Towers of Midnight

by Robert Jordan; Brandon Sanderson

  Perrin glanced around, getting his bearings. He was on a lightly for-ested slope, and could see Dragonmount to the north of him. He glanced eastward, and saw the tip of a large structure peeking out over the tree-tops. The White Tower. The city might give Perrin an advantage, make it easier to hide in one of the many buildings or alleys.

  Perrin leaped off in that direction, carrying the spike with him, the dome it created traveling with him as he moved. It would come down to a fight after all.

  CHAPTER

  37

  Darkness in the Tower

  Gawyn sat on a bench in the Caemlyn Palace gardens. It had been several hours since he'd sent Egwene's messenger away. A gibbous moon hung fat in the sky. Servants occasionally passed by to see if he needed anything. They seemed worried about him.

  He just wanted to watch the sky. It had been weeks since he'd been able to do that. The air was cooling, but he left his coat off, hung over the back of the bench. The open air felt good—different, somehow, from the same air beneath a cloudy sky.

  With the last light of dusk fading, the stars shone like hesitant children, peeking out now that the uproar of day had died down. It felt so good to finally see them again. Gawyn breathed in deeply.

  Elayne was right. Much of Gawyn's hatred of al'Thor came from frustration. Maybe jealousy. Al'Thor was playing a role closer to what Gawyn would have chosen for himself. Ruling nations, leading armies. Looking at their lives, who had taken on the role of a prince, and who the role of a lost sheepherder?

  Perhaps Gawyn resisted Egwene's demands because he wanted to lead,

  to be the one who accomplished the heroic acts. If he became her Warder, he

  would have to step aside and help her change the world. There was honor in

  keeping someone great alive. A deep honor. What was the point of great

  acts? The recognition they brought, or the better lives they created?

  To step aside. He'd admired men like Sleete for their willingness to do this, but had never understood them. Not truly. / can't leave her to do it alone, he thought. 7 have to help her. From within her shadow.

  Because he loved her. But also because it was for the best. If two bards tried to play different songs at the same time, they both made noise. But if one stepped back to give harmony to the other's melody, then the beauty could be greater than either made alone.

  And in that moment, finally, he understood. He stood up. He couldn't go to Egwene as a prince. He had to go to her as a Warder. He had to watch over her, to serve her. See her wishes done.

  It was time to return.

  Slinging his coat on, he strode down the path toward the Palace. The opening serenades of various pond frogs cut short—followed by splashes—as he passed them and entered the building. It wasn't a long walk to his sister's rooms. She would be up; she had trouble sleeping lately. During the past few days, they had often enjoyed conversation and a cup of warm tea before bed. At her doors, however, he was stopped by Birgitte.

  She gave him another glare. Yes, she did not like being forced to act as Captain-General in his stead. He could see that now. He felt a little awkward stepping up to her. The woman held up a hand. "Not tonight, princeling."

  "I'm leaving for the White Tower," he said. "I'd like to say farewell."

  He moved to step forward, but Birgitte held a hand against his chest, gently pushing him back. "You can leave in the morning."

  He almost reached for his sword, but stopped himself. Light! There had been a time when he hadn't reacted that way to everything. He had become a fool. "Ask if she'll see me," he said politely. "Please."

  "I have my orders," Birgitte said. "Besides, she couldn't talk to you. She's asleep."

  "I'm sure she'd like to be awakened."

  "It's not that kind of sleep," Birgitte said. She sighed. "It has to do with Aes Sedai matters. Go to bed. In the morning, your sister will probably have word from Egwene for you."

  Gawyn frowned. How would . . .

  The dreams, he realized. This is what the Aes Sedai meant, about Egwene training them to walk in their dreams. "So Egwene's sleeping as well?"

  Birgitte eyed him. "Bloody ashes, I've probably said too much already. Off to your rooms."

  Gawyn stepped away, but not to go to his rooms. He'll wait for a time of

  weakness, he thought, remembering the sul'dam's words. And when he strikes, he'll leave such desolation as you wouldn't believe a single man could create . . .

  A time of weakness.

  He dashed away from Elayne's rooms, sprinting through the palace hallways to the Traveling room that Elayne had set up. Blessedly, a Kinswoman was on duty here—bleary-eyed, but waiting in case emergency messages needed to be sent. Gawyn didn't recognize the dark-haired woman, but she seemed to recognize him.

  She yawned and opened a gateway at his request. He ran through and onto the Traveling ground of the White Tower. The gateway vanished right behind him. Gawyn started, spinning with a curse. That had nearly closed right on him! Why had the Kinswoman let it vanish so abruptly, and so dangerously? A split second sooner, and it would have taken his foot off or worse.

  There was no time. He turned and continued running.

  Egwene, Leane and the Wise Ones appeared in a room at the base of the Tower, where a group of anxious women waited. This was a guard post that Egwene had stipulated as a fallback position.

  "Report!" Egwene demanded.

  "Shevan and Carlinya are dead, Mother," Saerin said grimly. The brusque Brown was panting.

  Egwene cursed. "What happened?"

  "We were in the middle of our ploy, having a discussion about a fake plot to bring peace to Arad Doman, as you'd ordered. And then . . ."

  "Fire," Morvrin said, shivering. "Blasting through the walls. Women channeling, several with incredible Power. I saw Alviarin there. Others, too."

  "Nynaeve is still up there," Brendas added.

  "Stubborn woman," Egwene said, looking at the three Wise Ones. They nodded. "Send Brendas out," she said, pointing at the cool-eyed White. "When you wake, go and wake the others here so they will be out of danger. Leave Nynaeve, Siuan, Leane and myself."

  "Yes, Mother," Brendas said.

  Amys did something that made her form fade away. The rest of you," Egwene said, "go someplace safe. Away from the city." Very well, Mother," Saerin said. She stayed in place, however. What?" Egwene said.

  "I .. ." Saerin frowned. "I can't go. Something is odd."

  "Nonsense," Bair snapped. "It—"

  "Bair," Amys said. "I can't leave. Something is very wrong."

  "The sky is violet," Yukiri said, looking out a small window. "Light It looks like a dome, covering the Tower and the city. When did that happen?"

  "Something is very wrong here," Bair said. "We should awaken."

  Amys suddenly vanished, causing Egwene to start; She was back in a moment. "I was able to go to the place where we were before, but I cannot leave the city. I do not like this, Egwene al'Vere."

  Egwene tried sending herself to Cairhien. It didn't work. She looked out the window, feeling worried, but resolute. Yes, there was violet above.

  "Wake if you must," she said to the Wise Ones. "I will fight. One of the Shadowsouled is here."

  The Wise Ones fell silent. "We will go with you," Melaine finally said.

  "Good. You others, be away from this place. Go to the Musician's Way and stay there until awakened. Melaine, Amys, Bair, Leane, we are going to a place higher in the Tower, a room with wood paneling and a four-poster bed, gauze drapings around it. It is my bedroom."

  The Wise Ones nodded, and Egwene sent herself there. A lamp sat on her nightstand; it didn't burn here in Tel'aran'rhiod, though she'd left it burning in the real world. The Wise Ones and Leane appeared around her. The gauze draping Egwene s bed ruffled in the breeze of their appearance.

  The Tower shook. The fighting continued.

  "Be careful," Egwene said. "We hunt dangerous foes, and they know this terrain better th
an you."

  "We will be careful," Bair replied. "I have heard that the Shadowsouled think themselves masters of this place. Well, we shall see."

  "Leane," Egwene said, "can you handle yourself?" Egwene had been tempted to send her away, but she and Siuan had spent some measure of time in Tel'aran'rhiod. Certainly, she was more experienced than most.

  "I'll keep my head low, Mother," she promised. "But there are bound to be more of them than us. You need me."

  "Agreed," Egwene said.

  The four women winked away. Why couldn't they leave the Tower? It was troubling, but also useful. It would mean she was trapped here.

  But hopefully so was Mesaana.

  Five doves rose into the air, scattering from the ledge of the rooftop. Perrin spun. Slayer stood behind him, smelling like stone.

  The hard-eyed man glanced up at the fleeing birds. "Yours?"

  "For warning," Perrin replied. "I figured you'd see through walnut shellls on the ground."

  "Clever," Slayer said.

  Behind him spread a magnificent city. Perrin hadn't believed that any

  city could be as magnificent as Caemlyn. But if there was such a thing, Tar

  Valon was it. The entire city was a work of art, almost every building decked

  with archways, spires, engravings and ornamentation. Even the cobblestones

  seemed to be arranged artistically.

  Slayer's eyes flickered down to Perrin's belt. There, affixed in a pouch Perrin had created to hold it, was the ter'angreal. The tip stuck out the top, silvery bits wrapping around one another in a complex knotted braid. Perrin had tried again to destroy the thing by thinking of it, but had been rebuffed. Attacking it with his hammer hadn't so much as bent it. Whatever this thing was, it had been built to resist such attacks.

  "You've grown skilled,1' Slayer said. "I should have killed you months

  ago."

  "I believe you tried," Perrin said, raising his hammer, resting it on his shoulder. "Who are you really?"

  "A man of two worlds, Perrin Aybara. And one owned by both. I'll need the dreamspike back."

  "Step closer, and I'll destroy it," Perrin said.

  Slayer snorted, walking forward. "You don't have the strength for that, boy. I don't even have the strength to manage that." His eyes flickered unconsciously over Perrin's shoulder. Toward what?

  Dragonmount, Perrin thought. He must have worried I was coming this way to toss it in. Was that, then, an indication of a way Perrin could destroy the ter'angreal? Or was Slayer trying to mislead him?

  "Don't press me, boy," Slayer said, sword and knife appearing in his hands as he walked forward. "I've already killed four wolves today. Give me the spike."

  Four? But he'd killed only one that Perrin had seen. He's trying to goad me.

  You think I'll believe that you won't kill me if I give it to you?" Per-

  rin said. "If I gave this to you, you'd have to go put it back in Ghealdan.

  You know I'd just follow you there." Perrin shook his head. "One of us has

  to die, and that's that."

  Slayer hesitated, then smiled. "Luc hates you, you know. Hates you

  deeply."

  And you don't?" Perrin asked, frowning. No more than the wolf hates the stag."

  "You are not a wolf," Perrin said, growling softly.

  Slayer shrugged. "Let us be done with this, then." He dashed forward

  Gawyn charged into the White Tower; the men on guard barely had time to salute. He dashed past mirrored stand-lamps. Only one in every two was lit, to conserve oil. As he reached a ramp upward, he heard feet be-hind him.

  His sword hissed as he pulled it free, spinning. Mazone and Celark pulled to a halt. The former Younglings wore Tower Guard uniforms now Would they try to stop him? Who knew what kind of orders Egwene had left?

  They saluted.

  "Men?" Gawyn said. "What are you doing?"

  "Sir," Celark said, lean face shadowed in the patchy lamplight. "When an officer runs by with a look like that on his face, you don't ask if he needs help. You just follow!"

  Gawyn smiled. "Come on." He dashed up the ramps, the two men following, swords at the ready.

  Egwene s quarters were some way up, and Gawyn's pulse was racing— his breathing forced—by the time they reached her level. They hurried down three hallways; then Gawyn held up his hand. He glanced at the nearby shadowed recesses. Were any of them deep enough to hide a Blood-knife?

  You cannot have light without shadow . . .

  He peeked around the corner toward Egwene's door; he stood in virtually the same position he been when he had ruined her plans before. Was he doing the same thing now? His two guardsmen stood up close behind him, waiting on his command.

  Yes. He was doing the same thing as before. And yet, something had changed. He would see her protected so that she could do great things. He would stand in her shadow and be proud. He would do as she asked—-but would see her safe no matter what.

  Because that was what a Warder did.

  He slipped forward, waving his men to follow. The darkness in that shadowy alcove from before didn't seem to repel his attention as it had last time. A good sign. He stopped at the door and tried it carefully. It was unlocked. He took a deep breath, then slipped inside.

  No alarms went off; no traps caught him and flung him about. A few

  lamps shone on the walls. At a faint noise, he looked upward. A Tower maid hung there, struggling, with wide eyes, mouth gagged by an invisible flow

  of Air.

  Gawyn cursed, dashing across the room, and threw open the door to

  Egwene's sleeping chamber. Her bed, one side against the far wall, was draped with white gauze curtains, and a lamp burned on the stand beside it. Gawyn crossed the room to her, pushing the gauze aside. Was she sleeping? Or was she...

  He reached a hand toward her neck, but at a faint thump behind,

  Gawyn whipped his sword around and blocked the strike coming at his back. Not one, but two blurs of darkness leaped from the shadows. He spared a glance for Egwene; there was no blood, but he couldn't tell if she was breathing or not. Had his entrance interrupted the assassins in time?

  There was no time to check. He fell into Apple Blossoms in the Wind and began to shout. His men stepped up to the doorway, then froze there, stunned.

  "Get more help!" Gawyn said. "Go!"

  Dark-skinned Mazone turned to obey while Celark, looking determined, leaped into the fight.

  The Bloodknives shifted and undulated. Gawyn managed to slip into Cat on Hot Sand to test them, but each strike hit only air. His eyes were already hurting from trying to follow the figures.

  Celark attacked from behind, but was as ineffective as Gawyn. Gawyn gritted his teeth, fighting with his back against the bed. He had to keep them away from Egwene, long enough for help to come. If he could—

  Both figures twisted suddenly, striking in tandem at Celark. The man barely had time to curse before a sword took him in the neck, and bright blood spurted out. Gawyn yelled again, falling into Lizard in the Thornbush, striking at the backs of the assassins.

  Again, his attacks missed. It seemed he was off by only a few hairs. Celark stumbled to the floor with a gurgle, his blood reflecting lanternlight, and Gawyn couldn't step forward to defend him. Not without exposing Egwene.

  One of the assassins turned back to Gawyn while the other beheaded Celark, with a slash that—despite the shadows—looked a lot like The River Undercuts the Bank, Gawyn stepped back, trying to keep his eyes off the fallen man. Defend. He only had to defend until help came! He edged to the side.

  The Seanchan were wary; they knew he'd fought one of them off before.

  But they had such a strong advantage. Gawyn wasn't certain he could stand against two of them.

  Yes you will, he told himself sternly. If you fall, Egivene dies.

  Was that a flicker of movement from the other room? Could help have come? Gawyn felt a surge of hope, and edged to the side. From
there, he could see Mazone's body on rhe floor, bleeding.

  A third shadowed figure glided into the room and shut the door behind locking it. That was why the other two had been hesitating. They'd wanted to wait until their ally arrived.

  The three of them attacked together.

  Perrin let the wolf free.

  For once, he didn't worry about what it would do to him. He let himself be, and as he fought, the world seemed to become right around him.

  Perhaps that was because it bent to his will.

  Young Bull leaped from a rooftop in Tar Valon, powerful hind legs springing him into the air, ter'angreal pouch fastened to his back. He soared over a street and landed on a white marble roof with groups of statues on its edges. He rolled, coming up as a man—ter'angreal tied at his waist—with hammer swinging.

  Slayer vanished right before the hammer hit, then appeared beside Perrin. Perrin vanished as Slayer swung, then appeared just to the left. Back and forth they went, spinning around one another, each disappearing then appearing again, struggling to land a blow.

  Perrin threw himself out of the cycle, sending himself to a place beside one of the roof's large statues, a pompous-looking general. He swung, smashing his hammer into it, magnifying the power of the blow. Chunks of statue exploded toward Slayer. The wolf-killer appeared, expecting to find Perrin beside him. Instead, a storm of stone and dust crashed into him.

  Slayer bellowed, stone chips slicing his skin. His cloak immediately became as strong as steel, reflecting chunks of stone. He whipped it back and the entire building started to shake. Perrin cursed and leaped free as the roof fell in.

  Perrin soared, becoming a wolf before landing on a nearby rooftop-Slayer appeared in front of him, bow drawn. Young Bull growled, imagin-ing the wind blowing, but Slayer didn't fire. He just stood there, as if—

  As if he were just a statue.

  Perrin cursed, spinning as an arrow shot past him, narrowly missing

  him at the waist. The real Slayer stood a short distance off; he vanished, leaving the remarkably detailed statue he'd created to distract Perrin.

  Perrin took a deep breath and made the sweat leave his brow. Slayer could come at him from any direction. He put a wall at his back and stood refully, scanning the rooftop. The dome shook overhead. He'd grown used to that—it moved with him.