"Bukama is dead with a knife in his heart," he said calmly, "and not an hour
gone, someone tried to kill me with the One Power. At first I thought it must be
Merean, but the last I saw of her, she was trailing after Iselle, and unless she
saw me and wanted to lull me, she had no time. Few see me when I do not want to
be seen, and I don't think she did. That leaves you."
Moiraine winced, and only in part for the certainty in his tone. She should have
known the fool girl would go straight to Merean. "You would be surprised how
little escapes a sister," she told him. Especially if the sister was filled with
saidar. "Perhaps I should not have asked Bukama to watch Merean. She is very
dangerous." She was Black Ajah; Moiraine was certain of that, now. Sisters might
make painful examples of people caught snooping, but they did not kill them. But
what to do about her? Certainty was not proof, surely not that would stand up
before the Amyrlin Seat. And if Sierin herself was Black . . . Not a worry she
could do anything about now. What was the woman doing wasting any time at all
with Iselle? "If you care for the girl, I suggest you find her as quickly as
possible and keep her away from Merean."
Lan grunted. "All Aes Sedai are dangerous. Iselle is safe enough for the moment;
I saw her on my way here, hurrying somewhere with Brys and Diryk. Why did Bukama
die, Aes Sedai? What did I snare him in for you?"
Moiraine flung up a hand for silence, and a tiny part of her was surprised when
he obeyed. The rest of her thought furiously. Merean with Iselle. Iselle with
Brys and Diryk. Merean had tried to kill Lan. Suddenly she saw a pattern,
perfect in every line; it made no sense, but she did not doubt it was real.
"Diryk told me you are the luckiest man in the world," she said, leaning towards
Lan intently, "and for his sake, I hope he was right. Where would Brys go for
absolute privacy? Somewhere he would not be seen or heard." It would have to be
a place he felt comfortable, yet isolated.
"There is a walk on the west side of the palace," Lan said slowly, then his
voice quickened. "If there is danger to Brys, I must rouse the guards." He was
already turning, hand on the doorhandle.
"No!" she said. She still held the Power, and she prepared a weave of Air to
seize him if necessary. "Prince Brys will not appreciate having his guards burst
in if Merean is simply talking to him."
"And if she is not talking?" he demanded.
"We have no proof of anything against her, Lan. Suspicions against the word of
an Aes Sedai." His head jerked angrily, and he growled something about Aes Sedai
that she deliberately did not hear. "Take me to this walk, Lan. Let Aes Sedai
deal with Aes Sedai. And let us hurry." If Merean did any talking, Moiraine did
not expect her to talk for long.
Hurry Lan surely did, long legs flashing as he ran. All Moiraine could do was
gather her skirts high and run after him, ignoring the stares and murmurs of
servants and others in the corridors, thanking the Light that the man did not
outpace her. She let the Power fill her as she ran, till sweetness and joy
bordered pain, and tried to plan what she would do, what she could do, against a
woman considerably stronger than she, a woman who had been Aes Sedai more than a
hundred years before her own great-grandmother was born. She wished she was not
so afraid. She wished Siuan was with her.
The mad dash led through glittering state chambers, along statuary-lined
hallways, and suddenly they were into the open, the sounds of the palace left
behind, on a long stone-railed walk twenty paces wide with a vista across the
city roofs far below. A cold wind blew like a storm. Merean was there,
surrounded by the glow of saidar, and Brys and Diryk, standing by the rail,
twisting futilely against bonds and gags of Air. Iselle was frowning at the
Prince and his son, and surprisingly, further down the walk stood a glowering
Ryne.
". . . and I could hardly bring Lord Diryk to you without his father," Iselle
was saying petulantly. "I did make sure no one knows, but why — ?"
Weaving a shield of Spirit, Moiraine hurled it at Merean with every shred of the
Power in her, hoping against hope to cut the woman off from the Source. The
shield struck and splintered. Merean was too strong, drawing too near her
capacity.
The Blue sister — the Black sister — did not even blink. "You did well enough
killing the spy, Ryne," she said calmly as she wove a gag of Air to stop up
Iselle's mouth and bonds that held the girl stiff and wide-eyed. "See if you can
make certain of the younger one this time. You did say you are a better
swordsman."
Everything seemed to happen at once. Ryne rushed forward, scowling, the bells in
braids chiming. Lan barely got his own sword out in time to meet him. And before
the first clash of steel on steel, Merean struck at Moiraine with the same weave
she herself had used, but stronger. In horror Moiraine realized that Merean
might have sufficient strength remaining to shield her even while she was
embracing as much of saidar as she could. Frantically she struck out with Air
and Fire, and Merean grunted as severed flows snapped back into her. In the
brief interval, Moiraine tried to slice the flows holding Diryk and the others,
but before her weave touched Merean's, Merean sliced hers instead, and this time
Merean's attempted shield actually touched her before she could cut it.
Moiraine's stomach tried to tie itself in a knot.
"You appear too often, Moiraine," Merean said as though they were simply
chatting. She looked as if there were no more to it, serene and motherly, not in
the slightest perturbed. "I fear I must ask you how, and why." Moiraine just
managed to sever a weave of Fire that would have burned off her clothes and
perhaps most of her skin, and Merean smiled, a mother amused at the mischief
young women get up to. "Don't worry, child. I'll Heal you to answer my
questions."
If Moiraine had had any lingering doubts that Merean was Black Ajah, that weave
of Fire would have ended them. In the next moments she had more proof, weavings
that made sparks dance on her dress and her hair rise, weavings that left her
gasping for air that was no longer there, weavings she could not recognize yet
was sure would leave her broken and bleeding if they settled around her, if she
failed to cut them . . .
When she could, she tried again and again to cut the bonds holding Diryk and the
others, to shield Merean, even to knock her unconscious. She knew she fought for
her life — she would die if the other woman won, now or after Merean's
questioning — but she never considered that loophole in the Oaths that held her.
She had questions of her own for the woman, and the fate of the world might rest
on the answers. Unfortunately, most of what she could do was defend herself, and
that always on the brink. Her stomach was in a knot, and trying to make another.
Holding three people bound, Merean was still a match for her, and maybe more. If
only Lan could distract the woman.
A hasty glance showed how unlikely that was. Lan and Ryne danced the fo
rms,
their blades like whirlwinds, but if there was a hair between their abilities,
it rested with Ryne. Blood fanned down the side of Lan's face.
Grimly, Moiraine bore down, not even sparing the bit of concentration necessary
to ignore the cold. Shivering, she struck at Merean, defended herself and struck
again, defended and struck. If she could manage to wear the woman down, or . . .
"This is taking too long, don't you think, child?" Merean said. Diryk floated
into the air, struggling against the bonds he could not see as he drifted over
the railing. Brys's head twisted, following his son, and his mouth worked around
his unseen gag.
"No!" Moiraine screamed. Desperately, she flung out flows of Air to drag the boy
back to safety. Merean slashed them even as she released her own hold on him.
Wailing, Diryk fell, and white light exploded in Moiraine's head.
Groggily she opened her eyes, the boy's fading shriek still echoing in her mind.
She was on her back on the stone walk, her head spinning. Until that cleared,
she had as much chance of embracing saidar as a cat did of singing. Not that it
made any difference, now. She could see the shield Merean was holding on her,
and even a weaker woman could maintain a shield once in place. She tried to
rise, fell back, managed to push up on an elbow.
Only moments had passed. Lan and Ryne still danced their deadly dance to the
clash of steel. Brys was rigid for more than his bonds, staring at Merean with
such implacable hate it seemed he might break free on the strength of his rage.
Iselle was trembling visibly, snuffling and weeping and staring wide-eyed at
where the boy had fallen. Where Diryk had fallen. Moiraine made herself think
the boy's name, flinched to recall his grinning enthusiasm. Only moments.
"You will hold a moment for me, I think," Merean said, turning from Moiraine.
Brys rose from the walk. The stocky man's face never changed, never stopped
staring hatred at Merean.
Moiraine struggled to her knees. She could not channel. She had no courage left,
no strength. Only determination. Brys floated over the railing. Moiraine
tottered to her feet. Determination. That look of pure hate etched on his face,
Brys fell, never making a sound. This had to end. Iselle lifted into the air,
writhing frantically, throat working in a effort to scream past her gag. It had
to end now! Stumbling, Moiraine drove her beltknife into Merean's back, blood
spurting over her hands.
They fell to the paving stones together, the glow around Merean vanishing as she
died, the shield on Moiraine vanishing. Iselle screamed, swaying where Merean's
bonds had let her drop, atop the stone railing. Pushing herself to move,
Moiraine scrambled across Merean's corpse, seized one of Iselle's flailing hands
in hers just as the girl's slippers slid off into open air.
The jolt pulled Moiraine belly-down across the railing, staring down at the girl
held by her blood-slick grip above a drop that seemed to go on for ever. It was
all Moiraine could do to hold them where they were, teetering. If she tried to
pull the girl up, they would both go over. Iselle's face was contorted, her
mouth a rictus. Her hand slipped in Moiraine's grasp. Forcing herself to calm,
Moiraine reach for the Source and failed. Staring down at those distant rooftops
did not help her whirling head. Again she tried, but it was like trying to scoop
up water with spread fingers. She would save one of the three, though, if the
most useless of them. Fighting dizziness, she strove for saidar. And Iselle's
hand slid out of her bloody fingers. All Moiraine could do was watch her fall,
hand still stretched up as if she believed someone might still save her.
An arm pulled Moiraine away from the railing.
"Never watch a death you don't have to," Lan said, setting her on her feet. His
right arm hung at his side, a long slash laying open the blood-soaked sleeve and
the flesh beneath, and he had other injuries besides the gash on his scalp that
still trickled red down his face. Ryne lay on his back ten paces away, staring
at the sky in sightless surprise. "A black day," Lan muttered. "As black as ever
I've seen."
"A moment," she told him, her voice unsteady. "I am too dizzy to walk far, yet."
Her knees wavered as she walked to Merean's body. There would be no answers. The
Black Ajah would remain hidden. Bending, she withdrew her beltknife and cleaned
it on the traitor's skirts.
"You are a cool one, Aes Sedai," Lan said flatly.
"As cool as I must be," she told him. Diryk's scream rang in her ears. Iselle's
face dwindled below her. "It seems Ryne was wrong as well as a Darkfriend. You
were better than he."
Lan shook his head slightly. "He was better. But he thought I was finished, with
only one arm. He never understood. You surrender after you're dead."
Moiraine nodded. Surrender after you are dead. Yes.
It took a little while for her head to clear enough that she could embrace the
Source again, and she had to put up with Lan's anxiety to let the shatayan know
that Brys and Diryk were dead before word came that their bodies had been found
on the rooftops. Understandably, he seemed less eager to inform the Lady Edeyn
of her daughter's death. Moiraine was anxious about time, too, if not for the
same reasons. She Healed him as soon as she was able. He gasped in shock as the
complex weaves of Spirit, Air, and Water knit up his wounds, flesh writhing
together into unscarred wholeness. Like anyone who had been Healed, he was weak
afterwards, weak enough to catch his breath leaning on the stone rail. He would
run nowhere for a while.
Carefully Moiraine floated Merean's body over that rail and down a little, close
to the stone of the mountain. Flows of Fire, and flame enveloped the Black
sister, flame so hot there was no smoke, only a shimmering in the air, and the
occasional crack of a splitting rock.
"What are you — ?" Lan began, then changed it to, "Why?"
Moiraine let herself feel the rising heat, currents of air fit for a furnace.
"There is no proof she was Black Ajah, only that she was Aes Sedai." The White
Tower needed its armour of secrecy again, more than it had when Malkier died,
but she could not tell him that. Not yet. "I cannot lie about what happened
here, but I can be silent. Will you be silent, or will you do the Shadow's
work?"
"You are a very hard woman," he said finally. That was the only answer he gave,
but it was enough.
"I am as hard as I must be," she told him. Diryk's scream. Iselle's face. There
was still Ryne's body to dispose of, and the blood. As hard as she must be.
Next dawn found the Aesdaishar in mourning, white banners flying from every
prominence, the servants with long white cloths tied to their arms. Rumours in
the city already talked of portents foretelling the deaths, comets in the night,
fires in the sky. People had a way of folding what they saw into what they knew
and what they wanted to believe. The disappearance of a simple soldier, and even
of an Aes Sedai, escaped notice alongside grief.
Returning from destroying Merean's belongings — after searching in vain for any
/>
clue to other Black sisters Moiraine stepped aside for Edeyn Arrel, who glided
down the corridor in a white gown, her hair cut raggedly short. Whispers said
she intended to retire from the world. Moiraine thought she already had. The
woman's staring eyes looked haggard and old. In a way, they looked much as her
daughter's did, in Moiraine's mind.
When Moiraine entered her apartments, Siuan leaped up from a chair. It seemed
weeks since Moiraine had seen her. "You look like you reached into the bait well
and found a fangfish," she growled. "Well, it's no surprise. I always hated
mourning when I knew the people. Anyway, we can go whenever you're ready. Rahien
was born in a farmhouse almost two miles from Dragonmount. Merean hasn't been
near him, as of this morning. I don't suppose she'll harm him on suspicion even
if she is Black."
Not the one. Somehow, Moiraine had almost expected that. "Merean will not harm
anyone, Siuan. Put that mind of yours to a puzzle for me." Settling in a chair,
she began with the end, and hurried through despite Siuan's gasps and demands
for more detail. It was almost like living it again. Getting to what had led her
to that confrontation was a relief. "She wanted Diryk dead most of all, Siuan;
she killed him first. And she tried to kill Lan. The only thing those two had in
common was luck. Diryk survived a fall that should have killed him, and everyone
says Lan is the luckiest man alive or the Blight would have killed him years
ago. It makes a pattern, but the pattern looks crazy to me. Maybe your
blacksmith is even part of it. And Josef Najima, back in Canluum, for all I
know. He was lucky, too. Puzzle it out for me if you can. I think it is
important, but I cannot see how."
Siuan strode back and forth across the room, kicking her skirt and rubbing her
chin, muttering about "men with luck" and "the blacksmith rose suddenly" and
other things Moiraine could not make out. Suddenly she stopped dead and said,
"She never went near Rahien, Moiraine. The Black Ajah knows the Dragon was
Reborn, but they don't bloody know when! Maybe Tamra managed to keep it back, or
maybe they were too rough and she died before they could pry it out of her. That
has to be it!" Her eagerness turned to horror. "Light! They're killing any man
or boy who might be able to channel! Oh, burn me, thousands could die, Moiraine.
WOT Prequel 02 - New Spring Page 11