WOT Prequel 02 - New Spring

by New Spring [lit]

  out. "The Black Ajah." Siuan flinched, then nodded, glowering.

  Any sister grew angry at the suggestion there was a secret Ajah hidden inside

  the others, dedicated to the Dark One. Most sisters refused to listen. The White

  Tower had stood for the Light for over three thousand years. But some sisters

  did not deny the Black straight out. Some believed. Very few would admit it even

  to another sister, though. Moiraine did not want to admit it to herself.

  Siuan plucked at the ties on her bundle, but she went on in a brisk voice. "I

  don't think they have our names — Tamra never really thought us part of it —

  else I'd have had an "accident", too. Just before I left, I slipped a note with

  my suspicions under Sierin's door. Only, I didn't know how much to trust her.

  The Amyrlin Seat! I wrote with my left hand, but I was shaking so hard, no one

  could recognize my writing if I'd used my right. Burn my liver! Even if we knew

  who to trust, we have bilge water for proof."

  "Enough for me. If they know everything, all the women Tamra chose, there may be

  none left except us. We will have to move fast if we have a hope of finding the

  boy first." Moiraine tried for a vigorous tone, too. It was gratifying that

  Siuan only nodded. She would not give up for all her talk of shaking, and she

  never considered that Moiraine might. Most gratifying. "Perhaps they know us,

  and perhaps not. Perhaps they think they can leave two new sisters for last. In

  any case, we cannot trust anyone but ourselves." Blood drained from her face.

  "Oh, Light! I just had an encounter at the inn, Siuan."

  She tried to recall every word, every nuance, from the moment Merean first

  spoke. Siuan listened with a distant look, filing and sorting. "Cadsuane could

  be one of Tamra's chosen," she agreed when Moiraine finished. "Or she could be

  Black Ajah." She barely hesitated over the words. "Maybe she's just trying to

  get you out of the way until she can dispose of you without rousing suspicion.

  The trouble is, any of them could be either." Leaning across her bundle, she

  touched Moiraine's knee. "Can you bring your horse from the stable without being

  seen? I have a good mount, but I don't know if she can carry both of us. We

  should be hours from here before they know we're gone."

  Moiraine smiled in spite of herself. She very much doubted the good mount. Her

  friend's eye for horseflesh was no better than her seat in the saddle, and

  sometimes Siuan fell off nearly before the animal moved. The ride north must

  have been agony. And full of fear. "No one knows you are here at all, Siuan,"

  she said. "Best if it stays so. You have your book? Good. If I remain until

  morning, I will have a day's start on them instead of hours. You go on to

  Chachin now. Take some of my coin." By the state of Siuan's dress, she had spent

  the last part of that trip sleeping under bushes. A fisherman's daughter had no

  estates to provide gold. "Start looking for the Lady Ines, and I will catch you

  up there."

  It was not that easy, of course. Siuan had a stubborn streak as wide as the

  Erinin. Quite aside from that, as novice and Accepted it had been the

  fisherman's daughter who led, not the king's niece, something that had startled

  Moiraine at first, until she realized that it felt natural somehow. Siuan had

  been born to lead.

  "I have enough for my needs," she grumbled, but Moiraine insisted on handing her

  half the coins in her purse, and when Moiraine reminded her of their pledge

  during their first months in the Tower, that what one owned belonged to the

  other as well, she muttered, "We swore we'd find beautiful young princes to

  bond, too, and marry them besides. Girls say all sort of silly things. You watch

  after yourself, now. You leave me alone in this, and I'll wring your neck."

  Embracing to say good bye, Moiraine found it hard to let go. An hour ago, her

  worries had been whether she might be stuck away on a farm, or at worse birched.

  Now . . . The Black Ajah. She wanted to empty her stomach. If only she had

  Siuan's courage. Watching Siuan slip down the alley adjusting that bundle on her

  back again, Moiraine wished she was Green. Only Greens bonded more than one

  Warder, and she would have liked at least three or four to guard her back right

  then.

  Walking back up the street, she could not help looking at everyone she passed,

  man or woman. If the Black Ajah — her stomach twisted every time she thought

  that name — if they were involved, then ordinary Darkfriends were, too. No one

  denied that some misguided people believed the Dark One would give them

  immortality, people who would kill and do every sort of evil to gain that

  hoped-for reward. And if any sister could be Black Ajah, anyone she met could be

  a Darkfriend. She hoped Siuan remembered that.

  As she approached The Gates of Heaven, a sister appeared in the inn's doorway.

  Part of a sister, at least; all she could see was an arm with a fringed shawl

  over it. A tall man who had just come out, his hair in two belled braids, turned

  back to speak for a moment, but the shawl-draped arm gestured peremptorily, and

  he strode past Moiraine wearing a scowl. She would not have thought twice of it

  if not for thinking about the Black Ajah and Darkfriends. The Light knew, Aes

  Sedai did speak to men, and some did more than speak. She had been thinking of

  Darkfriends, though. And Black sisters. If only she could have made out the

  colour of that fringe. She hurried the last thirty-odd paces frowning.

  Merean and Larelle were seated together by themselves near the door, both still

  wearing their shawls. Few sisters did that except for ceremony, or for show.

  Both women were watching Cadsuane go into that private sitting room, followed by

  a pair of grey-haired men who looked as hard as last year's oak. She still wore

  her shawl, too, with the white Flame of Tar Valon bright on her back. It could

  have been any of them. Cadsuane might be looking for another Warder; Greens

  always seemed to be looking. Moiraine did not know whether Merean and Larelle

  had Warders. The fellow's scowl might have been for hearing he did not measure

  up. There were a hundred possible explanations, and she put the man out of her

  head. The sure dangers were real enough without inventing more.

  Before she was three steps into the common room, Master Helvin bustled up in a

  green-striped apron, a bald man nearly as wide as he was tall, and handed her a

  new irritation. With three more Aes Sedai stopping at his inn, he need to

  shuffle the beds, as he put it. The Lady Alys would not mind sharing hers,

  certainly, under the circumstances. Mistress Palan was a most pleasant woman.

  Haesel Palan was a rug-merchant from Murandy with the lilt of Lugard in her

  voice. Moiraine heard more of it than she wanted from the moment she stepped

  into the small room that had been hers alone. Her clothes had been moved from

  the wardrobe to pegs on the wall, her comb and brush displaced from the

  washstand for Mistress Palan's. The plump woman might have been diffident with

  "Lady Alys", but not with a wilder who everybody said was off in the morning to

  become a novice in the White Tower. She lectured Moiraine on the duties of a

  nov
ice, all of it wrong. She followed Moiraine down to dinner and gathered other

  traders of her acquaintance at the table, every woman of them eager to share

  what she knew of the White Tower. Which was nothing at all. They shared it in

  great detail, though. Moiraine thought to escape by retiring early, but Mistress

  Palan appeared almost as soon as she had her dress off and talked until she

  dropped off to sleep.

  It was not an easy night. The bed was narrow, the woman's elbows sharp and her

  feet icy despite thick blankets that trapped the warmth of the small stove under

  the bed. The rainstorm that had threatened all day broke, wind and thunder

  rattling the shutters for hours. Moiraine doubted she could have slept in any

  event. Darkfriends and the Black Ajah danced in her head. She saw Tamra being

  dragged from her sleep, dragged away to somewhere secret and tortured by women

  wielding the Power. Sometimes the women wore Merean's face, and Larelle's, and

  Cadsuane's, and every sister's she had ever seen. Sometimes Tamra's face became

  her own.

  When the door creaked slowly open in the dark hours of morning, Moiraine

  embraced the Source in a flash. Saidar filled her to the point where the

  sweetness and joy came close to pain. Not as much of the Power as she would be

  able to handle in another year, much less five, yet a hair more would burn the

  ability out of her now, or kill her. One was as bad as the other, but she wanted

  to draw more, and not just because the Power always made you want more.

  Cadsuane put her head in. Moiraine had forgotten her promise, her threat.

  Cadsuane saw the glow, of course, could feel how much she held. "Fool girl," was

  all the woman said before leaving.

  Moiraine counted to one hundred slowly, then swung her feet out from under the

  covers. Now was as good a time as any. Mistress Palan heaved on to her side and

  began to snore. Channelling Fire, Moiraine lit one of the lamps and dressed

  hurriedly. A riding dress, this time. Reluctantly she decided to abandon her

  saddlebags along with everything else she had to leave behind. Anyone who saw

  her moving about might not think too much of it even at this time of the

  morning, but not if she had saddlebags over her shoulder. All she took was what

  she could fit into the pockets sewn inside her cloak, little more than some

  spare stockings and a clean shift. Mistress Palan was still snoring as she

  closed the door behind her.

  The skinny groom on night duty was startled to see her with the sky just

  beginning to turn grey, but a silver penny had him knuckling his forehead and

  saddling her bay mare. She regretted leaving her packhorse behind, but not even

  a fool noble — she heard the fellow mutter — that would take a pack animal for a

  morning jaunt. Climbing into Arrow's high-cantled saddle, she gave the man a

  cool smile instead of the second penny he would have received without the

  comment, and rode slowly out into damp, empty streets. Just out for a ride,

  however early. It looked to be a good day. The sky looked rained out, for one

  thing, and there was little wind.

  The lamps were still lit all along the streets and alleys, leaving no more than

  the palest shadow anywhere, yet the only people to be seen were the Night

  Watch's patrols and the Lamplighters, heavily armed as they made their rounds to

  make sure no lamp went out. A wonder that people could live so close to the

  Blight that a Myrddraal could step out of any dark shadow. No one went out in

  the night, though. Not in the Borderlands.

  Which was why she was surprised to see she was not the first to reach the

  western gates. Slowing Arrow, she stayed well back from the three very large men

  waiting with a packhorse behind their mounts. Their attention was all on the

  barred gates, with now and again a word shared with the gate guards. They barely

  glanced at her. The lamps here showed their faces clearly. A grizzled old man

  and a hard-faced young one wearing braided leather cords tied around their

  heads. Malkieri? She thought that was what that meant. The third was an

  Arafellin with belled braids. The same fellow she had seen leaving The Gates of

  Heaven.

  By the time the bright sliver of sunrise allowed the gates to be swung open,

  several merchants' trains had lined up to depart. The three men were first

  through, but Moiraine let a train of a dozen wagons behind eight-horse teams

  rumble ahead of her before she followed across the bridge and on to the road

  through the hills. She kept the three in sight, though. They were heading in the

  same direction so far, after all.

  They moved quickly, good riders who barely shifted a rein, but a trot suited

  her. The more distance she put between herself and Cadsuane, the better. The

  merchants' wagons fell back out of sight long before they reached the first

  village near midday, a small cluster of tile-roofed stone houses around a tiny

  inn on a forested hill slope. Moiraine paused long enough to ask whether anyone

  knew a woman named Avene Sahera. The answer was no, and she galloped on, not

  slowing until the three men appeared on the hard-packed road ahead, their horses

  still in that ground-eating pace. Maybe they knew nothing more than the name of

  the sister the Arafellin had spoken to, but anything at all she learned about

  Cadsuane or the other two would be to the good.

  She formulated several plans for approaching them, and discarded each. Three men

  on a deserted forest road could well decide a young woman alone was a good

  opportunity, especially if they were what she feared. Handling them presented no

  problem, if it came to it, but she wanted to avoid that. Woods gave way to

  scattered farms, and farms faded to more woods. A red-crested eagle soared

  overhead and became a shape against the descending sun.

  As her shadow stretched out behind her, she decided to forget the men and find a

  place to sleep. With luck she might see more farms soon, and if a little silver

  did not bring a bed, a hayloft would have to do.

  Ahead, the three men stopped, conferring for a moment, then one took the

  packhorse and turned aside into the forest. The others dug in their heels and

  galloped on.

  Moiraine stared after them. The Arafellin was one of the pair rushing off, but

  if they were travelling together, maybe he had mentioned meeting an Aes Sedai to

  his companion. And one man would certainly be less trouble than three, if she

  was careful. Riding to where rider and packhorse had vanished, she dismounted.

  Tracking was a thing most ladies left to their huntsmen, but she had taken an

  interest in the years when climbing trees and getting dirty had seemed equal

  fun. Broken twigs and kicked winter-fall leaves left a trail a child could have

  followed. A hundred paces or so into the forest, she spotted a pond in a hollow

  through the trees. The fellow had already unsaddled and hobbled his bay — a

  fine-looking animal — and was setting the packsaddle on the ground. It was the

  younger of the Malkieri. He looked even larger, this close. Unbuckling his

  swordbelt, he sat down facing the pond, laid sword and belt beside him, and put

  his hands on his knees. He seemed to be staring off across the water,
still

  glittering through the late afternoon shadows. He did not move a muscle.

  Moiraine considered. Plainly he had been left to make camp. The others would

  come back. A question or two would not take long, though. And if he was unnerved

  a little — say at finding a woman suddenly standing right behind him — he might

  answer before he thought. Tying Arrow's reins to a low branch, she gathered her

  cloak and skirts and moved forward as silently as possible. A low hummock stood

  humped up behind him, and she stepped up on to that. Added height could help. He

  was a very tall man. And it might help if he found her with her beltknife in one

  hand and his sword in the other. Channelling, she whisked the scabbarded blade

  from his side. Every little bit of shock she could manage for him He moved

  faster than thought. Her grasp closed on the scabbard, and he uncoiled,

  whirling, one hand clutching the scabbard between hers, the other seizing the

  front of her dress. Before she could think to channel, she was flying through

  the air. She had just time to see the pond coming up at her, just time to shout

  something, she did not know what, and then she struck the surface flat, driving

  all the wind out of her, struck with a great splash and sank. The water was

  freezing! Saidar fled in her shock.

  Floundering to her feet, she stood up to her waist in the icy water, coughing,

  wet hair clinging to her face, sodden cloak dragging at her shoulders. Furiously

  she twisted around to confront her attacker, furiously embraced the Source once

  more. The test for the shawl required channelling with absolute calm under great

  stress, and far worse than this had been done to her then. She turned, prepared

  to knock him down and drub him till he squealed!

  He stood shaking his head and frowning at the spot where she had stood, a long

  stride from where he had sat. When he deigned to notice her, he came to the edge

  of the pond and bent to stretch out a hand. "Unwise to try separating a man from

  his sword," he said, and after a glance at the coloured slashes on her dress,

  added, "My Lady." Hardly an apology. His startlingly blue eyes did not quite

  meet hers. If he was hiding mirth . . . !

  Muttering under her breath, she splashed awkwardly to where she could take his