dropped to his turned-down boots, the laces undone. Bellowing, he snatched his
cloak around him amid gales of renewed mirth. Let him see how he liked cold
breezes and rowdy jokes!
Satisfaction lasted as long as it took to release the Source. Impetuous impulse
and a quick temper had always been her downfall. Any woman able to channel would
have seen her weaving if close enough, seen the glow of saidar surround her.
Even those thin flows could have been felt at thirty paces by the weakest sister
in the Tower. A fine way to hide.
Quickening her step, she put distance between herself and the incident. Too
little too late, but all she could do now. She stroked the small book in her
beltpouch, tried to focus on her task. With only one hand, keeping her cloak
closed proved impossible. It whipped about in the wind, and after a moment, she
let herself feel the knifing chill. Sisters who took on penances at every turn
were foolish, yet a penance could serve many purposes, and maybe she needed a
reminder. If she could not remember to be careful, she might as well return to
the White Tower now and ask where to start hoeing turnips.
Mentally she drew a line through the name of Jurine Najima. Other names in the
book already had real lines inked through them. The mothers of five boys born in
the wrong place. The mothers of three girls. An army of almost two hundred
thousand men had gathered to face the Aiel outside the Shining Walls, and it
still astonished her how many women followed along, how many were with child. An
older sister had had to explain. The war had not been short, and men who knew
they might die tomorrow wanted to leave part of themselves behind. Women who
knew their men might die tomorrow wanted that part of them to keep.
Hundreds had given birth during the key ten days, and in that sort of gathering,
with soldiers from nearly every land, too often there was only rumour as to
exactly where or when a child had been born. Or to where the parents had gone,
with the war ended and the Coalition army melting away along with the Coalition.
There were too many entries like "Saera Deosin. Husband Eadwin. From Murandy. A
son?" A whole country to search, only a pair of names to go by, and no certainty
the woman had borne a boy. Too many like "Kari al'Thor. From Andor? Husband
Tamlin, Second Captain of the Illianer Companions, took discharge." That pair
might have gone anywhere in the world, and there was doubt she had had a child
at all. Sometimes only the mother was listed, with six or eight variations on
the name of a home village that might lie in one of two or three countries. The
list of those easy to find was growing shorter rapidly.
But the child had to be found. An infant who would grow to manhood and wield the
tainted male half of the One Power. Moiraine shuddered at the thought despite
herself. That was why this search was so secret, why Moiraine and Siuan, still
only Accepted when they learned of the child's birth by accident, had been
shunted aside and kept in as much ignorance as Tamra could manage. This was a
matter for experienced sisters. But who could she trust with the news that the
birth of the Dragon Reborn had been Foretold, and more, that somewhere he
already suckled at his mother's breast? Had she had the sort of nightmares that
had wakened Moiraine and Siuan so many nights? Yet this boychild would grow to
manhood and save the world, so the Prophecies of the Dragon said. If he was not
found by a Red sister; the Red Ajah's main purpose was hunting down men who
could channel, and Moiraine was sure Tamra had not trusted any of them, even
with a child. Could a Red be trusted to remember that he would be humankind's
salvation while remembering what else he would be? The day suddenly seemed
colder to Moiraine, for remembering.
The inn where she had a small room was called The Gates of Heaven, four
sprawling storeys of green-roofed stone, Canluum's best and largest. Nearby
shops catered to the lords and ladies on the Stand, looming behind the inn. She
would not have stopped in it had there been another room to be found in the
city. Taking a deep breath, she hurried inside. Neither the sudden warmth from
fires on four large hearths nor the good smells of cooking from the kitchens
eased her tight shoulders.
The common room was large, and every table beneath the bright red ceiling beams
was taken. By plainly-dressed merchants for the most part, and a sprinkling of
well-to-do craftsfolk with rich embroidery covering colourful shirts or dresses.
She hardly noticed them. No fewer than five sisters were staying at The Gates of
Heaven, and all sat in the common room when she walked in. Master Helvin, the
innkeeper, would always make room for an Aes Sedai even when he had to force
other patrons to double up. The sisters kept to themselves, barely acknowledging
one another, and people who might not have recognized an Aes Sedai on sight knew
them now, knew enough not to intrude. Every other table was jammed, yet where
any man sat with an Aes Sedai, it was her Warder, a hard-eyed man with a
dangerous look about him however ordinary he might seem otherwise. One of the
sisters sitting alone was a Red; Reds took no Warder.
Tucking her gloves behind her belt and folding her cloak over her arm, Moiraine
started towards the stone stairs at the back of the room. Not too quickly, but
not dawdling, either. Looking straight ahead. She did not need to see an ageless
face or glimpse the golden serpent biting its own tail encircling a finger to
know when she passed close to another sister. Each time, she felt the other
woman's ability to channel, felt her strength. No one here matched her. She
could sense their ability, and they could sense hers. Their eyes following her
seemed the touch of fingers. Not quite grasping. None spoke to her.
Then, just as she reached the staircase, a woman did speak behind her. "Well,
now. This is a surprise."
Turning quickly, Moiraine kept her face smooth with an effort as she made a
brief curtsy suitable for a minor noblewoman to an Aes Sedai. To two Aes Sedai.
She did not think she could have encountered two worse than this pair in sober
silks.
The white wings in Larelle Tarsi's long hair emphasized her serene,
copper-skinned elegance. She had taught Moiraine in several classes, as both
novice and Accepted, and she had a way of asking the last question you wanted to
hear. Worse was Merean Redhill, plump and so motherly that hair more grey than
not, and gathered at the nape of her neck, almost submerged the agelessness of
her features. She had been Mistress of Novices under Tamra, and she made Larelle
seem blind when it came to discovering just what you most wanted to hide. Both
wore their vine-embroidered shawls, Merean's fringed blue. Blue was Moiraine's
Ajah, too. That might count for something. Or not. It was a surprise to see them
together; she had not thought they particularly liked one another.
Both were stronger in the Power than she, unfortunately, though she would stand
above them eventually, but the gap was only wide enough that she had to defer,
not obey. In any case, they had no right to interf
ere in anything she might be
doing. Custom held very strongly on that. Unless they were part of Tamra's
search and had been told about her. An Amyrlin's commands superseded the
strongest custom, or at least altered it. But if either said the wrong thing
here, word that Moiraine Damodred was wandering about in disguise would spread
with the sisters in the room, and it would reach the wrong ears as surely as
peaches were poison. That was the way of the world. A summons back to Tar Valon
would find her soon after. She opened her mouth hoping to forestall the chance,
but someone else spoke first.
"No need trying that one," a sister alone at a table nearby said, twisting
around on her bench. Felaana Bevaine, a slim yellow-haired Brown with a raspy
voice, had been the first to corner Moiraine when she arrived. "Says she has no
interest in going to the Tower. Stubborn as stone about it. Secretive, too. You
would think we'd have heard about a wilder popping up in even a lesser
Cairhienin House, but this child likes to keep to herself."
Larelle and Merean looked at Moiraine, Larelle arching a thin eyebrow, Merean
apparently trying to suppress a smile. Most sisters disliked wilders, women who
managed to survive teaching themselves to channel without going to the White
Tower.
"It is quite true, Aes Sedai," Moiraine said carefully, relieved that someone
else had laid a foundation. "I have no desire to enroll as a novice, and I will
not."
Felaana fixed her with considering eyes, but she still spoke to the others.
"Says she's twenty-two, but that rule has been bent a time or two. A woman says
she's eighteen, and that's how she's enrolled. Unless it's too obvious a lie,
anyway, and this girl — "
"Our rules were not made to be broken," Larelle said sharply, and Merean added
in a wry voice, "I don't believe this young woman will lie about her age. She
doesn't want to be a novice, Felaana. Let her go her way." Moiraine almost let
out a relieved sigh.
Enough weaker than they to accept being cut off, Felaana still began to rise,
plainly meaning to continue the argument. Halfway to her feet she glanced up the
stairs behind Moiraine, her eyes widened, and abruptly she sat down again,
focusing on her plate of black peas and onions as if nothing else in the world
existed. Merean and Larelle gathered their shawls, grey fringe and blue swaying.
They looked eager to be elsewhere. They looked as though their feet had been
nailed to the floor.
"So this girl does not want to be a novice," said a woman's voice from the
stairs. A voice Moiraine had heard only once, two years ago, and would never
forget. A number of women were stronger than she, but only one could be as much
stronger as this one. Unwillingly, she looked over her shoulder.
Nearly black eyes studied her from beneath a bun of iron-grey hair decorated
with golden ornaments, stars and birds, crescent moons and fish. Cadsuane, too,
wore her shawl, fringed in green. "In my opinion, girl," she said drily, "you
could profit from ten years in white."
Everyone had believed Cadsuane Melaidhrin dead somewhere in retirement until she
reappeared at the start of the Aiel War, and a good many sisters probably wished
her truly in her grave. Cadsuane was a legend, a most uncomfortable thing to
have alive and staring at you. Half the tales about her came close to
impossibility, while the rest were beyond it, even among those that had proof. A
long-ago King of Tarabon winkled out of his palace when it was learned he could
channel, carried to Tar Valon to be gentled while an army that did not believe
chased after to attempt rescue. A King of Arad Doman and a Queen of Saldaea both
kidnapped, spirited away in secrecy, and when Cadsuane finally released them, a
war that had seemed certain simply faded away. It was said she bent Tower law
where it suited her, flouted custom, went her own way and often dragged others
with her.
"I thank the Aes Sedai for her concern," Moiraine began, then trailed off under
that stare. Not a hard stare. Simply implacable. Supposedly even Amyrlins had
stepped warily around Cadsuane over the years. It was whispered that she had
actually assaulted an Amyrlin, once. Impossible, of course; she would have been
executed! Moiraine swallowed and tried to start over, only to find she wanted to
swallow again.
Descending the stair, Cadsuane told Merean and Larelle, "Bring the girl."
Without a second glance, she glided across the common room. Merchants and
craftsfolk looked at her, some openly, some from the corner of an eye, and
Warders too, but every sister kept her gaze on her table.
Merean's face tightened, and Larelle sighed extravagantly, yet they prodded
Moiraine after the bobbing golden ornaments. She had no choice but to go. At
least Cadsuane could not be one of the women Tamra had called in; she had not
returned to Tar Valon since that visit at the beginning of the war.
Cadsuane led them to one of the inn's private sitting rooms, where a fire blazed
on the black stone hearth and silver lamps hung along the red wall panels. A
tall pitcher stood near the fire to keep warm, and a lacquered tray on a small
carved table held silver cups. Merean and Larelle took two of the
brightly-cushioned chairs, but when Moiraine put her cloak on a chair and
started to sit, Cadsuane pointed to a spot in front of the other sisters. "Stand
there, child," she said.
Making an effort not to clutch her skirt in her fists, Moiraine stood as
directed. Obedience had always been difficult for her. Until she went to the
Tower at sixteen, there had been few people she had to obey. Most obeyed her.
Cadsuane circled the three of them slowly, once, twice. Merean and Larelle
exchanged wondering frowns, and Larelle opened her mouth, but after one look at
Cadsuane, closed it again. They assumed smooth-faced serenity; any watcher would
have thought they knew exactly what was going on. Sometimes Cadsuane glanced at
them, but the greater part of her attention stayed on Moiraine.
"Most new sisters," the legendary Green said abruptly, "hardly remove their
shawls to sleep or bathe, but here you are without shawl or ring, in one of the
most dangerous spots you could choose short of the Blight itself. Why?"
Moiraine blinked. A direct question. The woman really did ignore custom when it
suited her. She made her voice light. "New sisters also seek a Warder." Why was
the woman singling her out in this manner? "I have not bonded mine, yet. I am
told Bordermen make fine Warders." The Green sent her a stabbing look that made
her wish she had been just a little less light.
Stopping behind Larelle, Cadsuane laid a hand on her shoulder. "What do you know
of this child?"
Every girl in Larelle's classes had thought her the perfect sister and been
intimidated by that cool consideration. They all had been afraid of her, and
wanted to be her. "Moiraine was studious and a quick learner," she said
thoughtfully. "She and Siuan Sanche were two of the quickest the Tower has ever
seen. But you must know that. Let me see. She was rather too free with her
opinions, and her t
emper, until we settled her down. As much as we did settle
her. She and the Sanche girl had a continuing fondness for pranks. But they both
passed for Accepted on the first try, and for the shawl. She needs seasoning, of
course, yet she may make something of herself."
Cadsuane moved behind Merean, asking the same question, adding, "A fondness for
. . . pranks, Larelle said. A troublesome child?"
Merean shook her head with a smile. None of the girls had wanted to be Merean,
but everyone knew where to go for a shoulder to cry on or advice when you could
not ask your closest friend. Many more girls visited her on their own than had
been sent for chastisement. "Not troublesome, really," she said. "High-spirited.
None of the tricks Moiraine played were mean, but they were plentiful. Novice
and Accepted, she was sent to my study more often than any three other girls.
Except for her pillow-friend Siuan. Of course, pillow-friends frequently get
into tangles together, but with those two, one was never sent to me without the
other. The last time the very night after passing for the shawl." Her smile
faded into a frown very much like the one she had worn that night. Not angry,
but rather disbelieving of the mischief young women could get up to. And a touch
amused by it. "Instead of spending the night in contemplation, they tried to
sneak mice into a sister's bed — Elaida a'Roihan — and were caught. I doubt any
other women have been raised Aes Sedai while still too tender to sit from their
last visit to the Mistress of Novices. Once the Three Oaths tightened on them,
they needed cushions a week."
Moiraine kept her face smooth, kept her hands from knotting into fists, but she
could do nothing about burning cheeks. That ruefully amused frown, as if she
were still Accepted. She needed seasoning, did she? Well, perhaps she did, some,
but still. And spreading out all these intimacies!
"I think you know all of me that you need to know," she told Cadsuane stiffly.
How close she and Siuan had been was no one's business but theirs. And their
punishments, details of their punishments. Elaida had been hateful, always
pressing, demanding perfection whenever she visited the Tower. "If you are quite
satisfied, I must pack my things. I am departing for Chachin."
She swallowed a groan before it could form. She still let her tongue go too free
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