Authors: Robert Jordan
“Child,” Anaiya said gently, adjusting the blue-fringed shawl that was suddenly looped over her arms, “you have been doing very good work, but that doesn’t excuse a peevish mouth.”
“You have been given a number of privileges,” Myrelle said, not at all gently, “but you seem to forget that they
are
privileges.” Her frown should have been enough to make Nynaeve quake. Myrelle had been increasingly hard on Nynaeve the past weeks. She had her shawl on, too. They all did, a bad sign.
Morvrin snorted bluntly. “When I was Accepted, any girl who spoke to an Aes Sedai that way would have spent the next month scrubbing floors, if she was due to be raised Aes Sedai the next day.”
Elayne spoke up hurriedly, hoping she could forestall their own disaster. Nynaeve had put on what she probably thought was a conciliatory face, but she looked sulky and stubborn. “I am sure she didn’t mean anything, Aes Sedai. We have been working very hard. Please forgive us.” Adding herself might help, since she had done nothing. It might also have them both scrubbing floors. At least it made Nynaeve look at her. And think, apparently, since her features smoothed into something that did seem appeasing and she made a curtsy and stared at the ground as though abashed. Maybe she really was. Maybe. Elayne rushed on as if Nynaeve had made a formal apology and had it accepted. “I know you all do want to spend as much time as possible at the Tower, so perhaps we shouldn’t wait any longer? If you will all visualize Elaida’s study, just as you saw it last time?” Elaida was never called the Amyrlin in Salidar, and in the same way the Amyrlin’s study in the White Tower had its name shifted. “Everyone fix it in your minds, so we all arrive together.”
Anaiya was the first to nod, but even Carlinya and Beonin let themselves be diverted.
It was unclear whether the ten of them moved or
Tel’aran’rhiod
moved around them. It could have been either from the little Elayne really understood; the World of Dreams was almost infinitely malleable. One moment they were standing in the street in Salidar, the next in a large and ornate room. The Aes Sedai gave satisfied nods, still inexperienced enough to be pleased at anything that worked as they thought it should.
As surely as
Tel’aran’rhiod
reflected the waking world, this room reflected the power of the women who had occupied it over the last three thousand years. The gilded stand-lamps were unlit, but there was light, in the odd way of
Tel’aran’rhiod
and dreams. The tall fireplace was golden marble from Kandor, the floor polished redstone from the Mountains of Mist. The walls had been paneled a relatively short time ago—a mere thousand years—in pale wood, oddly striped and carved with marvelous beasts and birds that Elayne was sure had come straight out of the carver’s imagination. Gleaming pearly stone framed tall arched windows that let onto the balcony overlooking the Amyrlin’s private garden; that stone had been salvaged from a nameless city submerged in the Sea of Storms during the Breaking of the World, and no one had ever found its like elsewhere.
Each woman who used that room put her own mark on it, if only for the time of her possession, and Elaida was no different. A heavy thronelike chair, an ivory Flame of Tar Valon cresting the high back, stood behind a massive writing table ornately carved in triple-linked rings. The tabletop was bare except for three boxes of Altaran lacquerwork, each precisely the same distance from the next. A plain white vase stood atop a severe white plinth against one wall. The vase held roses, the number and color changing at every look, but always arranged with a harsh rigidity. Roses, at this time of year, in this weather! The One Power had been
wasted
to make them grow. Elaida had done the same when she was advisor to Elayne’s mother.
Above the fireplace hung a painting in the new style, on stretched canvas, of two men fighting among clouds, hurling lightning. One man had a face of fire, and the other was Rand. Elayne had been at Falme; the painting was not too far from the truth. A tear in the canvas across Rand’s face, as though something heavy had been thrown at it, had been mended almost invisibly. Plainly Elaida wanted a constant reminder of the Dragon Reborn, and just as plainly she was not happy having to look at it.
“If you will excuse me,” Leane said before all the satisfied nodding was done, “I must see if my people have received my messages.” Every Ajah except the White had a network of eyes-and-ears scattered across the nations,
and so did a good many individual Aes Sedai, but Leane was rare, perhaps unique, in that as Keeper she had created a net in Tar Valon itself. No sooner had she spoken than she vanished.
“She should not be wandering about alone here,” Sheriam said in an exasperated voice. “Nynaeve, go after her. Stay with her.”
Nynaeve gave her braid a tug. “I don’t think—”
“Very often you do not,” Myrelle cut her off. “For once do as you are told, when you are told, Accepted.”
Exchanging wry glances with Elayne, Nynaeve nodded, visibly suppressing a sigh, and disappeared. Elayne had little sympathy. Had Nynaeve not indulged her irritation back in Salidar it might have been possible to explain that Leane could be anywhere in the city, that it would be almost impossible to find her, and that she had been venturing into
Tel’aran’rhiod
alone for weeks.
“Now to see what we can learn,” Morvrin said, but before anyone could move, Elaida was behind the writing table, glaring.
An unyielding stern-faced woman, handsome rather than beautiful, and dark of hair and eye, Elaida wore a blood-red dress, with the striped stole of the Amyrlin Seat about her shoulders. “As I have Foretold,” she intoned. “The White Tower will be reunited under me. Under
me
!” She pointed harshly to the floor. “Kneel, and ask forgiveness of your sins!” With that, she was gone.
Elayne let out a long breath, and was gratified to realize she was not the only one.
“A Foretelling?” Beonin’s forehead creased thoughtfully. She did not sound worried, but she might well have. Elaida did have the Foretelling, if fitfully. When the Foretelling laid hold of a woman and she knew a thing would happen, it did.
“A dream,” Elayne said, and was surprised at how steady her voice was. “She’s asleep and dreaming. No wonder if she dreams everything to her liking.”
Please, Light, let it only be that
.
“Did you notice the stole?” Anaiya asked no one in particular. “It had no blue stripe.” The Amyrlin’s stole was supposed to have one stripe for each of the seven Ajahs.
“A dream,” Sheriam said flatly. She sounded unafraid, but she had her blue-fringed shawl on again and was clutching it around her. So was Anaiya.
“Whether it is or not,” Morvrin said placidly, “we may as well do what we came for.” Not much could frighten Morvrin.
The abrupt stir of activity at the Brown sister’s words made it suddenly
clear how still everyone had gone. She, Carlinya and Anaiya glided swiftly out to the anteroom, where the Keeper’s worktable would be. That was Alviarin Freidhen, under Elaida; a White, strangely, though the Keeper
always
came from the Amyrlin’s own Ajah.
Siuan stared after them testily. She claimed there was often more to be learned from Alviarin’s papers than from Elaida’s, for Alviarin sometimes seemed to know more than the woman she supposedly served, and twice Siuan had found evidence that Alviarin had countermanded Elaida’s orders, apparently without repercussions. Not that she had told Elayne or Nynaeve what orders. There were definite limits to Siuan’s sharing.
Sheriam, Beonin and Myrelle gathered at Elaida’s desk, opened one of the lacquered boxes, and began rifling through the papers inside. Elaida kept her recent correspondence and reports there. The box, worked in golden hawks fighting among white clouds in a blue sky, would suddenly shut again every time one of them let go of the lid, until they remembered to hold it open, and the papers themselves changed even as they were being read. Paper truly was ephemeral. Amid vexed
tsks
and annoyed sighs, the Aes Sedai persevered.
“Here’s a report from Danelle,” Myrelle said, hastily scanning a page. Siuan tried to join them—Danelle, a young Brown, had been part of the cabal that deposed her—but Beonin gave her a sharp frown that sent her back to a corner grumbling to herself. Beonin had returned her attention to the box and its documents before Siuan had taken three steps; the other two women never noticed. Myrelle went right on talking. “She says that Mattin Stepaneos accepts wholeheartedly, Roedran is still trying to take every side, while Alliandre and Tylin want more time to consider their answers. There’s a note here in Elaida’s hand. ‘Press them!’ ” She clicked her tongue as the report melted into air in her hand. “It did not say about what, but there can be only two possibilities to take in those four.” Mattin Stepaneos was King of Illian and Roedran of Murandy, while Alliandre was Queen of Ghealdan and Tylin of Altara. The subject had to be Rand or the Aes Sedai opposing Elaida.
“At least we know our emissaries still have as good a chance as Elaida’s,” Sheriam said. Of course, Salidar had sent none to Mattin Stepaneos; Lord Brend of the Council of Nine, Sammael, was the true power in Illian. Elayne would have given a pretty to know what Elaida proposed that Sammael was willing to support, or at least let Mattin Stepaneos say that he would support. She was sure the three Aes Sedai would have given as much, but they just went on snatching documents out of the lacquerwork box.
“The arrest warrant for Moiraine, it is still in force,” Beonin said, shaking her head as the sheet in her hand suddenly turned to a fat sheaf. “She does not yet know Moiraine is dead.” Grimacing at the pages, she let them fall; they scattered like leaves, and melted into air before settling. “Elaida still means to build herself a palace, too.”
“She would,” Sheriam said dryly. Her hand jerked as she took in what appeared to be a short note. “Shemerin has run away. The
Accepted
Shemerin.”
All three glanced at Elayne before turning back to the box, which they had to open again. None made any comment on what Sheriam had said.
Elayne very nearly ground her teeth. She and Nynaeve had told them Elaida was reducing Shemerin, a Yellow sister, to the Accepted, but of course they had not believed. An Aes Sedai could be made to do penance, she might be cast out, but she could not be demoted short of stilling. Only, it seemed that Elaida was doing exactly as that, whatever Tower law said. Maybe she was rewriting Tower law.
A number of things they had told these women had not really been believed. Such young women, Accepted, could not know enough of the world to know what could be and what not. Young women were credulous, gullible; they might well see and believe what was not there at all. It was an effort not to stamp her foot. An Accepted took what Aes Sedai wished to hand out and did not ask for what Aes Sedai did not choose to give. Such as apologies. She kept her face smooth and her smoldering inside.
Siuan felt under no such restraints. Most of the time she did not. When the Aes Sedai were not looking at her, she bathed them all in a glower. Of course, if one of the three glanced in her direction, her face became meek acceptance in a twinkling. She was very practiced at that. A lion survives by being a lion, she had once told Elayne, and a mouse by being a mouse. Even so, Siuan made a poor and reluctant mouse.
Elayne thought she detected worry in Siuan’s eyes. This task had been Siuan’s since she proved to the Aes Sedai that she could use the ring safely—after secret lessons for her and Leane from Nynaeve and Elayne, true—and a prime source of information. It took time to reestablish contact with eyes-and-ears scattered across the nations, and redirect their reports from the Tower to Salidar. If Sheriam and the others meant to take this over, Siuan might be less useful. In the history of the Tower no network of agents had ever been run by any but a full sister until Siuan came to Salidar with her knowledge of the Amyrlin’s eyes-and-ears, and the Blue Ajah’s that she had run before becoming Amyrlin. Beonin and Carlinya were
openly reluctant to depend on a woman who was no longer one of them, and the others were not far behind. Truth to tell, they were none of them comfortable around a woman who had been stilled.
There really was nothing for Elayne to do, either. The Aes Sedai might call this a lesson, they might even think of it so, but she knew from past experience that if she tried to do any teaching without being asked, she would have her nose snapped off in short order. She was there to answer any questions they might have and nothing more. She thought of a stool—it appeared, the legs carved in vines—and sat down to wait. A chair would have been more comfortable, but it might occasion comment. An Accepted sitting too comfortably was often considered an Accepted with not enough to do. After a moment Siuan made herself an almost identical stool. She gave Elayne a tight smile—and the Aes Sedai backs a scowl.
The first time Elayne had visited this room in
Tel’aran’rhiod
, there had been a semicircle of such stools, a dozen or more, in front of the heavily carved table. Each visit since had seen fewer, and now none. She was sure that indicated something, though she could not imagine what. She was sure Siuan thought so, too, and very likely had puzzled out a reason, but if she had, she had not shared it with Elayne or Nynaeve.
“The fighting in Shienar and Arafel is dying down,” Sheriam murmured half to herself, “but still nothing here to say why it began. Skirmishes only, yet Bordermen do not fight one another. They have the Blight.” She was Saldaean, and Saldaea was one of the Borderlands.
“At least the Blight is still quiet,” Myrelle said. “Almost too quiet. It cannot last. A good thing that Elaida has plenty of eyes-and-ears through the Borderlands.” Siuan managed to combine a wince with a glare at the Aes Sedai. Elayne did not think she had managed yet to make contact with any of her agents in the Borderlands; they lay a long way from Salidar.
“I would feel better if the same could be said of Tarabon.” The page in Beonin’s hand grew longer and wider; she glanced at it, sniffed, and tossed it aside. “The eyes-and-ears in Tarabon, they are still silent. All of them. The only word she has of Tarabon is rumors from Amadicia that Aes Sedai are involved in the war.” She shook her head at the absurdity of committing such rumors to paper. Aes Sedai did not involve themselves in civil wars. Not openly enough to be detected, at any rate. “And there are no more than a handful of confused reports from Arad Doman, it seems.”