WOT Prequel 02 - New Spring

by New Spring [lit]

  "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.