The room fell still.
“You are a foolish child,” Elaida said, obviously trying to pretend that Egwene was no threat. She should have turned to look at the eyes of the others. If she had, she’d have seen the truth. “Well, you have forced my hand. You will kneel before me, child, and beg forgiveness. Right now. Otherwise, I will lock you away alone. Is that what you want? Don’t think that the beatings will stop, however. You’ll still get your daily penance, you’ll just be thrown back into your cell after each one. Now, kneel and beg forgiveness.”
The Sitters glanced at one another. There was no backing down now. Egwene wished it hadn’t come to this. But it had, and Elaida had demanded a fight.
It was time to give her one. “And if I do not bow before you?” Egwene asked, meeting the woman’s eyes. “What then?”
“You will kneel, one way or another,” Elaida growled, embracing the Source.
“You’ll use the Power on me?” Egwene asked calmly. “Do you have to resort to that? Have you no authority without channeling?”
Elaida paused. “It is within my rights to discipline one who isn’t showing proper respect.”
“And so you will make me obey,” Egwene said. “Is this what you will do to everyone in the Tower, Elaida? An Ajah opposes you, and it is disbanded. Someone displeases you, and you try to destroy her right to be Aes Sedai. You will have every sister bowing down before you by the end of this.”
“Nonsense!”
“Oh?” Egwene asked. “And have you told them about your idea for a new oath? Sworn on the Oath Rod by every sister, an oath to obey the Amyrlin and support her?”
“I—”
“Deny it,” Egwene said. “Deny that you made the statement. Will the Oaths let you?”
Elaida froze. If she were Black, she could deny it, Oath Rod or not. But either way, Meidani could substantiate what Egwene had said.
“It was idle talk,” Elaida said. “Just speculation, thoughts spoken out loud.”
“There is often truth in speculation,” Egwene said. “You locked the Dragon Reborn himself in a box; you just threatened to do the same to me, in front of all of these witnesses. People call him a tyrant, but you are the one destroying our laws and ruling by fear.”
Elaida’s eyes opened wide, her anger visible. She seemed . . . shocked. As if she couldn’t understand how she’d gone from disciplining an unruly novice into debating an equal. Egwene saw the woman begin to weave a thread of Air. That had to be stopped. A gag of Air would end this debate.
“Go ahead,” Egwene said calmly. “Use the Power to silence me. As Amyrlin, shouldn’t you be able to talk an opponent into obedience, rather than resorting to force?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Egwene saw diminutive Yukiri, of the Gray, nod at that comment.
Elaida’s eyes flared in anger as she dropped the thread of Air. “I don’t need to rebut a mere novice,” Elaida snapped. “The Amyrlin doesn’t explain herself to one such as you.”
“ ‘The Amyrlin understands the most complex of creeds and debates,’ ” Egwene said, quoting from memory. “ ‘Yet in the end, she is the servant of all, even the lowest of laborers.’ ” That had been said by Balladare Arandaille, the first Amyrlin to be raised from the Brown Ajah. She’d used the words in her last writings before her death; those writings had been an explanation of her reign and what she had done during the Kavarthen wars. Arandaille had felt that once a crisis was passed, it was the moral duty of an Amyrlin to explain herself to the common people.
Sitting beside Elaida, Shevan nodded appreciatively. The quote was somewhat obscure; Egwene blessed Siuan’s quiet training in the wisdom of the former Amyrlins. Much of what she’d said had come from the secret histories, but there had been a number of nuggets from women such as Balladare as well.
“What is this nonsense you’re sputtering?” Elaida spat.
“What did you intend to do with Rand al’Thor once you captured him?” Egwene said, ignoring the comment.
“I don’t—”
“You’re not answering me,” Egwene said, nodding to the table of women, “but them. Have you explained yourself, Elaida? What were your plans? Or will you dodge this question just as you have the others I’ve asked?”
Elaida’s face was turning red, but she calmed herself with some effort. “I would have kept him secure, and well shielded, here in the Tower until it was time for the Last Battle. That would have prevented him from causing the suffering and chaos he’s created in many nations. It was worth the risk of angering him.”
“ ‘As the plow breaks the earth shall he break the lives of men, and all that was shall be consumed in the fire of his eyes,’ ” Egwene said. “ ‘The trumpets of war shall sound at his footsteps, the ravens feed at his voice, and he shall wear a crown of swords.’ ”
Elaida frowned, taken aback.
“The Karaethon Cycle, Elaida,” Egwene said. “When you had Rand locked away to be kept ‘secure,’ had he yet taken Illian? Had he yet worn what he was to name the Crown of Swords?”
“Well, no.”
“And how did you expect him to fulfill the prophecies if he was hidden away in the White Tower?” Egwene said. “How was he to cause war, as the prophecies say he must? How was he to break the nations and bind them to him? How could he ‘slay his people with the sword of peace’ or ‘bind the nine moons to serve him’ if he was locked away? Do the prophecies say that he will be ‘unfettered’? Do they not speak of the ‘chaos of his passing’? How can anything pass at all if he is kept in chains?”
“I. . . .”
“Your logic is astounding, Elaida,” Egwene said coldly. At that, Ferane smiled slyly; she was probably thinking yet again that Egwene would fit well in the White Ajah.
“Bah,” Elaida said, “you ask meaningless questions. The prophecies would have to have been fulfilled. There was no other way.”
“So you’re saying that your attempt to bind him was destined to fail.”
“No, not at all,” Elaida said, red-faced again. “We shouldn’t be bothering with this—it’s not for you to decide upon. No, we should be talking about your rebels, and what they’ve done to the White Tower!”
A good turn of the conversation, an attempt to put Egwene on the defensive. Elaida wasn’t completely incompetent. Just arrogant.
“I see them trying to heal the rift between us,” Egwene said. “We cannot change what has happened. We can’t change what you did to Siuan, even if those with me did discover a method of Healing her stilling. We can only move forward and try our best to smooth the scars. What are you doing, Elaida? Refusing talks, trying to bully the Sitters into withdrawing? Insulting Ajahs that are not your own?”
Doesine, of the Yellow, gave a quiet murmur of agreement. That drew Elaida’s eyes, and she fell silent for a moment, as if realizing that she had lost control of the debate. “Enough of this.”
“Coward,” Egwene said.
Elaida’s eyes flared wide. “How dare you!”
“I dare the truth, Elaida,” Egwene said quietly. “You are a coward and a tyrant. I’d name you Darkfriend as well, but I suspect that the Dark One would perhaps be embarrassed to associate with you.”
Elaida screeched, weaving in a flash of Power, slamming Egwene back against the wall, toppling the pitcher of wine from her hands. It shattered on a patch of wooden floor beside the rug, throwing a spray of bloodlike liquid across the table and half of its occupants, staining the white tablecloth with a smear of red.
“You name me Darkfriend?” Elaida screamed. “You are the Darkfriend. You and those rebels outside, who seek to distract me from doing what must be done.”
A blast of woven Air slammed Egwene against the wall again, and she dropped to the ground, hitting shards of the broken pitcher that sliced open her arms. A dozen switches beat her, ripping her clothing. Blood seeped from her arms, and it began to splash into the air, smirching the wall as Elaida beat her.
“Elaida, stop it!” Rubinde said,
standing, green dress swishing. “Are you mad?”
Elaida turned, panting. “Do not tempt me, Green!”
The switches continuing to beat Egwene. She bore it silently. With effort, she stood up. She could feel her face and arms swelling already. But she maintained a calm gaze at Elaida.
“Elaida!” Ferane yelled, standing. “You violate Tower law! You cannot use the Power to punish an initiate!”
“I am Tower law!” Elaida raved. She pointed at the sisters. “You mock me. I know you do it. Behind my back. You show me deference when you see me, but I know what you say, what you whisper. You ungrateful fools! After what I’ve done for you! Do you think I’ll suffer you forever? Take this one as an example!”
She spun, pointing at Egwene, then stumbled back in shock to find Egwene calmly watching her. Elaida gasped softly, raising a hand to her breast as the switches beat. They could all see the weaves, and they could all see that Egwene did not scream, although her mouth was not gagged with Air. Her arms dripped blood, her body was beaten before them, and yet she found no reason to scream. Instead, she quietly blessed the Aiel Wise Ones for their wisdom.
“And what,” Egwene said evenly, “am I to be an example of, Elaida?”
The beating continued. Oh, how it hurt! Tears formed in the corners of Egwene’s eyes, but she had felt worse. Far worse. She felt it each time she thought of what this woman was doing to the institution she loved. Her true pain was not from the wounds, but from how Elaida had acted before the Sitters.
“By the Light,” Rubinde whispered.
“I wish I weren’t needed here, Elaida,” Egwene said softly. “I wish that the Tower had a grand Amyrlin in you. I wish I could step down and accept your rule. I wish you deserved it. I would willingly accept execution, if it would mean leaving a competent Amyrlin. The White Tower is more important than I am. Can you say the same?”
“You want execution!” Elaida bellowed, recovering her tongue. “Well, you shall not have it! Death is too good for you, Darkfriend! I shall see you beaten—everyone shall see you beaten—until I am through with you. Only then will you die!” She turned to the servants, who stood, gaping, at the sides of the room. “Send for soldiers! I want this one cast into the deepest cell this Tower can provide! Let it be voiced through the city that Egwene al’Vere is a Darkfriend who has rejected the Amyrlin’s grace!”
Servants ran to do as she demanded. The switches continued to beat, but Egwene was growing numb. She closed her eyes, feeling faint—she had lost much blood from her left arm, which bore the deepest of her gashes.
It had come to a head, as she’d feared that it would. She had cast her lot.
But she didn’t fear for her life. Instead, she feared for the White Tower. As she leaned back against the wall, thoughts fading, she was overcome with sorrow.
Her battle from within the Tower was at an end, one way or another.
CHAPTER 17
Questions of Control
“You should be more careful,” Sarene said from inside the room. “The Amyrlin Seat, we have much influence with her. Your punishments, we may be able to persuade her to lessen them, if you are helpful.”
Semirhage’s sniff of disdain was quite audible to Cadsuane, listening from the hallway outside the interrogation room, sitting in a comfortable log chair. Cadsuane sipped at a cup of warm sweetleaf. The hallway was of simple wood, carpeted with a long maroon and white rug, prismlike lamps on the walls flickering with light.
There were several others in the hallway with her—Daigian, Erian, Elza—whose turn it was to maintain Semirhage’s shield. Aside from Cadsuane, each Aes Sedai in the camp took turns. It was too dangerous to risk forcing the duty only on the Aes Sedai of lesser stature, lest they grow weary. The shield had to remain strong. Light only knew what would happen if Semirhage got free.
Cadsuane sipped her tea, her back to the wall. Al’Thor had insisted that “his” Aes Sedai be allowed opportunities to interrogate Semirhage, instead of just those Cadsuane had chosen. She wasn’t certain if this was some attempt at asserting his authority or if he genuinely thought that they might succeed where she—so far—had failed.
Anyway, that was why Sarene was doing the questioning today. The Taraboner White was a thoughtful person, completely unaware that she was one of the most beautiful women to gain the shawl in years. Her nonchalance was not unexpected, as she was of the White Ajah, who could often be as oblivious as Browns. Sarene also didn’t know that Cadsuane was outside eavesdropping, through the use of a weave of Air and Fire. It was a simple trick, one often learned by novices. Mixing it with this newly found trick of inverting one’s weaves meant that Cadsuane could listen in without anyone inside knowing that she was there.
The Aes Sedai outside saw what she was doing, of course, but none said anything. Even though two of them—Elza and Erian—were among the group of fools who had sworn fealty to the al’Thor boy, they stepped lightly around her; they knew how she regarded them. Idiot women. At times, it seemed that half of her allies were only determined to make her job harder.
Sarene continued her interrogation inside. Most of the Aes Sedai in the manor had now given questioning a try. Brown, Green, White and Yellow—all had failed. Cadsuane herself had yet to address any questions to the Forsaken personally. The other Aes Sedai looked at her as an almost mythic figure, a reputation she had nurtured. She’d stayed away from the White Tower for many decades at a time, ensuring that many would assume she was dead. When she reappeared, it made a stir. She’d gone hunting false Dragons, both because it was necessary and because each man she captured added to her reputation with the other Aes Sedai.
All of her work pointed at these final days. Light blind her if she was going to let that al’Thor boy ruin it all now!
She covered her scowl by taking a sip of her tea. She was slowly losing control, thread by thread. Once, something as dramatic as the squabbles at the White Tower would have drawn her immediate attention. But she couldn’t begin to work on that problem. Creation itself was unraveling, and her only way to fight that was to turn all her efforts on al’Thor.
And he resisted her every attempt to aid him. Step by step he was becoming a man with insides like stone, unmoving and unable to adapt. A statue with no feelings could not face the Dark One.
Blasted boy! And now there was Semirhage, continuing to defy her. Cadsuane itched to go in and confront the woman, but Merise had asked the very questions Cadsuane would have, and she had failed. How long would Cadsuane’s image remain intact if she proved herself as impotent as the others?
Sarene began to talk again.
“The Aes Sedai, you should not treat them so,” Sarene said, voice calm.
“Aes Sedai?” Semirhage responded, chuckling. “Don’t you feel ashamed, using that term to describe yourselves? Like a puppy calling itself a wolf!”
“We may not know everything, I admit, but—”
“You know nothing,” Semirhage replied. “You are children playing with your parents’ toys.”
Cadsuane tapped the side of her tea cup with her index finger. Again, she was struck by the similarities between herself and Semirhage—and again, those similarities made her insides itch.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a slender serving woman climb the steps carrying a plate of beans and steamed radishes for Semirhage’s midday meal. Time already? Sarene had been interrogating the Forsaken for three hours, and she had been talked neatly in circles the entire time. The serving woman approached and Cadsuane waved for her to enter.
A moment later, the tray crashed to the floor. At the sound, Cadsuane leaped to her feet, embracing saidar, quite nearly rushing into the room. Semirhage’s voice made Cadsuane hesitate.
“I will not eat that,” the Forsaken said, in control, as always. “I have grown tired of your swill. You will bring me something appropriate.”
“If we do,” Sarene’s voice said, obviously snatching for any advantage, “will you answer our questions?”
There was silence, Cadsuane glanced at the other women in the hall, all of whom had leaped to their feet at the sound, although they couldn’t hear the voices. She motioned them to sit down.
“Go and fetch her something else,” Sarene said, speaking inside the room to the serving woman. “And send someone to clean this up.” The door opened, then shut quickly as the servant hurried away.
Sarene continued, “This next question, it will determine if you actually get to eat that meal or not.” Despite the firm voice, Cadsuane could hear a quickness to Sarene’s words. The sudden drop of the tray of food had startled her. They were all so jumpy around the Forsaken. They weren’t deferential, but they did treat Semirhage with a measure of respect. How could they not? She was a legend. One did not enter the presence of such a creature—one of the most evil beings ever to live—and not feel at least a measure of awe.
Measure of awe. . . .
“That’s our mistake,” Cadsuane whispered. She blinked, then turned and opened the door into the room.
Semirhage stood in the center of the small chamber. She had been retied in Air, the weaves likely woven the moment that she’d dropped her tray. The brass platter lay discarded, the beans soaking juice into the aged wooden boards. This room had no window; it had been a storage chamber at one point, converted into a “cell” to hold the Forsaken. Sarene—dark hair in beaded braids, beautiful face surprised at the intrusion—sat in a chair before Semirhage. Her Warder, Vitalien, broad-shouldered and ashen-faced, stood in the corner.
Semirhage’s head was not bound, and her eyes flicked toward Cadsuane.
Cadsuane had committed herself; she had to confront the woman now. Fortunately, what she planned didn’t require much delicacy. It all came back to a single question. How would Cadsuane break herself? The solution was easy, now that it occurred to her.
“Ah,” Cadsuane said with a no-nonsense attitude. “I see that the child has refused her meal. Sarene, release your weaves.”
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