The Gathering Storm

by Robert Jordan

  It was a difficult line to walk. There were many secrets that an Amyrlin had to hold. To be transparent would be to lose her edge of authority. But with Siuan herself, Egwene should have been more forthcoming. The woman was too accustomed to taking action on her own. The way she had kept that dream ter’angreal against the Hall’s knowledge and wishes was an indication of that. Yet Egwene had approved of that, unconsciously encouraging Siuan to defy authority.

  Yes, Egwene had made mistakes. She could not lay all the blame on Siuan, Bryne and Gawyn. She had likely made other mistakes as well; she would need to look at her own actions in more detail later.

  For now, she turned her attention to a greater problem. Disaster had struck. She’d been pulled from the White Tower on the brink of success. What was to be done? She did not get up and pace in thought. To pace was to show nervousness or frustration, and she had to learn to be reserved at all times, lest she unwittingly fall into bad habits. So she remained seated, arms on the hand rests, wearing a fine silken gown of green with yellow patterns on the bodice.

  How odd it felt to be in that skirt. How wrong. Her white dresses, though forced upon her, had become something of a symbol of defiance. To change now meant an end to her strike. She was tired, emotionally and physically, from the night’s battle. But she couldn’t give in to that. This wouldn’t be her first near-sleepless night before a very important day of decisions and problems.

  She found herself tapping her armrest and forced herself to stop.

  There was no way she could return to the White Tower as a novice now. Her defiance had worked only because she had been a captive Amyrlin. If she went back willingly, she would be seen as subservient, or as arrogant. Besides, Elaida would certainly have her executed this time.

  And so she was stuck, just as she had been when she’d first been taken by the White Tower’s agents. She gritted her teeth. She’d once thought, mistakenly, that the Amyrlin wouldn’t be so easily tossed about by random twists in the Pattern. She was supposed to be in control. Everyone else spent their days reacting, but the Amyrlin was a woman of action!

  She was realizing more and more that being the Amyrlin wasn’t different. Life was a tempest, whether you were a milkmaid or a queen. The queens were simply better at projecting control in the middle of that storm. If Egwene looked like a statue unaffected by the winds, it was actually because she saw how to bend with those winds. That gave the illusion of control.

  No. It was not just an illusion. The Amyrlin did have more control, if only because she controlled herself and kept the tempest outside her. She swayed before the needs of the moment, but her actions were well-considered. She had to be as logical as a White, as thoughtful as a Brown, as passionate as a Blue, as decisive as a Green, as merciful as a Yellow, as diplomatic as a Gray. And yes, as vengeful as a Red, when necessary.

  There was no returning to the White Tower as a novice, and she couldn’t wait for negotiations. Not with the Seanchan bold enough to strike the White Tower, not with Rand completely unwatched, not with the world in chaos and the Shadow gathering its forces for the Last Battle. That left her with a difficult decision. She had a fresh army of fifty thousand troops, and the White Tower had suffered an incredible blow. The Aes Sedai would be exhausted, the Tower Guard broken and wounded.

  In a few days’ time, the Healings would be finished and the women rested. She didn’t know if Elaida had survived the attack or not, but Egwene had to assume she was still in control. That gave Egwene a very narrow window for action.

  She knew what the only right decision was. She didn’t have time to wait for the sisters in the White Tower to make the right decision, she would have to force them to accept her.

  She hoped that history would eventually forgive her.

  She rose, threw open the flaps of her tent, and stopped dead. A man was sitting on the ground directly in front of her.

  Gawyn scrambled to his feet, every bit as handsome as she remembered. He wasn’t beautiful, like his half-brother. Gawyn was more solid, more real. Strikingly, that now made him more attractive to Egwene than Galad. Galad was like a being from beyond reality, a figure of legends and stories. He was like a glass statue to be placed on a table for admiration, but never touched.

  Gawyn was different. Handsome, with that brilliant reddish gold hair and those tender eyes. While Galad never worried about anything, Gawyn’s concern made him genuine. As did his ability to make mistakes, unfortunately.

  “Egwene,” he said, righting his sword and dusting off his trouser legs. Light! Had he slept there in front of her tent? The sun was already halfway to its zenith. The man should have gone to take some rest!

  Egwene squelched her concern and worry for him. It was not time to be a lovesick girl. It was time to be Amyrlin. “Gawyn,” she said, raising a hand, stopping him as he stepped toward her. “I haven’t begun to think about what to do with you. Other matters demand my attention. Has the Hall gathered, as I requested?”

  “I think so,” he said, turning to glance toward the center of camp. She could just barely make out the large gathering tent of the Hall through the scrub trees.

  “Then I must appear before them,” Egwene said, taking a deep breath. She began to walk forward.

  “No,” Gawyn said, stepping in front of her. “Egwene, we need to talk.”

  “Later.”

  “No, not later, burn it! I’ve waited months. I need to know how we stand. I need to know if you—”

  “Stop!” she said.

  He froze. She would not be taken in by those eyes, burn him! Not right now. “I said that I hadn’t sorted through my feelings yet,” she said coolly, “and I meant it.”

  He set his jaw. “I don’t believe that Aes Sedai calmness, Egwene,” he said. “Not when your eyes are so much more truthful. I’ve sacrificed—”

  “You’ve sacrificed?” Egwene interrupted, letting a little anger show. “What about what I sacrificed to rebuild the White Tower? Sacrifices that you undermined by acting against my express wishes? Did Siuan not tell you that I had forbidden a rescue?”

  “She did,” he said stiffly. “But we were worried about you!”

  “Well, that worry was the sacrifice I demanded, Gawyn,” she said, exasperated. “Don’t you see what a distrust you have shown me? How can I trust you if you will disobey me in order to feel more comfortable?”

  Gawyn didn’t look ashamed; he just looked perturbed. That was actually a good sign—as Amyrlin, she needed a man who would speak his mind. In private. But in public she’d need someone who supported her. Couldn’t he see that?

  “You love me, Egwene,” he said stubbornly. “I can see it.”

  “Egwene the woman loves you,” she said. “But Egwene the Amyrlin is furious with you. Gawyn, if you’d be with me, you have to be with both the woman and the Amyrlin. I would expect you—a man who was trained to be First Prince of the Sword—to understand that distinction.”

  Gawyn looked away.

  “You don’t believe it, do you?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “That I’m Amyrlin,” she said. “You don’t accept my title.”

  “I’m trying to,” he said as he looked back at her. “But bloody ashes, Egwene. When we parted you were just an Accepted, and that wasn’t so long ago. Now they’ve named you Amyrlin? I don’t know what to think.”

  “And you can’t see how your uncertainty undermines anything we could have together?”

  “I can change. But you have to help me.”

  “Which is why I wanted to talk later,” she said. “Are you going to let me pass?”

  He stepped aside with obvious reluctance. “We’re not finished with this talk,” he warned. “I’ve finally made up my mind about something, and I don’t intend to stop chasing it until I have it.”

  “Fine,” Egwene said, passing him. “I can’t think about that now. I have to go order people I care about to slaughter another group of people I care about.”

  “You’ll d
o it, then?” Gawyn said from behind. “There’s speculation in camp; I heard it though I barely left this place all morning. Some think you’ll command Bryne to assault the city.”

  She hesitated.

  “It would be a shame if it happened,” he said. “I don’t care a whit about Tar Valon, but I think I know what it would do to you to attack it.”

  She turned back to him. “I will do what must be done, Gawyn,” she said, meeting his eyes. “For the good of the Aes Sedai and the White Tower. Even if it is painful. Even if it tears me apart inside. I will do it if it needs to be done. Always.”

  He nodded slowly. She headed for the pavilion at the center of camp.

  “This was your fault, Jesse,” Adelorna said. Her eyes were still red; she’d lost a Warder the night before. She was one of many. But she was also tough as a feral hound, and was obviously determined not to let her pain show.

  Jesse Bilal warmed her hands on her cup of gooseberry tea, refusing to let herself be goaded. Adelorna’s question had been inevitable. And perhaps Jesse deserved the reprimand. Of course, they all deserved it, in one way or another. Except perhaps for Tsutama, who hadn’t been an Ajah head at the time. That was part of why the woman hadn’t been invited to this particular meeting. That, and the fact that the Red Ajah wasn’t in good favor with the others at the moment.

  The small, cramped room was barely large enough for five chairs and the small potbellied stove at the wall, radiating a calm warmth. There wasn’t room for a table, let alone a hearth. Just enough space for five women. The most powerful women in the world. And the five most foolish, it seemed.

  They were a sorry sisterhood this morning, the morning following the greatest disaster in the history of the White Tower. Jesse glanced at the woman beside her. Ferane Neheran—First Reasoner of the White—was a small, stout woman who, oddly in a White, often seemed more temper than logic. Today was one of those times: she sat scowling, her arms folded. She’d refused a cup of tea.

  Next to her was Suana Dragand, First Weaver of the Yellow Ajah. She was a beefy thing with a thrusting chin that matched her unyielding demeanor. Adelorna, the one to make the accusation against Jesse, was beside her. Who could blame the Captain-General for her spitefulness? She who had been birched by Elaida, and who had last night suffered near death at the hands of the Seanchan? The slim woman looked uncharacteristically disheveled. Her hair was pulled back in a serviceable bun, and her pale dress was wrinkled.

  The last woman in the room was Serancha Colvine, Head Clerk of the Gray Ajah. She had light brown hair and a pinched face; she looked perpetually as if she’d tasted something very sour. The trait seemed more manifest today than usual.

  “She has a point, Jesse,” Ferane said, her logical tone a contrast with her obvious pique. “You were the one to suggest this course of action.”

  “ ‘Suggest’ is a strong word.” Jesse took a sip of her drink. “I simply mentioned that in some of the . . . more private Tower records, there are accounts of times when the Ajah heads ruled instead of the Amyrlin.” The Thirteenth Depository was known to the Ajah heads, though they could not visit it unless they were also Sitters. That didn’t stop most of them from sending Sitters to gather information from it for them. “I may have been the messenger, but that is often the role of the Brown. You all were not so hesitant as to be forced into this course of action.”

  There were a few sideways glances at that, and the women found opportunity to study their tea. Yes, they were all implicated, and they understood it. Jesse would not take the blame for this disaster.

  “There is little use in assigning blame.” Suana attempted to be soothing, though her voice was laced with bitterness.

  “I won’t be deflected so easily,” Adelorna growled. Some reacted to the loss of a Warder with sadness, others with anger. There was little doubt which was Adelorna’s way. “A grave, grave error has been made. The White Tower burns, the Amyrlin has been captured by invaders, and the Dragon Reborn still walks the earth unfettered. The entire world will soon know of our disgrace!”

  “And what good will it do to blame one another?” Suana replied. “Are we so childish that we will spend this meeting squabbling about which one of us will hang, in a useless attempt to evade our responsibility?”

  Jesse gave quiet thanks for the sturdy Yellow’s words. Of course, Suana had been the first of the Ajah heads to agree to Jesse’s plan. So she’d be next in line for the metaphorical hanging.

  “She has a point.” Serancha took a sip of her tea. “We must make peace among ourselves. The Tower needs leadership, and we’re not going to get it from the Hall.”

  “That’s partly our fault as well,” Ferane admitted, looking sick.

  It was. It had seemed like a brilliant plan. The division of the Tower, the departure of so many in rebellion and the raising of a new Amyrlin, had not been their fault. But it had presented several opportunities. The first had been the easiest to take hold of: send Sitters to the rebels to steer them and hasten a reconciliation. The most youthful of Sitters had been chosen, their replacements in the Tower intended to serve only a short time. The Ajah heads had been certain this ripple of a rebellion could be easily smoothed over.

  They hadn’t taken it seriously enough. That had been their first mistake. The second was more dire. There were indeed times in the past where the Ajah heads—not the Amyrlin Seat or the Hall of the Tower—had led the Aes Sedai. It had been done secretly, of course, but it had been very successful. Why, the reign of Cemaile Sorenthaine would have been a complete disaster if the Ajah heads hadn’t stepped in.

  This had seemed like a similar occasion. The days of the Last Battle’s approach were a special time, requiring special attention. Attention from women of sound, rational minds and great experience. Women who could speak together in confidence and decide on the best course, avoiding the arguments that the Hall got into.

  “Where did we go wrong, do you think?” Serancha asked quietly.

  The women fell silent. None of them wanted to admit outright that the plan had backfired. Adelorna settled back in her chair, arms folded, smoldering but no longer flinging out accusations.

  “It was Elaida,” Ferane said. “She wasn’t ever . . . very logical.”

  “She was a bloody disaster is what she was,” Adelorna muttered.

  “It was more than that,” Jesse admitted. “Directly choosing Sitters we could control to replace those sent to the rebels was a good decision, but perhaps too obvious. The women of our own Ajahs became suspicious; I know of several comments made by women of the Brown. We are not so oblivious as others would like to think us.”

  Serancha nodded. “It smelled of conspiracy,” she said. “That made the women less trusting. And then there were the rebels. Far more difficult to control than presumed.”

  The women nodded. They, like Jesse, had assumed that with proper direction, the rebels would find their way back to the Tower and ask forgiveness. This division should have ended with no more damage than a few bruised egos.

  But they hadn’t counted on how resilient, or effective, the rebels would be. A full army, appearing on the shores around Tar Valon in the middle of a snowstorm? Led by one of the greatest military minds of the Age? With a new Amyrlin and a frustratingly effective siege? Who could have expected it? And some of the Sitters they had sent had begun siding with the rebels more than the White Tower!

  We never should have let Elaida disband the Blue Ajah, Jesse thought. The Blues might have been willing to come back, had it not happened. But it was such a dishonor that they dug in. Light only knew how dangerous that was; the histories were filled with accounts of how dogged the Blues could be at getting their way, particularly when they were forced into a corner.

  “I think it is time to admit that there is no hope to save our plans,” Suana said. “Are we agreed?”

  “Agreed,” Adelorna said.

  One by one, the sisters nodded their heads, and so did Jesse herself. Even in this room, it w
as difficult to admit fault. But it was time to cut their losses and begin rebuilding.

  “This has its own problems,” Serancha said, voice more calm now. The other women looked more assured as well. They didn’t trust one another, these five, but they were far closer to doing so than any other group with any authority in the Hall.

  “Care must be taken,” Ferane added. “The division must be mended.”

  “The rebellion was against Elaida,” Adelorna said. “If she is no longer Amyrlin, then what is there to rebel against?”

  “So we abandon her?” Jesse asked.

  “She deserves it,” Adelorna said. “She said time and time again that Seanchan were no threat. Well, now she is paying for her foolishness firsthand.”

  “Elaida is beyond rescue,” Ferane added. “The Hall has already discussed this. The Amyrlin is buried somewhere in a mass of Seanchan captives, and we have neither the resources nor the information for a rescue.”

  Not to mention our total lack of desire, Jesse added to herself. Many of the Sitters who had brought those points before the Hall were ones who had been sent to penance by Elaida. Jesse wasn’t one of those, but she did agree that Elaida had earned her reward, if only for the way she had driven the Ajahs to one another’s throats.

  “Then we need a replacement,” Serancha said. “But who?”

  “It has to be someone strong,” Suana said. “But someone cautious, unlike Elaida. Someone whom the sisters can rally around.”

  “What about Saerin Asnobar?” Jesse asked. “She has shown uncanny wisdom of late, and she is well liked.”

  “Of course you’d choose a Brown,” Adelorna said.

  “And why not?” Jesse said, taken aback. “You all heard, I think, how well she did assuming command during the attack last night?”

  “Seaine Herimon led her own pocket of resistance,” Ferane said. “I should think this would be a time for a woman to lead who is of an unemotional temperament. Someone who can provide rational guidance.”