egwene had opened the grounds to any who wanted to train and try to prove themselves, as she intended to push for as many women as were ready to be raised over the next few weeks.
Gawyn had spent a few days training, but the ghosts of men he had killed seemed more present down there. The grounds were a part of his past life, a time before everything had gone wrong. Other Younglings had easily—and happily—returned to that life. Already Jisao, Rajar, Durrent and most of his other officers had been chosen as Warders. Before long, nothing would remain of his band. Except for Gawyn himself.
The inner door clicked, followed by hushed voices. Gawyn turned to find Egwene, dressed in green and yellow, walking over to speak with Silviana. The Keeper glanced at him, and he thought he caught a trace of a frown on her face.
Egwene saw him. She kept her face Aes Sedai serene—she’d grown good at that so quickly—and he found himself feeling awkward.
“There was another death this morning,” he said quietly, walking up to her.
“Technically,” Egwene said, “it was last night.”
“I need to talk to you,” Gawyn blurted.
Egwene and Silviana shared a look. “Very well,” Egwene said, gliding back into her study.
Gawyn followed, not looking at the Keeper. The Amyrlin’s study was one of the grandest rooms in the Tower. The walls were paneled with a pale striped wood, carved to show fanciful scenes, marvelously detailed. The hearth was marble, the floor made of deep red stone cut into diamond blocks. Egwene’s large, carved desk was set with two lamps. They were in the shape of two women raising their hands to the air, flames burning between each set of palms.
One wall had bookcases filled with books arranged—it seemed—by color and size rather than by subject. They were ornamental, brought in to trim the Amyrlin’s study until Egwene could make her own selections.
“What is it you find so necessary to discuss?” Egwene said, sitting down at her desk.
“The murders,” Gawyn said.
“What about them?”
Gawyn shut the door. “Burn me, Egwene. Do you have to show me the Amyrlin every time we speak? Once in a while, can’t I see Egwene?”
“I show you the Amyrlin,” Egwene said, “because you refuse to accept her. Once you do so, perhaps we can move beyond that.”
“Light! You’ve learned to talk like one of them.”
“That’s because I am one of them,” she said. “Your choice of words betrays you. The Amyrlin cannot be served by those who refuse to see her authority.”
“I accept you,” Gawyn said. “I do, Egwene. But isn’t it important to have people who know you for yourself and not the title?”
“So long as they know that there is a place for obedience.” Her face softened. “You aren’t ready yet, Gawyn. I’m sorry.”
He set his jaw. Don’t overreact, he told himself. “Very well. Then, about the assassinations. We’ve realized that none of the women killed had Warders.”
“Yes, I was given a report on that,” Egwene said.
“Regardless,” he said, “it brings my thoughts to a larger issue. We don’t have enough Warders.”
Egwene frowned.
“We’re preparing for the Last Battle, Egwene,” Gawyn said. “And yet there are sisters without Warders. A lot of sisters. Some had one, but never took another after he died. Others never wanted one in the first place. I don’t think you can afford this.”
“What would you have me do?” she said, folding her arms. “Command the women to take Warders?”
“Yes.”
She laughed. “Gawyn, the Amyrlin doesn’t have that kind of power.”
“Then get the Hall to do it.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying. The choosing and keeping of a Warder is a very personal and intimate decision. No woman should be forced to it.”
“Well,” Gawyn said, refusing to be intimidated, “the choice to go to war is very ‘personal’ and ‘intimate’ as well—yet all across the land, men are called into it. Sometimes, feelings aren’t as important as survival.
“Warders keep sisters alive, and every Aes Sedai is going to be of vital importance soon. There will be legions upon legions of Trollocs. Every sister on the field will be more valuable than a hundred soldiers, and every sister Healing will be able to save dozens of lives. The Aes Sedai are assets that belong to humanity. You cannot afford to let them go about unprotected.”
Egwene drew back, perhaps at the fervor of his words. Then, unexpectedly, she nodded. “Perhaps there is…wisdom in those words, Gawyn.”
“Bring it before the Hall,” Gawyn said. “At its core, Egwene, a sister not bonding a Warder is an act of selfishness. That bond makes a man a better soldier, and we’ll need every edge we can find. This will also help prevent the murders.”
“I will see what can be done,” Egwene said.
“Could you let me see the reports the sisters are giving?” Gawyn said. “About the murders, I mean?”
“Gawyn,” she said, “I’ve allowed you to be a part of the investigation because I thought it might be good to have a different set of eyes looking things over. Giving you their reports would just influence you to draw the same conclusions as they do.”
“At least tell me this,” he said. “Have the sisters raised the worry that this might not be the work of the Black Ajah? That the assassin might be a Gray Man or a Darkfriend?”
“No, they have not,” Egwene said, “because we know that the assassin is not one of those two.”
“But the door last night, it was forced. And the women are killed with knives, not the One Power. There are no signs of gateways or—”
“The killer has access to the One Power,” Egwene said, speaking very carefully. “And perhaps they are not using gateways.”
Gawyn narrowed his eyes. Those sounded like the words of a woman stepping around her oath not to lie. “You’re keeping secrets,” he said. “Not just from me. From the entire Tower.”
“Secrets are needed sometimes, Gawyn.”
“Can’t you trust me with them?” He hesitated. “I’m worried that the assassin will come for you, Egwene. You don’t have a Warder.”
“Undoubtedly she will come for me, eventually.” She toyed with something on her desk. It looked like a worn leather strap, the type used to punish a criminal. Odd.
She? “Please, Egwene,” he said. “What’s going on?”
She studied him, then she sighed. “Very well. I’ve told this to the women doing the investigation. Perhaps I should tell you too. One of the Forsaken is in the White Tower.”
He lowered his hand to his sword. “What? Where! You have her captive?”
“No,” Egwene said. “She’s the assassin.”
“You know this?”
“I know Mesaana is here; I’ve dreamed that it is true. She hides among us. Now, four Aes Sedai, dead? It’s her, Gawyn. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
He bit off questions. He knew very little of Dreaming, but knew she had the Talent. It was said to be like Foretelling.
“I haven’t told the entire Tower,” Egwene continued. “I worry that if they knew one of the sisters around them is secretly one of the Forsaken, it would divide us all again, as under Elaida. We’d all be suspicious of one another.
“It’s bad enough
now, with them thinking Black sisters are Traveling in to commit murders, but at least that doesn’t make them suspicious of one another. And maybe Mesaana will think that I’m not aware it is her. But there, that’s the secret you begged to know. It’s not a Black sister we hunt, but one of the Forsaken.”
It was daunting to consider—but no more so than the Dragon Reborn walking the land. Light, a Forsaken in the Tower seemed more plausible than Egwene being the Amyrlin Seat! “We’ll deal with it,” he said, sounding far more confident than he felt.
“I have sisters searching the histories of everyone in the Tower,” Egwene said. “And others are watching for suspicious words or actions. We’ll find her. But I don’t see how we can make the women any more secure without inciting an even more dangerous panic.”
“Warders,” Gawyn said firmly.
“I will think on it, Gawyn. For now, there is something I need of you.”
“If it is within my power, Egwene.” He took a step toward her. “You know that.”
“Is that so?” she asked dryly. “Very well. I want you to stop guarding my door at night.”
“What? Egwene, no!”
She shook her head. “You see? Your first reaction is to challenge me.”
“It is the duty of a Warder to offer challenge, in private, where his Aes Sedai is concerned!” Hammar had taught him that.
“You are not my Warder, Gawyn.”
That brought him up short.
“Besides,” Egwene said, “you could do little to stop one of the Forsaken. This battle will be fought by sisters, and I am being very careful with the wards I set. I want my quarters to look inviting. If she tries to attack me, perhaps I can surprise her with an ambush.”
“Use yourself as bait?” Gawyn was barely able to get the words out. “Egwene, this is madness!”
“No. It’s desperation. Gawyn, women I am responsible for are dying. Murdered in the night, in a time when you yourself said we will need every woman.”
For the first time, fatigue showed through her mask, a weariness of tone and a slight slump to her back. She folded her hands in front of her, suddenly seeming worn.
“I have sisters researching everything we can find about Mesaana,” Egwene continued. “She’s not a warrior, Gawyn. She’s an administrator, a planner. If I can confront her, I can defeat her. But we must find her first. Exposing myself is only one of my plans—and you are right, it is dangerous. But my precautions have been extensive.”
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