Knife of Dreams twot-11 Read online

  She despises wilders, and she purely hates women who claim to be Aes Sedai.”

  “She’s not going to the cells, yet,” Katerine replied. “Elaida wants her taken to Silviana.”

  “Well, as long as I learn that trick from this child or the other one.”

  Hitching her shawl up onto her shoulders, Melare took a deep breath and headed back down the stairs, a woman with labor ahead of her she was not looking forward to. She gave Egwene hope for Leane, though. Leane was “the other one,” now, no longer “the wilder.”

  Katerine set off down the corridor walking quickly, and in silence, but Barasine pushed Egwene ahead of her after the other Red, muttering half under her breath about how ridiculous it was to think that a sister could learn anything from a wilder, or from a jumped-up Accepted who told outlandish lies. Maintaining some shreds of dignity was difficult, to say the least, while being shoved down a hallway by a long-legged woman with your mouth gaping open as wide as it would go and drool leaking down your chin, but she managed as best she could. In truth, she hardly thought about it. Melare had given her too much to think on.

  Melare added to the sisters in the coach. It could hardly mean what it seemed to, but if it did…

  Soon the blue-and-white floor tiles became red-and-green, and they approached an unmarked wooden door between two tapestries of flowered trees and stout-beaked birds so colorful they seemed unlikely to be real. Unmarked, but bright with polish and known to every initiate of the Tower. Katerine rapped on the door with what might almost have been a display of diffidence, and when a strong voice inside called, “Come,” she drew a deep breath before pushing the door open. Did she have bad memories of entering here as novice or Accepted, or was it the woman who awaited them who made her hesitant?

  The study of the Mistress of Novices was exactly as Egwene recalled, a small, dark-paneled room with plain, sturdy furnishings. A narrow table by the doorway was lightly carved in a peculiar pattern, and bits of gilt clung to the carved frame of the mirror on one wall, but nothing else was decorated in any way. The stand-lamps and the pair of lamps on the writing table were unadorned brass, though of six different patterns. The woman who held the office usually changed when a new Amyrlin was raised, yet Egwene was ready to wager that a woman who had come to this room as a novice two hundred years ago would recognize nearly every stick and perhaps everything.

  The current Mistress of Novices-in the Tower, at least-was on her feet when they entered, a stocky woman nearly as tall as Barasine, with a dark bun on the back of her head and a square, determined chin. There was an air of brooking no nonsense about Silviana Brehon. She was a Red, and her charcoal-colored skirts had discreet red slashes, but her shawl lay draped across the back of the chair behind the writing table. Her large eyes were unsettling, however. They seemed to take in everything about Egwene in a glance, as though the woman not only knew every thought in her head, but also what she would think tomorrow.

  “Leave her with me and wait outside,” Silviana said in a low, firm voice.

  “Leave her?” Katerine said incredulously.

  “Which words did you not understand, Katerine? Need I repeat myself?”

  Apparently she did not. Katerine flushed, but she said no more. The glow of saidar surrounded Silviana, and she took over the shield smoothly, without giving any opening when Egwene might have embraced the Power herself. She was certain that she could, now. Except that Silviana was far from weak; there was no hope she could break the woman’s shield. The gag of Air disappeared at the same time, and she contented herself with digging a handkerchief from her belt pouch and calmly wiping her chin.

  The pouch had been searched-she always kept the handkerchief on top, not beneath everything else-but learning whether anything besides her ring had been taken would have to wait. There had not been anything of much use to a prisoner in any case. A comb, a packet of needles, some small scissors, odds and ends. The Amyrlin’s stole. What sort of dignity she could maintain while being birched was beyond her, but that was the future; this was now.

  Silviana studied her, arms folded beneath her breasts, until the door closed behind the other two Reds. “You aren’t hysterical, at least,” she said then. “That makes matters easier, but why aren’t you hysterical?”

  “Would it do any good?” Egwene replied, returning the handkerchief to her pouch. “I can’t see how.”

  Silviana strode to the writing table and stood reading from a sheet of paper there, occasionally glancing up. Her expression was a perfect mask of Aes Sedai serenity, unreadable. Egwene waited patiently, hands folded at her waist. Even upside down she could recognize Elaida’s distinctive hand on that page, if not read what it said. The woman need not think she would grow nervous at waiting. Patience was one of the few weapons left to her, at present.

  “It seems the Amyrlin has been mulling over what to do about you for some time,” Silviana said finally. If she had expected Egwene to begin shifting her feet or wringing her hands, she gave no sign of disappointment. “She has a very complete plan ready. She doesn’t want the Tower to lose you. Nor do I. Elaida has decided that you have been used as a dupe by others and should not be held accountable. So you will not be charged with claiming to be Amyrlin. She has stricken your name from the roll of the Accepted and entered it in the novice book again. I agree with that decision, frankly, though it’s never been done before.

  Whatever your ability with the Power, you missed almost everything else you should have learned as a novice. You needn’t fear that you’ll have to take the test again, though. I wouldn’t force anyone to go through that twice.”

  “I am Aes Sedai by virtue of having been raised to the Amyrlin Seat.”

  Egwene replied calmly. There was no incongruity in fighting for a title when claiming it might still lead to her death. Acquiescence would be as sharp a blow to the rebellion as her execution. Maybe sharper. A novice again? That was laughable! “I can cite the relevant passages in the law, if you wish.”

  Silviana arched an eyebrow and sat down to open a large leather bound book. The punishments book. Dipping her pen in the simple glass ink jar, she made a notation. “You’ve just earned your first visit to me. I’ll give you the night to think about it rather than putting you over my knee now. Let’s hope contemplation increases the salubrious effect.”

  “Do you think you can make me deny who I am with a spanking?” Egwene was hard put to keep incredulity from her voice. She was not sure she succeeded.

  “There are spankings and spankings,” the other woman replied. Wiping the nib clean on a scrap, she replaced the pen in its glass holder and considered Egwene. “You’re accustomed to Sheriam Bayanar as Mistress of Novices.” Silviana shook her head disparagingly. “I’ve browsed her punishments book. She let the girls get away with too much, and was far too lenient with her favorites. As a result, she was forced to deal out correction much more often that she should have had to. I record a third of the punishments in a month that Sheriam did, because I make sure that everyone I punish leaves here wishing above all things never to be sent to me again.”

  “Whatever you do, you’ll never make me deny who I am,” Egwene said firmly. “How can you possibly think you can make this work? Am I to be escorted to classes, shielded all the while?”

  Silviana leaned back against her shawl, resting her hands on the edge of the table. “You mean to resist as long as you can, do you?”

  “I will do what I must.”

  “And I will do what I must. During the day, you will not be shielded at all. But every hour you will be given a mild tincture of forkroot.”

  Silviana’s mouth twisted on the word. She picked up the sheet that contained Elaida’s notes as if to read, then let it drop back onto the tabletop, rubbing her fingertips as though something noxious clung to them. “I cannot like the stuff. It seems aimed directly at Aes Sedai.

  Someone who cannot channel can drink five times the amount that makes a sister pass out and barely grow dizzy
from it. A disgusting brew. Yet useful, it seems. Perhaps it can be used on those Asha’man. The tincture won’t make you dizzy, but you won’t be able to channel enough to cause any problems. Only trickles. Refuse to drink, and it will be poured down your throat anyway. You’ll be closely watched as well, so you don’t try to slip away afoot. At night, you will be shielded, since giving you enough forkroot to make you sleep through the night would leave you doubled up with stomach cramps the next day.

  “You are a novice, Egwene, and you will be a novice. Many sisters still consider you a runaway, no matter what orders Siuan Sanche gave, and others doubtless will think Elaida wrong not to have you beheaded.

  They’ll watch for every infraction, every fault. You may sneer at a spanking now, before you’ve received it, but when you’re being sent to me for five, six, seven every day? We’ll see how long it takes you to change your mind.”

  Egwene surprised herself by giving a small laugh, and Silviana’s eyebrows shot up. Her hand twitched as though to reach for her pen.

  “Did I say something funny, child?”

  “Not at all,” Egwene replied truthfully. It had occurred to her that she could deal with the pain by embracing it in the Aiel manner. She hoped it worked, but there went all hope for dignity. While she was being punished, at least. For the rest, she could only do what she could.

  Silviana glanced at her pen, but finally stood without touching it.

  “Then I am done with you. For tonight. I will see you before breakfast, however. Come with me.”

  She started for the door, confident that Egwene would follow, and Egwene did. Attacking the other woman physically would achieve no more than another entry in the book. Forkroot. Well, she would find a way around that somehow. If not… She refused to think about that.

  Katerine and Barasine were startled to say the least at hearing Elaida’s plans for Egwene, and not best pleased to learn that they would be watching her and shielding her while she slept, although Silviana told them she would arrange for other sisters to come after an hour or two.

  “Why both of us?” Katerine wanted to know, which earned her a wry glance from Barasine. If only one were sent, it surely would not be Katerine, who stood higher.

  “Firstly, because I said so.” Silviana waited until the other two Reds nodded in acceptance. They did so with obvious reluctance, but not enough to make her wait long. She had not put on her shawl to come into the hallway, and in some odd fashion, she seemed the one out of place.

  “And secondly, because this child is tricky, I think. I want her watched carefully awake or asleep. Which of you has her ring?”

  After a moment, Barasine produced the circle of gold from her belt pouch, muttering, “I only thought to keep it as a memento. Of the rebels being brought to heel. They’re finished, now, for sure.” A memento? It was stealing was what it was!

  Egwene reached for the ring, but Silviana’s hand got there first, and it was into her pouch that the ring went. “I’ll keep this until you have the right to wear it again, child. Now take her to the novice quarters and settle her in. A room should have been prepared by now.”

  Katerine resumed the shield, and Barasine reached for Egwene’s arm again, but Egwene stretched out a hand toward Silviana. “Wait. There’s something I must tell you.” She had agonized over this. It would be all too easy to reveal far more than she wanted. But she had to do it. “I have the Talent of Dreaming. I’ve learned to tell the true dreams, and to interpret some of them. I dreamt of a glass lamp that burned with a white flame. Two ravens flew out of mist, struck the lamp, and flew on.

  The lamp wobbled, flinging off droplets of flaming oil. Some of those burned up in midair, other landed scattered about, and the lamp still wobbled on the edge of falling. It means the Seanchan will attack the White Tower and do great harm.”

  Barasine sniffed. Katerine gave a derisive snort.

  “A Dreamer,” Silviana said flatly. “Is there anyone who can back up your claim? And if there is, how can be sure your dream means the Seanchan?

  Ravens would indicate the Shadow, to me.”

  “I’m a Dreamer, and when a Dreamer knows, she knows. Not the Shadow. The Seanchan. As for who knows what I can do…” Egwene shrugged. “The only one you can reach is Leane Sharif, who’s being held in the cells below.”

  She saw no way to bring the Wise Ones into this, not without revealing entirely too much.

  “That woman is a wilder, not B,” Katerine began angrily, but her mouth snapped shut when Silviana raised a peremptory hand.

  The Mistress of Novices studied Egwene carefully, her face still an unreadable mask of calmness. “You truly believe you are what you say,” she said finally. “I do hope your Dreaming won’t cause as many problems as young Nicola’s Foretelling. If you truly can Dream. Well, I will pass along your warning. I can’t see how the Seanchan could strike at us here in Tar Valon, but watchfulness never hurts. And I’ll question this woman being held below. Carefully. And if she fails to back up your tale, then your visit to me in the morning will be even more memorable for you.”

  She waved her hand at Katerine. “Take her away before she hands me another nugget and keeps me from getting any sleep at all tonight.”

  This time, Katerine muttered as much as Barasine. But they both waited until they were beyond earshot of Silviana. That woman was going to be a formidable opponent. Egwene hoped embracing pain worked as well as the Wise Ones claimed. Otherwise… Otherwise did not bear thinking about.

  A lean, gray-haired serving woman gave them directions to the room she had just finished making up, on the third gallery of the novice quarters, and hurried on after brief curtsies to the two Reds. She never so much as glanced at Egwene. What was another novice to her? It tightened Egwene’s jaw. She was going to have to make people not see her as just another novice.

  “Look at her face,” Barasine said. “I think it’s finally settling in on her.”

  “I am who I am,” Egwene replied calmly. Barasine pushed her toward the stairs that rose through the hollow column of railed galleries, lit by the fat, waning moon. A breeze sighed through, the only sound. It all seemed so peaceful. There was no light showing around any door. The novices would be asleep by now, except for those who had late chores or tasks. It was peaceful for them. Not for Egwene, though.

  The tiny, windowless room might almost have been the one she had occupied when she first came to the Tower, with its narrow bed built against the wall and a small fire burning on the little brick hearth.

  The lamp on the small table was lit, but it lighted little more than the tabletop, and the oil must have gone bad, because it gave off a faint, unpleasant stink. A washstand completed the furnishings, except for a three-legged stool, onto which Katerine promptly lowered herself, adjusting her skirts as through on a throne. Realizing there was nowhere for her to sit, Barasine crossed her arms beneath her breasts and frowned at Egwene.

  The room was quite crowded with three women in it, but Egwene pretended the other two did not exist as she readied herself for bed, hanging her cloak and belt and dress on three of the pegs set along one rough-plastered white wall. She did not ask for help with her buttons.

  By the time she laid her neatly rolled stockings atop her shoes, Barasine had settled herself cross-legged on the floor and was immersed in a small, leatherbound book that she must have carried in her belt pouch. Katerine kept her eyes on Egwene as though she expected her to make a break for the door.

  Crawling beneath the light woolen blanket in her shift, Egwene settled her head on the small pillow-not a goose-down pillow, that was for sure!-and went through the exercises, relaxing her body one part at a time, that would put her to sleep. She had done that so often that it seemed no sooner had she begun, than she was asleep…

  …and floating, formless, in a darkness that lay between the waking world and Tel’aran’rhiod, the narrow gap between dream and reality, a vast void filled with a myriad of twinkling specks of light that were all
the dreams of all the sleepers in the world. They floated around her, in this place with no up or down, as far as the eye could see, flickering out as a dream ended, springing alight as one began. She could recognize some at sight, put a name to the dreamer, but she did not see the one she sought.

  It was to Siuan she needed to speak, Siuan who likely knew by now that disaster had struck, who might be unable to sleep until exhaustion took her under. She settled herself to wait. There was no sense of time here; she would not grow bored with waiting. But she had to work out what to say. So much had changed since she wakened. She had learned so much.

  Then, she had been sure she would die soon, sure the sisters inside the Tower were a solid army behind Elaida. Now… Elaida thought her safely imprisoned. No matter this talk of making her a novice again; even if Elaida really believed it, Egwene al’Vere did not. She did not consider herself a prisoner, either. She was carrying the battle into the heart of the Tower itself. If she had had lips there, she would have smiled.

  Chapter One

  When Last Sounds

  The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose above the broken mountain named Dragonmount. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.

  Born beneath the glow of a fat, sinking moon, at an altitude where men could not breathe, born among writhing currents heated by the fires inside the ragged peak, the wind was a zephyr in the beginning, yet it gained in strength as it rushed down the steep, rugged slope. Carrying ash and the stench of burning sulfur from the heights, the wind roared across the sudden, snowy hills that reared from the plain surrounding the impossible height of Dragonmount, roared and tossed trees in the night.