The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  The women were silent. One by one, those who were standing sat back down to prepare for the new vote.

  “Who will stand for this motion?” Egwene asked.

  They stood. Blessedly, they stood—one at a time, slowly, reluctantly. But they did it. Every one of them.

  Egwene let out a deep breath. They might squabble and scheme, but they knew right when they saw it. They shared the same goals. If they disagreed, it was because they had different views on how to reach those goals. Sometimes it was hard to remember that.

  Looking shaken by what they’d done, the Sitters allowed the meeting to break up. Outside, sisters had begun to gather, surprised to find the Hall meeting. Egwene nodded to Saerin and the others of her supporters and walked from the room, Silviana at her side.

  “That was a victory,” the Keeper said once they were alone. She sounded satisfied. “But you did still give up control of our armies.”

  “I had to,” Egwene said. “They could have pulled command away from me at any time; this way, I got something in return.”

  “Authority over the Dragon Reborn?”

  “Yes,” Egwene said, “but I was referring more to closing that loophole in Tower law. So long as it was possible for the Hall to meet in relative secret, my authority—the authority of any Amyrlin—could be circumvented. Now, if they want to maneuver, they’ll have to do it in front of my face.”

  Silviana gave a rare smile. “I suspect that since something like today is the result of such maneuvering, Mother, they will be more hesitant in the future.”

  “That’s the idea,” Egwene said. “Though I doubt Aes Sedai will ever stop trying to maneuver. They simply cannot be allowed to dice with the Last Battle or the Dragon Reborn.”

  Back at Egwene’s study, Nicola and Nissa still waited. “You did well,” Egwene told them. “Very well. In fact, I’m of a mind to give you more responsibility. Go to the Traveling ground, and go to Caemlyn—the Queen there will be expecting you. Return with the items she gives you.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Nicola said, grinning. “What will she give us?”

  “Ter’angreal,” Egwene said. “Used for visiting the World of Dreams. I’m going to begin training you, and some others, in their use. Do not use them without my express permission, however. I will send some soldiers with you.” That should be enough to keep the two in line.

  The two Accepted curtsied and trotted away, excited. Silviana looked at Egwene. “You didn’t swear them to silence. They are Accepted, and they will brag about being trained with the ter’angreal.”

  “I’m depending on it,” Egwene said, walking to the study door.

  Silviana raised an eyebrow.

  “I don’t intend to let the girls come to harm,” Egwene said. “In fact, they’ll be doing a lot less in Tel’aran’rhiod than they probably suspect from what I just said. Rosil has been lenient with me so far, but she’ll never let me put Accepted in danger. This is just to start the proper rumors.”

  “What rumors?”

  “Gawyn scared off the assassin,” Egwene said. “There hasn’t been a murder in days, and I suppose we should bless him for that. But the killer is still hiding, and I’ve glimpsed Black sisters watching me in Tel’aran’rhiod. If I can’t catch them here, then I will catch them there. But first I need a way to trick them into thinking they know where to find us.”

  “So long as you intend them to find you, and not those girls,” Silviana said, voice calm—but iron. She had been the Mistress of Novices.

  Egwene found herself grimacing, thinking of the things that had been expected of her as an Accepted. Yes, Silviana was right. She would have to take care not to subject Nicola and Nissa to similar dangers. She had survived, and was stronger for it, but Accepted should not be put through such trials unless there was no other choice.

  “I will take care,” Egwene said. “I simply need them to spread the rumor that I have a very important meeting coming up. If I lay the groundwork properly, our phantom won’t be able to resist coming to listen in.”

  “Bold.”

  “Essential,” Egwene said. She hesitated, hand on her door. “Speaking of Gawyn, have you found out where in the city he’s run off to?”

  “Actually, Mother, I had a note on this earlier today. It appears that…well, he isn’t in the city. One of the sisters delivering your messages to the Queen of Andor returned with news of seeing him there.”

  Egwene groaned, closing her eyes. That man will be the death of me. “Tell him to return. Infuriating though he is, I’m going to need him in the coming days.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Silviana said, taking out a sheet of paper.

  Egwene entered her study to continue her letters. Time was short. Time was so very, very short.

  Chapter 28

  Oddities

  “What are you planning, husband?” Faile asked.

  They were back in their tent, following the parley with the Whitecloaks. Perrin’s actions had surprised her—which was invigorating, yet also disturbing.

  He took off his coat. “I smell a strangeness on the wind, Faile. Something I’ve never smelled before.” He hesitated, glancing at her. “There are no wolves.”

  “No wolves?”

  “I can’t sense any nearby,” Perrin said, eyes distant. “There were some before. Now they’re gone.”

  “You said that they don’t like being close to people.”

  He pulled off his shirt, exposing a muscled chest covered in curling brown hair. “There were too few birds today, too few creatures in the underbrush. Light burn that sky. Is that causing this, or is it something else?” He sighed, sitting down on their sleeping pallet.

  “You’re going to go…there?” Faile asked.

  “Something’s wrong,” he repeated. “I need to learn what I can before the trial. There might be answers in the wolf dream.”

  The trial. “Perrin, I don’t like this idea.”

  “You’re angry about Maighdin.”

  “Of course I’m angry about Maighdin,” she said. They’d been through Malden together, and she hadn’t told Faile that she was the Queen of bloody Andor? It made Faile look like a fool—like a small-town braggart, extolling her skill with the sword in front of a passing blademaster.

  “She didn’t know if she could trust us,” Perrin said. “She was fleeing one of the Forsaken, it seems. I’d have hidden myself, too.”

  Faile glared at him.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “She didn’t do it to make you look bad, Faile. She had her reasons. Let it go.”

  That made her feel a little better; it was so nice that he would stand up for himself now. “Well, it makes me wonder who Lini will turn out to be. Some Seanchan queen? Master Gill, the King of Arad Doman in hiding?”

  Perrin smiled. “I suspect they’re her attendants. Gill is who he says he is, at least. Balwer is probably having a fit for not having figured this out.”

  “I bet he did figure it out,” Faile said, kneeling beside him. “Perrin, I meant what I said about this trial. I’m worried.”

  “I won’t let myself be taken,” he said. “I only said I’d sit through a trial and give them a chance to present evidence.”

  “Then what’s the point?” Faile said.

  “It gives me more time to think,” he said, “and it might stop me from having to kill them. Their captain, Damodred—something about him smells better than many of the rest. Not rabid with anger or hate. This will get our people back and let me plead my side. It feels good for a man to be able to have his say. Maybe that’s what I’ve needed, all this time.”

  “Well, all right,” Faile said. “But in the future, please consider warning me of your plans.”

  “I will,” he said, yawning and lying back. “In truth, it didn’t occur to me until the last moment.”

  Faile kept her tongue with some difficulty. At least something good had come from that parley. She’d watched Berelain when she’d met Damodred, and she’d rarely s
een a woman’s eyes light up so brightly. Faile might be able to make use of that.

  She looked down. Perrin was already snoring softly.

  Perrin found himself sitting with his back against something hard and smooth. The too-dark, almost evil sky of the wolf dream boiled above the forest, which was a mixture of fir, oak and leatherleaf.

  He stood up, then turned and looked at what he had been leaning against. A massive steel tower stretched toward the turbulent sky. Too straight, with walls that looked like a single piece of seamless metal, the tower exuded a completely unnatural feel.

  I told you this place was evil, Hopper sent, suddenly sitting next to Perrin. Foolish cub.

  “I didn’t come here by choice,” Perrin protested. “I woke here.”

  Your mind is focused on it, Hopper said. Or the mind of one to whom you are connected.

  “Mat,” Perrin said, without understanding how he knew. The colors didn’t appear. They never did in the wolf dream.

  As foolish a cub as yourself?

  “Maybe more foolish.”

  Hopper smelled incredulous, as if unwilling to believe that was possible. Come, the wolf sent. It has returned.

  “What has—”

  Hopper vanished. Perrin followed with a frown. He now could easily catch the scent of where Hopper had gone. They appeared on the Jehannah Road, and that strange violet glass wall was there again, slicing the roadway in half, extending high in the air and into the distance in either direction. Perrin walked up to a tree. Its bare branches seemed trapped in the glass, immobile.

  Hopper paced nearby. We have seen this thing before, he sent. Long, long ago. So many lives ago.

  “What is it?”

  A thing of men.

  Hopper’s sending included confused images. Flying, glowing discs. Impossibly tall structures of steel. Things from the Age of Legends? Hopper didn’t understand their use any more than he understood the use of a horse cart or a candle.

  Perrin looked down the roadway. He didn’t recognize this section of Ghealdan; it must be farther toward Lugard. The wall had appeared in a different place than it had last time.

  A thought occurring to him, Perrin moved down the roadway in a few jumping bursts. A hundred paces away, he looked back and confirmed his suspicions. That glass didn’t make a wall, but an enormous dome. Translucent, with a violet tint, it seemed to extend for leagues.

  Hopper moved at a blur, coming to stand beside him. We must go.

  “He’s in there, isn’t he?” Perrin asked. He reached out. Oak Dancer, Sparks and Boundless were near. Ahead, inside the dome. They responded with quick, frantic sendings, at hunt and being hunted.

  “Why don’t they flee?” Perrin asked.

  Hopper sent confusion.

  “I’m going to them,” Perrin said, willing himself forward.

  Nothing happened.

  Perrin felt a stab of panic in his gut. What was wrong? He tried again, this time trying to send himself to the base of the dome.

  It worked. He arrived in an eyeblink, that glasslike surface rising in a cliff face before him. It’s this dome, he thought. It’s blocking me. Suddenly, he understood the trapped feeling the wolves had sent. They couldn’t get away.

  Was that the purpose of this dome, then? To trap wolves so that Slayer could kill them? Perrin growled, stepping up to the surface of the dome. He couldn’t pass in by imagining himself there, but perhaps he could get through by more mundane means. He raised a hand, then hesitated. He didn’t know what touching the surface would do.

  The wolves sent images of a man in black and leather, with a harsh, lined face and a smile curling on his lips as he launched arrows. He smelled wrong, so wrong. He also smelled of dead wolves.

  Perrin couldn’t leave them in there. No more than he could leave Master Gill and the others to the Whitecloaks. Furious at Slayer, he touched the surface of the dome.

  His muscles suddenly lost strength. They felt like water, his legs unable to hold him up. He fell to the ground, hard. His foot was still touching the dome—passing through it. The dome appeared to have no substance.

  His lungs no longer worked; inflating his chest was too difficult. Panicked, he imagined himself elsewhere, but it didn’t work. He was trapped, as surely as the wolves!

  A gray-silver blur appeared next to him. Jaws grabbed his shoulder. As Hopper pulled him free of the violet dome, Perrin immediately felt his strength return. He gasped for breath.

  Foolish cub, Hopper sent.

  “You’d leave them?” Perrin said, voice ragged.

  Not foolish to dig in the hole. Foolish for not waiting for me in case hornets came out. Hopper turned toward the dome. Help me if I fall. He padded forward, then touched his nose to the dome. Hopper stumbled, but righted himself and continued on slowly. On the other side, he collapsed, but his chest continued to move.

  “How did you do it?” Perrin asked, rising.

  I am me. Hopper as he saw himself—which was identical to who he was. Also scents of strength and stability.

  The trick, it seemed, was to be in complete control of who you were. Like many things in the wolf dream, the strength of one’s mental image was more powerful than the substance of the world itself.

  Come, Hopper sent. Be strong, pass through.

  “I have a better idea,” Perrin said, standing up. He charged forward at full speed. He hit the violet dome and immediately went limp, but his momentum carried him to the other side, where he rolled to a stop. He groaned, shoulder hurt, arm scraped.

  Foolish cub, Hopper sent. You must learn.

  “Now isn’t the time,” Perrin said, climbing to his feet. “We have to help the others.”

  Arrows in the wind, thick, black, deadly. The hunter’s laughter. The scent of a man who was stale. The killer was here. Hopper and Perrin ran down the road, and Perrin found that he could increase his speed within the dome. Tentatively, he tried jumping forward with a thought, and it worked. But when he tried to send himself outside, nothing happened.

  So the dome was a barrier. Within it, he could move freely, but he could not move to a place outside it by imagining himself elsewhere. He had to pass the dome’s wall physically if he wanted out.

  Oak Dancer, Boundless and Sparks were ahead. And Slayer, too. Perrin growled—frantic sendings flooded him. Dark woods. Slayer. He seemed so tall to the wolves, a dark monster with a face chiseled as if from rock.

  Blood on the grass. Pain, anger, terror, confusion. Sparks was wounded. The other two jumped back and forth, taunting and distracting Slayer while Sparks crawled toward the border of the dome.

  Care, Young Bull, Hopper sent. This man hunts well. He moves almost like a wolf, though he is something wrong.

  “I’ll distract him. You get Sparks.”

  You have arms. You carry. There was more to the sending than that, of course: Hopper’s age and experience, Perrin still a pup.

  Perrin gritted his teeth, but didn’t argue. Hopper was more experienced than he was. They parted, Perrin reaching out for Sparks, finding where he was—hidden within a patch of trees—and taking himself directly there.

  The dark brown wolf had an arrow in his thigh, and he was whimpering softly, trailing blood as he crawled. Perrin knelt quickly and pulled the arrow out. The wolf continued to whimper, smelling frightened. Perrin held the arrow up. It smelled evil. Disgusted, he tossed it aside and picked up the wolf.

  Something crackled nearby, and Perrin spun. Boundless leaped between two trees, smelling anxious. The other two wolves were leading Slayer away.

  Perrin turned and ran toward the dome’s nearest edge, carrying Sparks. He couldn’t leap directly to the edge of the dome because he didn’t know where it was.

  He burst from the trees, heart thumping. The wolf in his arms seemed to grow stronger as they left the arrow behind. Perrin ran more quickly, using a speed that felt reckless, moving hundreds of paces with blurring speed. The dome wall approached, and he pulled to a stop.

  Slaye
r was suddenly there, standing before him, bow drawn. He wore a black cloak that billowed around him; he was no longer smiling, and his eyes were thunderous.

  He released. Perrin shifted and never saw where the arrow landed. He appeared in the place where he’d first entered the dome; he should have gone there first. He hurled himself through the violet dome, collapsing on the other side, sending Sparks tumbling.

  The wolf yelped. Perrin hit hard.

  Young Bull! Sparks sent an image of Slayer, dark like a thunderhead, standing right inside the barrier with bow drawn.

  Perrin didn’t look. He shifted, sending himself to the slopes of Dragonmount. Once there, he leaped to his feet, anxious, hammer appearing in his hand. Groups of nearby wolves sent greeting. Perrin ignored them for the moment.

  Slayer did not follow. After a few tense moments, Hopper appeared. “Did the others get away?” Perrin asked.

  They are free, he sent. Whisperer is dead. The sending showed the wolf—from the viewpoint of the others in the pack—being killed moments after the dome appeared. Sparks had taken an arrow as he nuzzled at her side in panic.

  Perrin growled. He nearly jumped away to confront Slayer again, but a caution from Hopper stopped him. Too soon! You must learn!

  “It’s not only him,” Perrin said. “I need to look at the area around my camp and that of the Whitecloaks. Something smells wrong there in the waking world. I need to see if something is odd there.”

  Odd? Hopper sent the image of the dome.

  “It is probably related.” The two oddities seemed likely to be more than mere coincidence.

  Search another time. Slayer is too strong for you.

  Perrin took a deep breath. “I have to face him eventually, Hopper.”

  Not now.

  “No,” Perrin agreed. “Not now. Now we practice.” He turned to the wolf. “As we will do every night until I am ready.”

  Rodel Ituralde rolled over in his cot, neck slick with sweat. Had Saldaea always been this hot and muggy? He wished for home, the cool ocean breezes of Bandar Eban.