The Gathering Storm - Robert Jordan

Cadsuane said it was the Dark One's touch on the world, causing the Pattern to unravel. Cadsuane said a lot of things, and few of them were things that Nynaeve wished to hear.

Nynaeve got lost twice as she wove her way through the corridors, but she eventually arrived at Cadsuane's room. At least Rand hadn't forbidden his stewards to grant her rooms. Nynaeve knocked—she'd learned that she'd better—then entered.

The Aes Sedai from Cadsuane's group—Merise and Corele—sat in the room, knitting and sipping tea, trying to look like they were not waiting on the infernal woman's whims. Cadsuane herself was speaking quietly with Min, whom she had all but appropriated in recent days. Min herself didn't seem to mind, perhaps because it wasn't easy to spend time with Rand these days. Nynaeve felt a stab of sympathy for the girl. Ny-naeve only had to deal with Rand as a friend; all of this would be much harsher on the one who shared his heart.

All eyes turned toward Nynaeve as she closed the door. "I think I've found him," she announced.

"Who is that, child?" Cadsuane said, leafing through one of Min's books.

"Perrin," Nynaeve said. "You were right; Rand did know where he was."

"Excellent!" Cadsuane said. "You did well; it appears that you can be of use."

Nynaeve wasn't certain which annoyed her more—the backhanded compliment, or the fact that her heart swelled with pride at hearing it. She was no girl, without her braid, to be stroked by this woman's words!

"Well?" Cadsuane looked up from the book. The others remained silent, though Min did shoot Nynaeve a congratulatory smile. "Where is he?"

Nynaeve's opened her mouth to reply before she caught herself. What was it about this woman that made her want to obey? It wasn't the One Power or anything to do with it. Cadsuane simply projected the air of a stern, but fair, grandmother. The type you never spoke back to, but who would give you some baked sweets in reward for sweeping the floor when told.

"First, I want to know why Perrin is important." Nynaeve stalked into the room and took the only remaining seat, a painted wooden stool. When she sat, she found herself sitting a few inches below eye level. Like a student before Cadsuane. She almost stood up, but realized that would draw more attention.

"Phaw!" Cadsuane said. "You'd hold this knowledge back, even if it means the lives of those you hold dear?"

"I want to know what I've gotten myself into," Nynaeve said stubbornly. "I want to know that this information isn't going to end up hurting Rand further."

Cadsuane snorted. "You presume to think that I'd hurt the fool boy?"

"I'm not going to presume otherwise," Nynaeve snapped. "Not until you tell me what you are doing."

Cadsuane closed the book—Echoes of His Dynasty—and looked perturbed. "Will you at least tell me how the meeting with the Borderlan-ders went?" she asked. "Or is that information held for ransom as well?"

Did she think she'd distract Nynaeve that easily? "It went poorly, as one might expect," she said. "They've hunkered down outside Far Madding and refuse to meet with Rand unless he comes within range of the Guardian, cutting himself off from the Source."

"Did he take it well?" Corele asked from her cushioned bench at the side of the room. She smiled faintly; she seemed to be the only one who thought the changes in Rand were amusing, rather than terrifying. But, then, she was one of the women who had bonded an Asha'man at practically the first opportunity.

"Did he take it well?" Nynaeve repeated flatly. "That depends. Does pulling out that blasted ter'angreal and threatening to rain down fire on the army strike you as 'Taking it well'?"

Min paled. Cadsuane raised an eyebrow.

"I stopped him," Nynaeve said. "But just barely. I don't know. It ... it might be getting too late to do anything to change him."

"That boy will laugh again," Cadsuane said quietly, but intensely. "I didn't live this long to fail now."

"What does it matter?" Corele said.

Nynaeve turned in shock.

"Well?" Corele set down her mending. "What does it matter? We're obviously going to succeed."

"Light!" Nynaeve said. "What gave you that idea?"

"We've just spent all afternoon drilling this girl about her visions." Corele nodded to Min. "They always come true, and she's seen things that obviously can't happen until after the Last Battle. So we know that Rand is going to defeat the Dark One. The Pattern has already decided it. We can stop worrying."

"No," Min said. "You're wrong."

Corele frowned. "Child, are you saying that you lied about the things you've seen?"

"No," Min said. "But if Rand loses, there is no Pattern."

"The girl is correct." Cadsuane sounded surprised. "What this child sees are weavings in the Pattern from a time still distant—but if the Dark One wins, he will destroy the Pattern entirely. This is the only way the visions could fail to occur. The same holds for other prophecies and Foretellings. Our victory is by no means sure."

That stilled the room. They weren't playing at village politics or national dominance. At stake was creation itself.

Light. Can I withhold this information if there's any chance of it helping Lan? It wrenched her heart to think of him, and she had few options. In fact, Lan's only hope seemed to rest in the armies Rand could marshal and the gateways his people could form.

Rand had to change. For Lan. For them all. And she had no idea what to do other than, unfortunately, to trust Cadsuane. Nynaeve swallowed her pride and spoke. "Do you know the location of a statue of an enormous sword, fallen to the earth as if stabbing it?"

Corele and Merise glanced at each other in confusion.

"The hand of the amahn'rukane." Cadsuane turned from Min with a raised eyebrow. "The full statue was never finished, from what scholars can tell. It rests near the Jehannah Road."

"Perrin is camping in its shadow."

Cadsuane pursed her lips. "I assumed he would go eastward, toward lands al'Thor has captured." She took a deep breath. "All right. We are going for him right now." She hesitated, then glanced at Nynaeve. "In answer to your question earlier, child, Perrin actually isn't important to our plans."

"He isn't?" Nynaeve asked. "But—"

Cadsuane raised a finger. "There are people with him who are vital. One in particular."

CHAPTER 45

The Tower Stands

Egwene walked slowly through the rebel camp, wearing a crimson gown, its skirts divided for riding. The color raised not a few eyebrows. Considering what the Red Ajah had done, these Aes Sedai weren't likely to wear the hue. Even the camp's serving women had noticed, selling their red and maroon dresses or cutting them up for rags.

Egwene had asked for the crimson specifically. In the Tower, sisters had formed the habit of wearing only their own Ajah's color, and the practice had helped fuel the division. While it was good to be proud of your Ajah affiliation, it was dangerous to begin assuming that you couldn't trust anyone wearing other colors.

Egwene was all Ajahs. Today, the red symbolized many things to her. The impending reunification with the Red Ajah. A reminder of the division that needed to be righted. A sign of the blood that would be spilled, the blood of good men who fought to defend the White Tower.

The blood of the dead Aes Sedai, beheaded not an hour ago by Egwene s order.

Siuan had found her Great Serpent ring; it felt very good to have it on her finger again.

The sky was an iron gray, and the scent of dirt rose into the air, accompanying the bustling motion around the camp. Women hurriedly washed clothing, as if they were late in getting their patrons ready for a festival. Novices ran—literally ran—from lesson to lesson. Aes Sedai stood about with arms folded, eyes ready to burn any who didn't keep up the tempo.

They sense the tension of the day, Egwene thought. And can't help but be made anxious by it. The night before, with its attack by the Seanchan. Followed by the return of the Amyrlin, who had spent the morning cleansing the Aes Sedai. And now afternoon, and the beating drums of war.

She doubted that Bryne's own camp was in such a state. He'd have his men ready for attack; he probably could have assaulted the White Tower at a moment's notice on any given day of the siege. His soldiers would decide this war. Egwene would not have her Aes Sedai riding into battle, wriggling around their oaths not to use the Power to kill. They would wait here, to be called only for Healing.

Or called if the White Tower sisters joined the fight in earnest. Light send that Elaida saw wisdom in forbidding that. If the Aes Sedai turned the Power against one another, it would be a dark day indeed.

Can this day grow any darker? Egwene wondered. Many of the Aes Sedai she passed in the camp gave her looks of respect, awe, and a little horror. After a long absence, the Amyrlin had returned. And she had brought destruction and judgment in her wake.

Over fifty Black Sisters had been stilled, then executed. Egwene felt sick, thinking of their deaths. Sheriam had seemed almost relieved when her turn came, though she'd soon begun to struggle, sobbing and desperate. She'd confessed to several disturbing crimes, as if hoping that her willingness to speak would gain her amnesty.

They'd placed her head on the block and taken it off, just like the others. That scene would always be vivid in Egwene's mind—her former Keeper, lying with her head pressed against the stump, blue dress and fiery red hair suddenly bathed in warm golden light as a thinner section of clouds moved in front of the sun. Then the silvery axe, falling to claim her head. Perhaps the Pattern would be kinder to her next time she was allowed a thread in its great tapestry. But perhaps not. Death was not an escape from the Dark One. Sheriam's horror at the end indicated that she might have been thinking that very thing as the axe took her head.

Now Egwene understand fully how the Aiel could laugh at a simple beating. Would that she could go through a few days beneath the rod rather than have to order the execution of women she had liked and worked with!

Some of the Sitters had argued for interrogation instead of execution, but Egwene had been insistent. Fifty women were far too many to shield and guard, and now that they knew stilling could be Healed, that wasn't an option. No, history proved how slippery and dangerous members of the Black could be, and Egwene was tired of worrying about what could happen. She had learned with Moghedien that there was a price to be paid for greed, if just greed for information. She and the others had been too eager—too proud of the "discoveries" they'd made—to see the world rid of one of the Forsaken.

Well, she would not allow a similar mistake here. The law was known, the Hall had made its judgment, and it had not been done in secret. Verin had died to stop these women, and Egwene would see that her sacrifice meant something.

You did well, Verin. So very well. Every Aes Sedai in the camp had been made to swear the Three Oaths over again, and only three members of the Black had been discovered beyond the ones Verin had located. Her research had been thorough.