She signed her name clearly, pressed the copied Seal into the red wax that Niall’s secretary dripped at the foot of the sheet. The Lion of Andor surrounded by the Rose Crown. There, she was the first queen ever to accept foreign soldiers on Andoran soil.
“How soon . . .?” It was harder to say than she had imagined. “How soon will your legions ride?”
Niall hesitated, glancing down the table. There was nothing there except pen and ink, a sand bowl and a freshly burned down stub of sealing wax, as if he had very recently written a letter. He finished scrawling his signature on the treaty and impressed his own seal, a flaring sun in golden wax, then handed the parchment to his secretary. “Put this in the document room, Balwer. I fear I cannot move as quickly as I had hoped, Morgase. There are developments I must consider. Nothing that need concern you. Simply a matter of how best to move in areas unrelated to Andor. I insist you take this as simply more time for me to enjoy your company.”
Balwer bowed smoothly if somewhat prissily, yet she was almost certain his eyes nearly jerked toward Niall in surprise. She herself nearly gaped. He pressed her and pressed her, and now he had other matters to consider? Balwer scurried out as though afraid she might try to snatch back the treaty and tear it up, but that was the furthest thing from her mind. At least there would be no more hangings. The rest would be dealt with when it could be. One step at a time. Her dogged resistance had failed, but now she had time again, an unexpected gift not to be wasted. The pleasure of her company?
She put on a warm smile. “It seems as though a weight has lifted from my shoulders. Tell me, do you play stones?”
“I am accounted a fair player.” His answering smile was surprised at first, then amused.
Morgase flushed, but managed to keep her face from showing anger. Perhaps it was best that he thought her broken now. No one watched a broken opponent too closely, or regarded them too highly, and if she was careful, with time she could begin recovering what she had given away before his soldiers left Amadicia. She had had a very good teacher in the Game of Houses.
“I will try not to provide too poor a match, if you would like to play.” She was well beyond fair, herself, perhaps even beyond good, but she would have to lose, of course, though not so badly that he grew bored. She hated losing.
Frowning, Asunawa drummed his fingers on the gilded arm of his chair. Above his head, the shepherd’s crook was worked in brilliant lacquer on a pure white disc. “The witch was taken aback,” he murmured.
Saren answered as though it was an accusation. “Some people are affected that way by hanging. The Darkfriends were rounded up yesterday; I’m told they were chanting some catechism to the Shadow when Trom broke down the door. I checked, but no one thought to ask if they had any connection to her.” At least he did not shift his feet; he stood as straight as any Hand of the Light should.
Asunawa dismissed explanations with a slight wave of his hand. Of course there was no connection, aside from the fact that she was a witch and they Darkfriends. The witch was in the Fortress of the Light, after all. Still, he was troubled.
“Niall sent me to fetch her as if I were a dog,” Saren grated. “I almost spewed up my stomach, standing so close to a witch. My hands wanted her throat.”
Asunawa did not bother to respond; he hardly heard. Of course Niall hated the Hand. Most men hated what they feared. No, his mind was on Morgase. She was not weak, by all accounts. She had certainly fended off Niall well enough; most people would have collapsed as soon as they were inside the Fortress. She would ruin some of his plans if she turned out to be weak after all. He had all the details in his mind, each day of her trial with ambassadors on hand from every land that could still produce one, until finally her dramatic confession, wrung from her so skillfully no one would ever find a mark, and then the ceremonies surrounding her execution. A special gallows just for her, to be preserved afterwards to mark the occasion.
“Let us hope she continues to resist Niall,” he said, with a smile that some would call mild and pious. Even Niall’s patience could not last forever; eventually he would have to hand her to justice.
Chapter 32
Summoned in Haste
* * *
To Egwene, Rand’s visit to Cairhien seemed like one of those grand Illuminators’ fireworks displays she had heard of but never seen, exploding all through the city. The echoes seemed to reverberate without end.
She did not go near the palace again, of course, but Wise Ones that went every day to search for traps laid with saidar told her what went on. Nobles stared at one another with slitted eyes, Tairen and Cairhienin alike. Berelain seemed to have gone into hiding, refusing to see anyone she did not have to; Rhuarc apparently took her to task for neglecting her duties, with small effect. He appeared to be the only one unaffected in the whole palace. Even the servants jumped if you looked at them, though that might just have been having the Wise Ones themselves poking into every corner.
In the tents, things were no better, among the Wise Ones anyway. The rest of the Aiel were like Rhuarc, calm and solid. Their attitude made the Wise Ones’ moodiness even more tense by comparison, not that it needed any. Amys and Sorilea came back from meeting Rand all but hissing. They did not say why, not where Egwene could hear, but the feeling spread through the Wise Ones as fast as thought, until every one of them stalked about like a bristling cat ready to claw anything that moved. Their apprentices stepped lightly and spoke softly, but still were scolded for what would have passed without notice before, and punished for what would have brought only a scolding.
Shaido Wise Ones appearing in the camp did not help. At least, Therava and Emerys were Wise Ones; the third was Sevanna herself, striding around self-importantly with her blouse unlaced enough to rival Berelain no matter how the dust blew. Therava and Emerys said Sevanna was a Wise One, and though Sorilea grumbled, there was no choice but to accept her as one. Egwene was sure they were spying, but Amys merely looked at her when she suggested it. Protected by custom, they had a free run of the tents, welcomed by all the Wise Ones — even Sorilea — as if close friends or first-sisters. Still, their presence honed the edge of everyone’s mood. Especially Egwene’s. That smirking cat Sevanna knew who she was, and took no pains to hide her delight in sending “the short apprentice girl” to fetch a cup of water or the like at any opportunity. Sevanna looked at her, too, a studying sort of gaze. It made Egwene think of someone studying a chicken, thinking how to cook it after they stole it. Worse than that, the Wise Ones would not tell her what they talked about; it was Wise Ones’ business, and none of apprentices’. For whatever reason the Shaido were there, the mood among the other Wise Ones certainly interested them; more than once Egwene saw Sevanna, when she thought herself unobserved, smile as she watched Amys or Malindhe or Cosain stalk by talking to herself and needlessly adjusting her shawl. No one listened to Egwene, of course. Too many comments about the Shaido women finally earned her most of a day spent digging a hole “deep enough to stand in without being seen,” and when she climbed out, all sweat and filth to begin filling it in, Sevanna was watching.
Two days after Rand left, Aeron and some other Wise Ones talked three Maidens into sneaking over the wall of Arilyn’s palace in the night to see what they could scout out, and that made everything worse. The three avoided Gawyn’s guards, if with more difficulty than they expected, but the Aes Sedai were another matter; while they were still climbing from the roof into an attic, they were wrapped up in the Power and whisked inside. Fortunately Coiren and the others seemed to think they were there to steal, though the Maidens might not have thought it was so fortunate. They were tossed into the street, so bruised they could hardly walk and still struggling not to sniffle when they got back to the tents. The other Wise Ones took turns upbraiding Aeron and her friends, usually in private, though Sorilea appeared to make a point of confronting them before as many people as possible. Sevanna and her two companions sneered quite openly whenever they saw Aeron or one of the other
s, and speculated among themselves in very audible voices about what the Aes Sedai would do when they found out. Even Sorilea looked at them askance for that, but no one said anything, and Aeron and her friends began walking as small as the apprentices. The apprentices began trying to hide when not actually performing their duties or taking lessons. Sharp tempers became like razors.
Except for her hole, Egwene managed to avoid the worst of it, but only because she stayed away from the tents a good deal, largely to stay clear of Sevanna before she taught the woman a lesson. She had no doubt how that would end; Sevanna was accepted as a Wise One, no matter how many grimaces there might be when she was not around. Amys and Bair would probably let the Shaido woman set her punishment. At least staying away was not too difficult. She might be an apprentice, but only Sorilea made any effort to teach her the thousand things a Wise One had to know. Until Amys and Bair gave her final permission to return to Tel’aran’rhiod, her days and nights were largely her own, so long as she managed to escape being snapped up with Surandha and the rest to wash dishes or gather dung for the fires or the like.
She could not understand why the days seemed to pass so slowly; she thought it must be waiting on Amys and Bair. Gawyn was at The Long Man every morning. She became used to the fat innkeeper’s suggestive smirks, though once or twice she did think of kicking the woman. Maybe three times; no more than that. Those hours went by in a flash. No sooner did she sit on his knee than it was time to straighten her hair and leave. Sitting on his knee no longer frightened her. Not that it had ever frightened her, exactly, but it had come to be more than pleasant. If she sometimes thought things she should not have, if those thoughts made her blush, well, he always brushed her face with his fingers when she blushed, and said her name in a way she could have spent a lifetime hearing. He let slip less about what was going on with the Aes Sedai than she learned elsewhere, and she could hardly make herself care.
It was the other hours that dragged out as though mired in mud. There was so little to do that she thought she might burst from frustration. Wise Ones keeping watch on Arilyn’s mansion reported no more Aes Sedai. Chosen from those who could channel, the watchers said the Aes Sedai were still wielding the Power inside day and night without break, but Egwene did not dare go close, and if she had, she could have not told what they were doing without seeing the flows. Had the Wise Ones been less snappish, she might have tried to spend time reading in her tent, but the one time she touched a book except at night by lamplight, Bair muttered so about girls wasting their days lying about lazily that Egwene murmured that she had forgotten something and scurried out of the tent before she was found something more useful to do. A few moments’ conversation with another apprentice could be as dangerous. Stopping to talk with Surandha, who was hiding in the shade cast by a tent belonging to some Stone Dogs, earned her an afternoon doing laundry when Sorilea found them. She might actually have been glad of chores, just for something to do, but Sorilea examined the perfectly clean wash hung inside the tent to keep off the ever-present dust, sniffed and told them to do it again. Twice she told them to do it again! Sevanna watched part of that too.
Being in the city always made Egwene look over her shoulder, yet on the third day, she picked her way down to the docks as cautiously as a mouse stealing from a cat. A wizened fellow with a narrow little boat scratched his thinning hair and demanded a silver mark to row her out to the Sea Folk ship. Everything was dear, but that was ridiculous. She fixed him with a level stare, told him he could have a silver penny — still far too much, really — and hoped the bargaining would not take her whole purse; she did not have much. Everybody jumped and flinched at the Aiel, but when it came to bargaining, they forgot all about cadin’sor and spears and fought like lions. He opened his toothless mouth, closed it, peered at her, then muttered under his breath and to her surprise told her she was stealing the bread out of his mouth.
“Get in,” he grumbled. “Get in. I cannot waste all day for a pittance. Browbeating a man. Stealing the bread.” He went on like that even after he began working the oars, pulling the tiny boat out onto the broad waters of the Alguenya.
Egwene did not know whether Rand had met this Wavemistress, but she hoped he had. According to Elayne, the Dragon Reborn was the Sea Folk Coramoor, the Chosen One, and all he had to do was appear to have them running at his beck and call. She hoped they did not grovel too much, though. Rand got more than enough of that already. Still, it was not Rand that sent her out with the muttering boatman. Elayne had actually met some of the Atha’an Miere, had traveled on one of their ships, and she said Sea Folk Windfinders could channel. Some of them anyway; maybe most. That was a secret the Atha’an Miere held close, but the Windfinder on Elayne’s vessel had been more than willing to share her knowledge once her secret was penetrated. Sea Folk Windfinders knew weather. Elayne claimed they knew more of weather than the Aes Sedai. She said the Windfinder on her ship had worked enormous flows to produce favorable winds. Egwene had no idea how much of that was true and how much enthusiasm, but learning a little about weather would certainly be better that twiddling her thumbs and wondering whether being caught by Nesune might be a relief from the Wise Ones and Sevanna. With what she knew now, she could not have made it rain if the skies were black except for lightning. At the moment, of course, the sun burned golden in a cloudless sky and heat shimmers danced over the dark water. At least the dust did not make it far onto the river.
When the boatman finally drew in his oars and let the small craft drift beside the ship, Egwene stood up, ignoring his mutters that she would have them both in the river. “Hello!” she called. “Hello? May I come aboard?”
She had been on several riverboats and was proud that she knew the right terms — shipfolk seemed touchy about the right words — but this vessel was outside her experience. She had seen river craft longer, a few, but none so tall. Some of the crew were in the rigging, or clambering up the slanted masts, dark bare-chested men, barefoot in wide, colorful trousers held up by bright sashes, dark women in bright blouses as well.
She was just at the point of shouting again, louder, when a rope ladder uncoiled down the side of the ship. No answering call came from the deck, yet that seemed invitation enough. Egwene climbed. It was difficult — not the climb, but keeping her skirts decently close; she could see why the Sea Folk women wore trousers — but finally she reached the rail.
Immediately her eyes fell on a woman not a span away on the deck. Her blouse and trousers were blue silk, with a darker sash. She wore three worked gold rings in each ear, and a fine chain that supported tiny glittering medallions ran from one to a ring in her nose. Elayne had described this, and even demonstrated using Tel’aran’rhiod, but seeing it in the flesh made Egwene wince. But there was something else. She could sense the ability to channel. She had found the Windfinder.
She opened her mouth, and a dark hand flashed in front of her eyes with a gleaming dagger. Before she could scream, the blade sliced through the ropes of the ladder. Still clinging to the useless thing, she plummeted.
She did scream then — for all of a heartbeat, before she went into the river feet first, plunging deep. Water rushed into her open mouth, drowning her scream; she thought she swallowed half the river. Frantically she struggled to unwrap her skirts from around her head and rid herself of the ladder. She was not in a panic. She was not. How far down had she gone? It was all muddy darkness around her. Which way was up? Iron bands gripped her chest, but she breathed out through her nose, watched the bubbles stream, as it seemed to her, down and to her left. Twisting, she stroked for the surface. How far? Lungs burning.
Her head broke through into daylight, and she sucked in air with a coughing gasp. To her surprise, the boatman reached down and hauled her into his boat by increments, muttering at her to stop thrashing before she upset them, adding that Sea Folk were a touchy lot. He leaned over again to reclaim her shawl before it sank once more. She snatched it from him, and he shied back as if he though
t she meant to hit him with it. Her skirts hung heavily, her blouse and shift clung; her head scarf slanted across her forehead. A pool began to form in the bottom of the boat under her feet.
The boat had drifted maybe twenty paces from the ship. The Windfinder was at the railing now, and two more women, one in plain green silk, the other brocaded red worked with gold thread. Their earrings and nose rings and chains caught the sun.
“You are refused the gift of passage,” the green-clad woman called, and the one in red shouted, “Tell the other, disguises do not fool us. You do not frighten us. You are all refused the gift of passage!”
The wizened boatman picked up his oars, but Egwene pointed a finger straight at his narrow nose. “Stop right where you are.” He stopped. Dunking her. Not a word of common courtesy.
Drawing a deep breath, she embraced saidar and channeled four flows before the Windfinder could react. So she knew weather, did she? Could she divide her flows four ways? Not many Aes Sedai could. One flow was Spirit, a shield she shoved onto the Windfinder to keep her from interfering. If she knew how. Each of the other three was Air, woven almost delicately around each woman, binding her arms to her sides. Lifting them was not precisely difficult, but not easy either.
A clamor rose on the ship as the women floated into the air and out over the river. Egwene heard the boatman moaning. She was not interested in him. The three Sea Folk women did not even kick. With an effort she hoisted them higher, some ten or twelve paces above the surface; no matter how hard she strained, that seemed to be the limit. Well, you don’t want to actually hurt them, she thought, and released the weaves. They’ll scream now.
The Sea Folk women curled into balls as soon as they began to fall, spun, straightened with their arms thrust out before them. They entered the water with three quite small splashes. Moments later three dark heads broke the surface, and the women began swimming rapidly back toward the ship.
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