The Dragon Reborn

by Robert Jordan

  Egwene nodded, sure that if she spoke, Sheriam would hear the lie in her voice.

  “We did,” Nynaeve said firmly.

  Sheriam shook her head. “A man—a dead man, at that!—in the novices’ quarters would be scandal enough, but this . . . !”

  “What makes him different?” Nynaeve asked. “And how could he be more than dead?”

  Sheriam took a deep breath, and gave them each a searching look. “He is one of the Soulless. A Gray Man.” Absently, she wiped her fingers again, her eyes going back to the body. Worried eyes.

  “The Soulless?” Egwene said, a tremor in her voice, at the same time that Nynaeve said, “A Gray Man?”

  Sheriam glanced at them, a look as penetrating as it was brief. “Not a part of your studies, yet, but you seem to have gone beyond the rules in a great many ways. And considering you found this. . . .” She gestured to the corpse. “The Soulless, the Gray Men, give up their souls to serve the Dark One as assassins. They are not really alive, after that. Not quite dead, but not truly alive. And despite the name, some Gray Men are women. A very few. Even among Darkfriends, only a handful of women are stupid enough to make that sacrifice. You can look right at them and hardly notice them, until it is too late. He was as much as dead while he walked. Now, only my eyes tell me that what is lying there ever lived at all.” She gave them another long look. “No Gray Man has dared enter Tar Valon since the Trolloc Wars.”

  “What will you do?” Egwene asked. Sheriam’s brows rose, and she quickly added, “If I may ask, Sheriam Sedai.”

  The Aes Sedai hesitated. “I suppose you may, since you had the bad luck to find him. It will be up to the Amyrlin Seat, but with everything that has happened, I believe she will want to keep this as quiet as is possible. We do not need more rumors. You will speak of this to none but me, or to the Amyrlin, should she mention it first.”

  “Yes, Aes Sedai,” Egwene said fervently. Nynaeve’s voice was cooler.

  Sheriam appeared to take their obedience for granted. She gave no sign of having heard them. Her attention was all on the dead man. The Gray Man. The Soulless. “There will be no hiding the fact that a man was killed here.” The glow of the One Power suddenly surrounded her, and just as abruptly, a long, low dome covered the body on the floor, grayish and so opaque that it was hard to see there was a body under it. “But this will keep anyone else from touching him who can discover his nature. I must have this removed before the novices come back.”

  Her tilted green eyes regarded them as if she had just remembered their presence. “You two go, now. To your room, I think, Nynaeve. Considering what you are already facing, if it became known you were involved in this, even on the edge of it. . . . Go.”

  Egwene curtsied, and tugged at Nynaeve’s sleeve, but Nynaeve said, “Why did you come up here, Sheriam Sedai?”

  For a moment Sheriam looked startled, but on the instant she frowned. Fists on her hips, she regarded Nynaeve with all the firmness of her office. “Does the Mistress of Novices now need an excuse for coming to the novices’ quarters, Accepted?” she said softly. “Do Accepted now question Aes Sedai? The Amyrlin means to make something of you two, but whether she does or not, I will teach you manners, at least. Now, the pair of you, go, before I haul you both down to my study, and not for the appointment the Amyrlin Seat has already set for you.”

  A sudden thought came to Egwene. “Forgive me, Sheriam Sedai,” she said quickly, “but I must fetch my cloak. I feel cold.” She rushed away, around the gallery before the Aes Sedai could speak.

  If Sheriam found that crossbow bolt in front of her door, there would be too many questions. No pretending they had only found the man, that he had no connection to her, then. But when she reached the door to her room, the heavy bolt was gone. Only the jagged chip in the stone beside the door said it had ever been there.

  Egwene’s skin crawled. How could anyone take it without one of us seeing. . . . Another Gray Man! She had embraced saidar before she knew it, only the sweet flow of the Power inside her telling her what she had done. Even so, it was one of the hardest things she had ever done, opening that door and going into her room. There was no one there. She snatched the white cloak off its peg and ran out, anyway, and she did not release saidar until she was halfway back to the others.

  Something more had passed between the women while she was gone. Nynaeve was attempting to appear meek, and succeeding only in looking as if she had a sour stomach. Sheriam had her fists on her hips and was tapping her foot irritably, and the stare she was giving Nynaeve, like green millstones ready to start grinding barley flour, took in Egwene equally.

  “Forgive me, Sheriam Sedai,” she said hastily, dropping a curtsy and settling her cloak on her shoulders at the same time. “This . . . finding a dead man—a . . . a Gray Man!—it made me cold. If we may go now?”

  At Sheriam’s tight nod of dismissal, Nynaeve made a bare curtsy. Egwene seized her arm and hustled her away.

  “Are you trying to make more trouble for us?” she demanded when they were two levels down. And safely out of earshot of Sheriam, she hoped. “What else did you say to her, to make her glare like that? More questions, I suppose? I hope you learned something worth making her mad at us.”

  “She would not say anything,” Nynaeve muttered. “We must ask questions if we are to do any good, Egwene. We will have to take a few chances, or we’ll never learn anything.”

  Egwene sighed. “Well, be a little more circumspect.” From the set of Nynaeve’s face, the other woman had no intention of going easy or avoiding risks. Egwene sighed again. “The crossbow bolt was gone, Nynaeve. It must have been another Gray Man who took it.”

  “So that is why you. . . . Light!” Nynaeve frowned and gave a sharp tug to her braid.

  After a time Egwene said, “What was that she did to cover the . . . the body?” She did not want to think of it as a Gray Man; that reminded her there was another one out there. She did not want to think of anything at all, right then.

  “Air,” Nynaeve replied. “She used Air. A neat trick, and I think I see how to make something useful with it.”

  The use of the One Power was divided into the Five Powers: Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and Spirit. Different Talents required different combinations of the Five Powers. “I don’t understand some of the ways the Five Powers are combined. Take Healing. I can see why it requires Spirit, and maybe Air, but why Water?”

  Nynaeve rounded on her. “What are you babbling about? Have you forgotten what we’re doing?” She looked around. They had reached the Accepted’s quarters, a stack of galleries lower than the novices’ quarters, surrounding a garden rather than a court. There was no one in sight except for another Accepted, hurrying along on another level, but she lowered her voice. “Have you forgotten the Black Ajah?”

  “I am trying to forget it,” Egwene said fiercely. “For a little while, anyway. I am trying to forget that we just left a dead man. I’m trying to forget that he almost killed me, and that he has a companion who might try it again.” She touched her ear; the drop of blood had dried, but the nick still hurt. “We are lucky we aren’t both dead right now.”

  Nynaeve’s face softened, but when she spoke her voice held something of the time when she had been the Wisdom of Emond’s Field, saying words that had to be said for someone’s own good. “Remember that body, Egwene. Remember that he tried to kill you. Kill us. Remember the Black Ajah. Remember them all the time. Because if you forget, just once, the next time, it may be you lying dead.”

  “I know,” Egwene sighed. “But I do not have to like it.”

  “Did you notice what Sheriam did not mention?”

  “No. What?”

  “She never wondered who stabbed him. Now, come on. My room is just down here, and you can put your feet up while we talk.”

  CHAPTER

  16

  Hunters Three

  Nynaeve’s room was considerably larger than the novice rooms. She had a real bed, not one built into th
e wall, two ladder-back armchairs instead of a stool, and a wardrobe for her clothes. The furnishings were all plain, suitable for a middling successful farmer’s house, but compared to the novices, the Accepted lived in luxury. There was even a small rug, woven with scrolls of yellow and red on blue. The room was not empty when Egwene and Nynaeve entered.

  Elayne stood in front of the fireplace, arms crossed beneath her breasts and eyes red at least partly from anger. Two tall young men sprawled in the chairs, all arms and legs. One, with his dark green coat undone to show a snowy shirt, shared Elayne’s blue eyes and red-gold hair, and his grinning face marked him plainly as her brother. The other, Nynaeve’s age and with his gray coat neatly buttoned, was slender and dark of hair and eye. He rose, all sure confidence and lithely muscled grace, when Egwene and Nynaeve came in. He was, Egwene thought not for the first time, the most handsome man she had ever seen. His name was Galad.

  “It is good to see you again,” he said, taking her hand. “I have worried much over you. We have worried much.”

  Her pulse quickened, and she took back her hand before he should feel it. “Thank you, Galad,” she murmured. Light, but he’s beautiful. She told herself to stop thinking that way. It was not easy. She found herself smoothing her dress, wishing he were seeing her in silk instead of this plain white wool, perhaps even one of those Domani dresses Min had told her of, the ones that clung and seemed so thin you thought they must be transparent even though they were not. She flushed furiously and banished the image from her mind, willed him to look away from her face. It did not help that half the women in the Tower, from scullery maids to Aes Sedai themselves, looked at him as if they had the same thoughts. It did not help that his smile seemed for her alone. In fact, his smile made it worse. Light, if he even suspected what I was thinking, I’d die!

  The golden-haired young man leaned forward in his chair. “The question is, where have you been? Elayne dodges my questions as if she has a pocket full of figs and doesn’t want me to have any.”

  “I have told you, Gawyn,” Elayne said in a tight voice, “it is none of your affair. I came here,” she added to Nynaeve, “because I did not want to be alone. They saw me, and followed. They would not take no for an answer.”

  “Wouldn’t they,” Nynaeve said flatly.

  “But it is our affair, sister,” Galad said. “Your safety is very much our affair.” He looked at Egwene, and she felt her heart jump. “The safety of all of you is very important to me. To us.”

  “I am not your sister,” Elayne snapped.

  “If you want company,” Gawyn told Elayne with a smile, “we can do as well as any. And after what we went through just to be here, we deserve some explanation of where you’ve been. I would rather let Galad thump me all over the practice yard all day than face Mother again for a single minute. I’d rather have Coulin mad at me.” Coulin was Master of Arms, and kept a tight discipline among the young men who came to train at the White Tower whether they aspired to become Warders or just to learn from them.

  “Deny the connection if you will,” Galad told Elayne gravely, “but it is still there. And Mother put your safety in our hands.”

  Gawyn grimaced. “She’ll have our hides, Elayne, if anything happens to you. We had to talk fast, or she’d have hauled us back home with her. I have never heard of a queen sending her own sons to the headsman, but Mother sounded ready to make an exception if we don’t bring you home safely.”

  “I am sure,” Elayne said, “that your fast talk was all for me. None of it was meant to let you stay here studying with the Warders.” Gawyn’s face reddened.

  “Your safety was our first concern.” Galad sounded as if he meant it, and Egwene was sure he did. “We managed to convince Mother that if you did return here, you would need someone to look after you.”

  “Look after me!” Elayne exclaimed, but Galad went on smoothly.

  “The White Tower has become a dangerous place. There have been deaths—murders—with no real explanations. Even some Aes Sedai have been killed, though they have tried to keep that quiet. And I have heard rumors of the Black Ajah, spoken in the Tower itself. By Mother’s command, when it is safe for you to leave your training, we are to return you to Caemlyn.”

  For answer, Elayne lifted her chin and half turned away from him.

  Gawyn ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Light, Nynaeve, Galad and I are not villains. All we want to do is help. We would do it anyway, but Mother commanded it, so there’s no chance of you talking us out of it.”

  “Morgase’s commands carry no weight in Tar Valon,” Nynaeve said in a level voice. “As for your offer of help, I will remember it. Should we need help, you will be among the first to hear of it. For now, I wish you to leave.” She gestured pointedly to the door, but he ignored her.

  “That is all very well, but Mother will want to know Elayne has come back. And why she ran off without a word, and what she was doing these months. Light, Elayne! The whole Tower was in a turmoil. Mother was half-crazed with fear. I thought she’d tear the Tower down with her bare hands.” Elayne’s face took on a measure of guilt, and Gawyn pressed his advantage. “You owe her that much, Elayne. You owe me that much. Burn me, you’re being as stubborn as stone. You’ve been gone for months, and all I know about it is that you’ve run afoul of Sheriam. And the only reasons I know that much are because you’ve been crying and you won’t sit down.” Elayne’s indignant stare said he had squandered whatever momentary advantage he might have had.

  “Enough,” Nynaeve said. Galad and Gawyn opened their mouths. She raised her voice. “I said enough!” She glared at them until it was clear their silence would hold, then went on. “Elayne owes the two of you nothing. Since she chooses to tell you nothing, that is that. Now, this is my room, not the common room of an inn, and I want you out of it.”

  “But, Elayne—” Gawyn began at the same time that Galad said, “We only want—”

  Nynaeve spoke loudly enough to drown them out. “I doubt you asked permission to enter the Accepted’s quarters.” They stared at her, looking surprised. “I thought not. You will be out of my room, out of my sight, before I count three, or I will write a note to the Master of Arms about this. Coulin Gaidin has a much stronger arm than Sheriam Sedai, and you may be assured that I will be there to see he makes a proper job of it.”

  “Nynaeve, you wouldn’t—” Gawyn began worriedly, but Galad motioned him to silence and stepped closer to Nynaeve.

  Her face kept its stern expression, but she unconsciously smoothed the front of her dress as he smiled down at her. Egwene was not surprised. She did not think she had met a woman outside the Red Ajah who would not be affected by Galad’s smile.

  “I apologize, Nynaeve, for our forcing ourselves on you unwanted,” he said smoothly. “We will go, of course. But remember that we are here if you need us. And whatever caused you to run away, we can help with that, as well.”

  Nynaeve returned his smile. “One,” she said.

  Galad blinked, his smile fading. Calmly, he turned to Egwene. Gawyn got up and started for the door. “Egwene,” Galad said, “you know that you, especially, can call on me at any time, for anything. I hope you know that.”

  “Two,” Nynaeve said.

  Galad gave her an irritated look. “We will talk again,” he told Egwene, bowing over her hand. With a last smile, he took an unhurried step toward the door.

  “Thrrrrrrrrr”—Gawyn darted through the door, and even Galad’s graceful stride quickened markedly—“ree,” Nynaeve finished as the door banged shut behind them.

  Elayne clapped her hands delightedly. “Oh, well done,” she said. “Very well done. I did not even know men were forbidden the Accepted’s quarters, too.”

  “They aren’t,” Nynaeve said dryly, “but those louts did not know it, either.” Elayne clapped her hands again and laughed. “I’d have let them just leave,” Nynaeve added, “if Galad had not made such a show of taking his time about it. That young man has too f
air a face for his own good.” Egwene almost laughed at that; Galad was no more than a year younger that Nynaeve, if that, and Nynaeve was straightening her dress again.

  “Galad!” Elayne sniffed. “He’ll bother us again, and I do not know whether your trick will work more than once. He does what he sees as right no matter who it hurts, even himself.”

  “Then I will think of something else,” Nynaeve said. “We can’t afford to have them looking over our shoulders all the time. Elayne, if you wish, I can make a salve that will soothe you.”

  Elayne shook her head, then lay down across the bed with her chin in her hands. “If Sheriam found out, we would no doubt both have yet another visit to her study to look forward to. You have not said very much, Egwene. Cat caught your tongue?” Her expression became grimmer. “Or perhaps Galad has?”

  Egwene blushed in spite of herself. “I simply did not choose to argue with them,” she said in as dignified a tone as she could manage.

  “Of course,” Elayne said grudgingly. “I will admit that Galad is good-looking. But he is horrid, too. He always does right, as he sees it I know that does not sound horrid, but it is. He has never disobeyed Mother, not in the smallest thing that I know of. He will not tell a lie, even a small one, or break a rule. If he turns you in for breaking one, there isn’t the slightest spite in it—he seems sad you could not live up to his standards, if anything—but that doesn’t change the fact that he will turn you in.”

  “That sounds—uncomfortable,” Egwene said carefully, “but not horrid. I cannot imagine Galad doing anything horrid.”

  Elayne shook her head, as if in disbelief that Egwene found it so hard to see what was clear to her. “If you want to pay attention to someone, try Gawyn. He is nice enough—most of the time—and he’s besotted with you.”