A Crown of Swords twot-7 Page 25

  The three women across from her exchanged long looks. Then Amys set her teacup down and said, "Merana Ambrey and other Aes Sedai followed the Car'a'carn to the treekillers' city. You need have no fear he will put his foot wrong with her, or any of your sisters with her. We will see that there is no difficulty between him and any Aes Sedai."

  "That hardly sounds like Rand," Egwene said doubtfully. So Sheriam had been right about Merana. But why was she still silent?

  Bair cackled with laughter. "Most parents have more trouble with their children than lies between the Car'a'carn and the women who came with Merana Ambrey."

  "So long as he isn't the child," Egwene chuckled, relieved that someone was amused at something. The way these women felt about Aes Sedai, they would have been spitting nails if they thought any sister was gaining influence with him. On the other hand, Merana had to gain some, or she might as well leave now. "But Merana should have sent a report. I don't understand why she hasn't. You're certain there isn't any—?" She could not think of how to finish. There was no way that Rand could have stopped Merana from sending off a pigeon.

  "Perhaps she sent a man on a horse." Amys grimaced faintly; as much as any Aiel, she found riding repugnant. Your own legs were good enough. "She brought none of the birds that wetlanders use."

  "That was foolish of her," Egwene muttered. Foolish did not come close. Merana's dreams would be shielded, so there was no point trying to talk to her there. Even if they could be found. Light, but it was vexing! She leaned forward intently. "Amys, promise me you won't try to stop him from talking with her, or make her so angry she does something foolish." They were quite capable of that; more than capable. They had putting an Aes Sedai's back up perfected to a Talent. "She's just supposed to convince him that we mean him no harm. I'm sure Elaida has some nasty surprise hidden behind her skirts, but we don't." She would see to that, if anyone had different notions. Somehow, she would. "Promise me?"

  They passed unreadable looks back and forth. They could not like the idea of letting a sister near Rand, certainly not unhindered. Doubtless one of them would contrive to be present whenever Merana was, but she could live with that so long as they did not hinder too much.

  "I promise, Egwene al'Vere," Amys said finally, in a voice flat as worked stone.

  Probably she was offended that Egwene had required a pledge, but Egwene felt as though a weight had lifted. Two weights. Rand and Merana were not at each other's throats, and Merana would have a chance to do what she had been sent to do. "I knew I'd have the unvarnished truth from you, Amys. I can't tell you how glad I am to hear it. If anything were wrong between Rand and Merana… Thank you."

  Startled, she blinked. For an instant, Amys wore cadin'sor. She made some sort of small gesture, too. Maiden handtalk, perhaps. Neither Bair nor Melaine, sipping their tea, gave any sign that they had noticed. Amys must have been wishing she were somewhere else, away from the tangle Rand had made of everybody's life. It would be embarrassing, shaming, for a Wise One dream-walker to lose control of herself in Tel'aran'rhiod even for an instant. To the Aiel, shame hurt far worse than pain, but it had to be witnessed to be shame. If it was not seen, or those who saw refused to admit it, then it might as well never have happened. A strange people, but she certainly did not want to shame Amys. Composing her face, she went on as if nothing had happened.

  "I must ask a favor. An important favor. Don't tell Rand — or anybody — about me. About this, I mean to say." She lifted an end of her stole. Their faces made an Aes Sedai's best calm look maniacal. Stone was not in it. "I don't mean lie," she added hastily. Under ji'e'toh, asking someone to lie was little better than telling one yourself. "Just don't bring it up. He's already sent somebody to 'rescue' me." And won't he be furious when he finds out I shuffled Mat off to Ebou Dar with Nynaeve and Elayne, she thought. She had had to do it, though. "I don't need rescuing, and I don't want it, but he thinks he knows better than everybody. I'm afraid he might come hunting for me himself." Which frightened her more — that he might appear in the camp alone, raging, with three hundred or so Aes Sedai around him? Or that he might come with some of the Asha'man? Either way, a disaster.

  "That would be… unfortunate," Melaine murmured, though she was seldom one for understatement, and Bair muttered, "The Car'a'carn is headstrong. As bad as any man I have ever known. And a few women, for that matter."

  "We will hold your confidence close, Egwene al'Vere," Amys said gravely.

  Egwene blinked at the quick agreement. But perhaps it was not so surprising. To them, the Car'a'carn was only another chief, just more so, and Wise Ones had certainly been known to keep things from a chief they thought he should not know.

  After that there was not much to say, though they talked a while longer over more cups of tea. She longed for a lesson in walking the dream, but could not ask with Amys there. Amys would go, and she wanted her company more than learning. The closest the Wise Ones came to telling her anything Rand was actually doing was when Melaine grumbled that he should finish the Shaido and Sevanna now, and both Bair and Amys frowned at her so, she turned bright red. After all, Sevanna was a Wise One, as Egwene knew quite bitterly. Not even the Car'a'carn would be allowed to interfere with even a Shaido Wise One. And she could not give them details of her own circumstances. That they had leaped right to the most shaming part did nothing to lessen the shame she would feel talking about it — it was very hard not to drop back into behaving, even thinking, as the Aiel did when she was around them; for that matter, she thought it might have shamed her had she never met an Aiel — and the only sort of advice they had about dealing with Aes Sedai lately was of a nature that Elaida herself would not try to follow. An Aes Sedai riot, unlikely as it sounded, might result. Worse, they already thought badly enough of Aes Sedai without her adding wood to the fire. Some day she wanted to forge a link between the Wise Ones and the White Tower, but that would never happen unless she managed to dampen that fire down. Another thing she had no idea how to do, as yet.

  "I must go," she said at last, standing. Her body lay asleep in her tent, but there was never quite enough rest in sleep while you were in Tel'aran'rhiod. The others rose with her. "I hope you will all be very careful. Moghedien hates me, and she would certainly try to hurt anyone who's my friend. She knows a great deal about the World of Dreams. At least as much as Lanfear did." That was as close as she could come to warning them without saying right out that Moghedien might know more than they. Aiel pride could be prickly. They took her meaning, though, and without offense.

  "If the Shadowsouled meant to threaten us," Melaine said, "I think they would have by now. Perhaps they believe we are no threat to them."

  "We have glimpsed those who must be dreamwalkers, including men." Bair shook her head incredulously; no matter what she knew about the Forsaken, she considered male dreamwalkers about as common as legs on snakes. "They avoid us. All of them."

  "I think we are as strong as they," Amys added. In the One Power, she and Melaine were no stronger than Theodrin and Faolain — far from weak, indeed stronger than most Aes Sedai, but far from a Forsaken's strength, too — yet in the World of Dreams, knowledge of Tel'aran'rhiod was often as powerful as saidar, more at times. Here, Bair was the equal of any sister. "But we will take care. It is the enemy you underestimate who kills you."

  Egwene took Amys' hand and Melaine's, and would have Bair's had there been a way. Instead, she included her with a smile. "I'll never be able to tell you what your friendship means to me, what you mean to me." Despite everything, that was simple truth. "The whole world seems to be changing every time I blink. You three are one of the few firm spots in it."

  "The world does change," Amys said, sadly. "Even mountains are worn away by the wind, and no one can climb the same hill twice. I hope we will always be friends in your eyes, Egwene al'Vere. May you always find water and shade." And with that, they were gone, back to their own bodies.

  For a time she stood frowning at Callandor but not seeing it, unt
il suddenly she gave herself an exasperated shake. She had been thinking about that endless field of stars. If she waited there long, Gawyn's dream would find her again, swallow her the way his arms would shortly thereafter. A pleasant way to spend the rest of the night. And a childish waste of time.

  Firmly she made herself step back to her sleeping body, but not to ordinary sleep. She never did that anymore. That one corner of her brain remained fully aware, cataloging her dreams, filing away those that foretold the future, or at any rate gave glimpses of the possible course it might take. At least she could tell that much now, though the only one she had been able to interpret so far was the dream that told of Gawyn becoming her Warder. Aes Sedai called this Dreaming, and the women who could do it Dreamers, all long dead but her, yet it had no more to do with the One Power than dreamwalking did.

  Perhaps it was inevitable she should dream first of Gawyn, because she had been thinking of him.

  She stood in a vast, dim chamber where everything was indistinct. Everything except Gawyn, slowly coming toward her. A tall, beautiful man — had she ever thought his half-brother Galad was more beautiful? — with golden hair and eyes of the most wonderful deep blue. He had some distance to cover yet, but he could see her; his gaze was fixed on her like an archer's on the target. A faint sound of crunching and grating hung in the air. She looked down. And felt a scream building in her. On bare feet, Gawyn walked across a floor of broken glass, shards breaking at every slow step. Even in that faint light she could see the trail of blood left by his slashed feet. She flung out a hand, tried to shout for him to stop, tried to run to him, but just that quickly she was elsewhere.

  In the way of dreams she floated above a long, straight road across a grassy plain, looking down upon a man riding a black stallion. Gawyn. Then she was standing in the road in front of him, and he reined in. Not because he saw her, this time, but the road that had been straight now forked right where she stood, running over tall hills so no one could see what lay beyond. She knew, though. Down one fork was his violent death, down the other, a long life and a death in bed. On one path, he would marry her, on the other, not. She knew what lay ahead, but not which way led to which. Suddenly he did see her, or seemed to, and smiled, and turned his horse along one of the forks… And she was in another dream. And another. Another. And again.

  Not all had any bearing on the future. Dreams of kissing Gawyn, of running in a cool spring meadow with her sisters the way they had as children, slid by along with nightmares where Aes Sedai with switches chased her through endless corridors, where misshapen things lurched through shadows all around, where a grinning Nicola denounced her to the Hall and Thom Merrilin came forward to give evidence. Those she discarded; the others she tucked away, to be prodded and poked later in the hope she might understand what they meant.

  She stood before an immense wall, clawing at it, trying to tear it down with her bare hands. It was not made of brick or stone, but countless thousands of discs, each half white and half black, the ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai, like the seven seals that had once held the Dark One's prison shut. Some of those seals were broken now, though not even the One Power could break cuendillar, and the rest had weakened somehow, but the wall stood strong however she beat at it. She could not tear it down. Maybe it was the symbol that was important. Maybe it was the Aes Sedai she was trying to tear down, the White Tower. Maybe…

  Mat sat on a night-shrouded hilltop, watching a grand Illuminator's display of fireworks, and suddenly his hand shot up, seized one of those bursting lights in the sky. Arrows of fire flashed from his clenched fist, and a sense of dread filled her. Men would die because of this. The world would change. But the world was changing; it always changed.

  Straps at waist and shoulder held her tightly to the block, and the headsman's axe descended, but she knew that somewhere someone was running, and if they ran fast enough, the axe would stop. If not… In that corner of her mind, she felt a chill.

  Logain, laughing, stepped across something on the ground and mounted a black stone; when she looked down, she thought it was Rand's body he had stepped over, laid out on a funeral bier with his hands crossed at his breast, but when she touched his face, it broke apart like a paper puppet.

  A golden hawk stretched out its wing and touched her, and she and the hawk were tied together somehow; all she knew was that the hawk was female. A man lay dying in a narrow bed, and it was important he not die, yet outside a funeral pyre was being built, and voices raised songs of joy and sadness. A dark young man held an object in his hand that shone so brightly she could not see what it was.

  On and on they came, and she sorted feverishly, desperately tried to understand. There was no rest in it, but it must be done. She would do what must be done.

  Chapter 11

  (Female Silhouettes)

  An Oath

  "You asked to be wakened before the sun, Mother."

  Egwene's eyes popped open — she had set herself a time to wake only moments from now — and despite herself she started back against her pillow from the face above her. Stern through a sheen of perspiration, it was not a pleasant sight first thing in the morning. Meri's manner was perfectly respectful, but a pinched nose, a permanently downturned mouth and dark eyes sharp with censure said she had never seen anyone half as good as they should be or pretended to be, and her flat tone turned every meaning head to heels.

  "I hope you slept well, Mother," she said, while her expression managed a fair accusation of sloth. Her black hair, in tight coils over her ears, seemed to pull her face painfully. The unrelieved drab dark gray she always wore, however it made her sweat, only added to the gloom.

  It was a pity she had not managed a little real rest. Yawning, Egwene rose from her narrow cot and scrubbed her teeth with salt, washed her face and hands while Meri laid out her clothes for the day, donned stockings and a clean shift, then suffered herself to be dressed. "Suffered" was the word.

  "I fear some of these knots will pull, Mother," the cheerless woman murmured, drawing the brush through Egwene's hair, and Egwene very nearly told her she had not deliberately tangled it in her sleep.

  "I understand we will rest here today, Mother." Bone idleness, seethed Meri's reflection in the stand-mirror.

  "This shade of blue will set off your coloring nicely, Mother," Meri said as she did up Egwene's buttons, her face an accusation of vanity.

  Filled with relief that she would have Chesa tonight, Egwene donned the stole and fled almost before the woman finished.

  Not even a rim of the sun showed above the hills to the east. The land humped up all around in long ridges and irregular mounds, sometimes hundreds of feet high, that often looked as though monstrous fingers had squeezed them. Shadows like twilight bathed the camp lying in one of the broad valleys between, but it was well awake in the heat that never really lifted. Smells of breakfast cooking filled the air, and people bustled about, though there was none of the rush that would have meant a day's marching ahead. White-clad novices darted about at a near run; a wise novice always carried out her chores as quickly as she could. Warders never seemed hurried, of course, but even servants carrying the morning meal to Aes Sedai appeared to stroll this morning. Well, almost. In comparison to the novices. The whole camp was taking advantage of the halt. A clatter and curses as a jack-lever slipped announced wagonwrights making repairs, and a distant tapping of hammers told of farriers reshoeing horses. A dozen candlemakers had their molds lined up already, and the kettles heating to melt the carefully hoarded drippings and tag-ends of every candle that had been burned. More big black kettles stood on fires to boil water for baths and laundry, and men and women were heaping clothes up nearby. Egwene gave little notice to any of the activity.

  The thing of it was, she was certain Meri did not do it apurpose; she could not help her face. Even so, she was as bad as it would be to have Romanda for a maid. The thought made her laugh out loud. Romanda as lady's maid would have her mistress toeing the line in no time
; no doubt as to who would run and fetch in that pair. A gray-haired cook paused in raking coals from atop an iron oven to give her a grin of shared amusement. For a moment, anyway. Then he realized he was grinning at the Amyrlin Seat, not just some young woman walking by, and the grin melted crookedly as he jerked a bow before bending back to his work.

  If she sent Meri off, Romanda would only find a new spy. And Meri would again be starving her way from village to village. Adjusting her dress — she really had gone before the woman was quite finished — Egwene's fingers found a small linen bag, the strings tucked behind her belt. She did not have to lift it all the way to her nose to smell rose petals and a blend of herbs with a cool scent. It made her sigh. A face like a headsman's, spying for Romanda without any doubt, and trying to perform her duties as well as she could. Why were these things never easy?

  Approaching the tent she used as a study — many called it the Amyrlin's study, as if it were rooms in the Tower — a solemn satisfaction replaced worry over Meri. Whenever they halted for a day, Sheriam would be there before her with fat sheaves of petitions. A laundress imploring clemency on a charge of theft when she had been caught with the jewelry sewn into her dress, or a blacksmith begging a testimonial for his work, which he could not use unless he intended to leave, and likely not then. A harness maker asking the Amyrlin's prayers for her to give birth to a daughter. One of Lord Bryne's soldiers requesting the Amyrlin's personal blessing to his wedding a seamstress. There was always a slew from older novices, appealing visits to Tiana and even extra chores. Anyone had the right to petition the Amyrlin, but those in service to the Tower seldom did, and never novices. Egwene suspected that Sheriam worked to dig up petitioners, something to butter the cat's paws, to keep her out of Sheriam's hair while the Keeper took care of what she considered important. This morning, Egwene thought she might make Sheriam eat those petitions for her breakfast.