With a thud that made Galina grunt, the leather bag hit the ground and toppled over. As unconcerned as if they were handling a sack of potatoes, the Maidens tumbled her out onto the brown weeds, sliced the cords that held her thumbs and toes, plucked the gag from between her teeth. Dirt and dead leaves stuck to the sweat coating her.
She very much wanted to stand, to meet them all eye-to-eye and glare-for-glare. Instead, she rose only as far as hands and knees, then dug her fingers into the mulch of the forest floor, dug her toes in. Any farther, and she would not be able to stop her hands from flying to soothe her red, flaming skin. Her sweat felt like the juice of ice peppers. All she could do was crouch there and quiver, try to work some moisture back into her mouth and daydream of what she would do to these savages.
“I believed you were stronger than this,” Sevanna said above her in thoughtful tones, “but perhaps Belinde is right. Perhaps you are soft enough, now. If you swear to obey me, you can stop being da’tsang. Perhaps you will not even have to be gai’shain. Will you swear to obey me in all things?”
“Yes!” The hoarse word flew from Galina’s tongue without hesitation, though she had to swallow before speaking more. “I will obey you! I swear it!” And so she would obey. Until they gave the opening she needed. Was this all that had been necessary? An oath she would have made the first day? Sevanna would learn what it was like to hang over hot coals. Oh, yes, she. . . .
“Then you will not object to swearing your oath on this,” Sevanna said, tossing something down in front of her.
Galina’s scalp crawled as she stared at it. A white rod like polished ivory, a foot long and no thicker than her wrist. Then she saw the flowing marks carved into the end toward her, numerals used in the Age of Legends. One hundred eleven. She had thought it was the Oath Rod, somehow stolen from the White Tower. That also was marked, but with the numeral three, which some thought stood for the Three Oaths. Maybe this was not what it seemed. Maybe. Yet no hooded viper from the Drowned Lands coiled there could have frozen her so still.
“A fine oath, Sevanna. When did you intend to tell the rest of us?”
That voice jerked Galina’s head up. It could have pulled her eyes away from a hooded viper, too.
Therava appeared among the trees leading a dozen cold-faced Wise Ones. When they stopped behind her, confronting Sevanna, every woman present except for the Maidens had been there when Galina was sentenced to wear the black robe. A word from Therava, a short nod from Sevanna, and the Maidens departed swiftly. Sweat still oozed from Galina, but suddenly the air seemed cold.
Sevanna glanced at Belinde, who avoided her eye. Sevanna’s lip curled, half sneer, half snarl, and she planted fists on hips. Galina did not understand where she found the nerve, a woman who could not channel at all. Some of these women possessed not inconsiderable strength. No, she could not afford to think of them only as wilders if she was to escape and have her revenge. Therava and Someryn were stronger than any woman in the Tower, and any of them could have been Aes Sedai easily.
But Sevanna faced them defiantly. “It seems you rendered justice quickly,” she said in a voice dry as dust.
“The matter was simple,” Tion replied calmly. “The Mera’din received the justice they deserved.”
“And they were told they received it in spite of your attempt to sway us,” Rhiale added with some heat. Sevanna nearly did snarl at that.
Therava would not be diverted from her purpose, though. In one swift step she reached Galina, gripped a handful of her hair and jerked her up to her knees, bent her head back. Therava was not the tallest of these women by at least a head, yet she loomed taller than most men, staring down with a hawk’s eyes, driving away every thought of revenge or defiance. The white streaks touching her dark red hair only made her face more commanding. Galina’s hands clenched into fists on her thighs, nails digging into her palms. Even the burning of her skin paled under that stare. She had daydreamed about breaking every one of these women, making them plead for death, laughing as she denied their begging. About every one except Therava. At night, Therava filled her dreams and all Galina could do was try to flee; the only escape was to wake screaming. Galina had broken strong men and strong women, but she stared up at Therava wide-eyed and whined.
“This one has no honor to shame.” Therava almost spat the words. “If you want her broken, Sevanna, let me have her. When I am done, she will obey without the need for your friend Caddar’s toy.”
Sevanna spoke up heatedly, denying friendship with this Caddar, whoever he was, and Rhiale barked that Sevanna had brought him to the others, and others began arguing about whether the “binder” would work any better than the “traveling box.”
A small part of Galina’s mind seized on mention of the traveling box. She had heard it spoken of before, longed to lay hands on it if only for a moment. With a ter’angreal that enabled her to Travel, however imperfectly it seemed to work, she would be able to. . . . Even hope of escape could not stand against thoughts of what Therava would do to her if the others decided to give in to the woman’s request. When the hawk-eyed Wise One loosed her hair to join the argument, Galina hurled herself at the rod, landing flat on her belly. Anything, even having to obey Sevanna, was better than being handed over to Therava. If she had not been shielded, she would have channeled to operate the rod herself.
No sooner did her fingers close on the smooth rod than Therava’s foot came down on it hard, trapping her hands painfully against the ground. None of the Wise Ones so much as glanced at her where she lay writhing, trying futilely to pull free. She could not make herself pull too hard; dimly she could recall making rulers pale with fear, but she did not dare disturb this woman’s foot.
“If she is to swear,” Therava said, staring hard at Sevanna, “it should be to obey all of us here.” The others nodded, some voicing agreement, all but Belinde, and she pursed her lips thoughtfully.
Sevanna stared back just as hard. “Very well,” she acceded finally. “But me first among us. I am not only a Wise One; I speak as the clan chief.”
Therava smiled thinly. “So you do. Two among us first, Sevanna. You and I.” Not a whisper of defiance faded from Sevanna’s face, but she nodded. Grudgingly. Only then did Therava move her foot. The light of saidar surrounded her, and a flow of Spirit touched the numerals at the end of the rod in Galina’s hands. Just as was done with the Oath Rod.
For an instant, Galina hesitated, flexing mashed fingers. It felt the same as the Oath Rod, too; not quite like ivory, not quite like glass, distinctly cool on her palms. If it was a second Oath Rod, it could be used to remove any oath she swore now. If she were given the opportunity. She did not want to take the chance, did not want to swear to Therava in any case. Always before this in her life, she had commanded; life since her capture had been misery, but Therava would make her a lapdog! Yet if she did not, would they let Therava break her? She could not find the smallest particle of doubt that the woman would do just that. Utterly.
“Under the Light and by my hope of salvation and rebirth”—she no longer believed in the Light or a hope of salvation, and there was no need to speak more than a simple promise, but they expected a strong oath—“I swear to obey every Wise One present here in all things, and first among them, Therava and Sevanna.” The last hope that this “binder” was something else vanished as Galina felt the oath settle on her, as if she suddenly wore a garment that covered her far too tightly from her scalp to the soles of her feet. Throwing back her head, she screamed. In part that was because it suddenly seemed as if the burning of her skin was being pressed deep into her flesh, but mainly, it was pure despair.
“Be quiet!” Therava said sharply. “I do not want to listen to you wailing!” Galina’s teeth clicked shut, nearly biting her tongue, and she struggled to swallow her sobs. Nothing but obedience was possible, now. Therava frowned at her. “Let us see if this truly works,” she muttered, bending closer. “Have you planned violence against any Wise One here? Answer
truthfully, and ask to be punished if you have. The penalty for violence against a Wise One,” she added like an afterthought, “can be to be killed like an animal.” She drew a finger expressively across her throat then gripped her belt knife with the same hand.
Gulping air in horrified panic, Galina shied back from the woman. She could not take her eyes away from Therava’s, though, and she could not stop the words that chattered through her teeth. “I d-did, ag-g-gainst all of you! P-please p-punish me f-for it!” Would they kill her, now? After all of this, was she to die here?
“It seems this binder does as your friend claimed after all, Sevanna.” Plucking the rod from Galina’s limp hands, Therava tucked it behind her belt as she straightened. “It also seems that you will wear white after all, Galina Casban.” For some reason, she gave a pleased smile at that. But she issued other commands, too. “You will behave meekly, as a gai’shain should. If a child tells you to jump, you will jump unless one of us has said otherwise. And you will not touch saidar or channel unless one of us tells you. Release the shield on her, Belinde.”
The shield vanished, and Galina knelt there, staring hollowly. The Source shone just out of sight, tantalizing. And she could have sprouted wings as easily as she could stretch out for it.
Bracelets clattered as Sevanna shifted her shawl in anger. “You take too much on yourself, Therava. That is mine; give it to me!” She held out her hand, but Therava merely folded her arms beneath her breasts.
“There have been meetings among the Wise Ones,” the stern-eyed woman told Sevanna. “We have reached certain decisions.” The women who had come with her gathered behind her, all of them facing Sevanna, and Belinde hurried to join them.
“Without me?” Sevanna snapped. “Do any of you dare reach a decision without me?” Her tone remained as strong as ever, but her eyes flickered to the rod in Therava’s belt, and Galina thought there was a touch of uneasiness there. Another time, she would have been delighted to see it.
“One decision had to be reached without you,” Tion said in a flat voice.
“As you so often point out, you speak as the clan chief,” Emerys added, a mocking light in her big gray eyes. “Sometimes, Wise Ones must talk without a clan chief listening. Or someone who speaks as a chief.”
“We decided,” Therava said, “that just as a clan chief must have a Wise One to advise him, so must you have a Wise One’s advice. I will advise you.”
Gathering her shawl around her, Sevanna studied the women confronting her. Her expression was unreadable. How did she do it? They could crush her like an egg beneath a hammer. “And what advice do you offer me, Therava?” she said at last in an icy voice.
“My strong advice is that we move without delay,” Therava replied, as cool as Sevanna. “These Seanchan are too close and too many. We should move north into these Mountains of Mist and establish a hold. From there, we can send parties to find the other septs. It may take long to reunite the Shaido, Sevanna. Your wetlander friend may have scattered us to the nine corners of the world. Until we do that, we are vulnerable.”
“We will move tomorrow.” If Galina had not been sure she knew Sevanna inside and out, she would have thought the woman sounded petulant as well as angry. Those green eyes flashed. “But east. That also is away from the Seanchan, and the lands to the east are in turmoil, ripe for plucking.”
There was a long silence, then Therava nodded. “East.” She said the word softly, the softness of silk laid over steel. “But remember that clan chiefs have lived to regret rejecting a Wise One’s advice too often. You may, as well.” The threat on her face was plain as that in her voice, yet Sevanna laughed!
“You remember, Therava! All of you remember! If I am left for the vultures, so will you be! I have made assurance of that.”
The other women exchanged worried glances, all but Therava, and Modarra and Norlea frowned.
Slumped on her knees, whimpering and trying in vain to soothe her skin with her hands, Galina found herself wondering what these threats meant. It was a small thought, worming its way through bitterness and self-pity. Anything she could use against these women would be welcome. If she dared use it. A bitter thought.
Abruptly she realized that the sky was turning dark. Billowing clouds were rolling down from the north, streaked gray and black, obscuring the sun. And beneath the clouds fell flurries of snow, swirling in the air. None reached the ground—few fell as far as the treetops—but Galina gaped. Snow! Had the Great Lord loosened his grip on the world for some reason?
The Wise Ones stared at the sky, too, mouths hanging open as if they had never seen clouds, much less snow.
“What is this, Galina Casban?” Therava demanded. “Speak if you know!” She did not look away from the sky until Galina told her it was snow, and when she did it was to laugh. “I always thought the men who ran down Laman Treekiller lied about snow. This could not hamper a mouse!”
Galina clamped her jaws shut on explaining about snowfalls, aghast that her instinct had been to curry favor. Aghast as well at the small pang of pleasure that keeping the information back gave. I am the Highest of the Red Ajah! she reminded herself. I sit on the Supreme Council of the Black Ajah! They sounded like lies. This was not fair!
“If we are done here,” Sevanna said, “I will take the gai’shain back to the great roof and see her put in white. You can remain and stare at the snow if you wish.” Her tone was so smooth, like butter in the tub, that no one would have thought her at daggers’ points only moments earlier. She looped her shawl over her elbows and adjusted some of her necklaces; nothing in the world concerned her more.
“We will take care of the gai’shain,” Therava told her just as smoothly. “Since you speak as the chief, you have a long day and most of the night ahead of you if we are to move tomorrow.” For an instant, Sevanna’s eyes flashed again, but Therava merely snapped her fingers and gestured sharply at Galina before turning to go. “Come with me,” she said. “And stop pouting.”
Head down, Galina scrambled to her feet and scurried after Therava and the other women who could channel. Pouting? She might have been scowling, but never pouting! Her thoughts scrabbled like rats in a cage, finding no hope of escape. There had to be one! There had to be! One thought that surfaced in the middle of that turmoil almost made her begin weeping again. Were gai’shain robes softer than the scratchy black wool she had been forced to wear so far? There had to be a way out! A hasty glance back through the trees showed Sevanna still standing there, glaring after them. Overhead, the clouds swirled, and the falling snow melted like Galina’s hopes.
CHAPTER
12
New Alliances
Graendal wished there had been even a simple transcriber among the things she had removed from Illian after Sammael’s death. This Age was frightful usually, primitive and uncomfortable. Still, some of it suited her. In a large bamboo cage at the far end of the room a hundred brightly plumaged birds sang melodiously, almost as beautiful in their multicolored flitting as her two pets in transparent robes who waited on either side of the door, their gazes locked on her, eager to serve her pleasure. If oil lamps did not give the same light as glowbulbs, aided by large mirrors on the walls they produced a certain barbaric splendor with the gilded fish-scale ceiling. It would have been nice to need only speak the words, but actually putting them on paper with her own hand produced a pleasure akin to that she felt in sketching. The script of this Age was quite simple, and learning to duplicate another’s style had been no more difficult.
Signing with a flourish—not her own name, of course—she sanded the thick page, then folded it and sealed it with one of the signet rings of various sizes that made a decorative line across the writing table. The Hand and Sword of Arad Doman impressed on an irregular circle of blue-and-green wax.
“Take this to Lord Ituralde with all speed,” she said, “and say only what I told you.”
“As fast as horses can carry me, my Lady.” Nazran bowed as he took the let
ter, one finger stroking thin black mustaches above a winning smile. Square and deeply brown in a well-fitting blue coat, he was handsome; just not sufficiently handsome. “I received this from the Lady Tuva, who died of her wounds after telling me that she was a courier from Alsalam and had been attacked by a Gray Man.”
“Make sure there is human blood on it,” she admonished. She doubted anyone in this time could tell human blood from any other, but she had found too many surprises to take an unnecessary chance. “Enough for realism; not enough to spoil what I wrote.”
His black eyes lingered warmly on her as he bowed again, but as soon as he straightened he hurried to the door, boots thudding on the pale yellow marble floor. He did not notice the servants with their eyes fixed ardently on her, or affected not to notice, though he had once been a friend of the young man. Only a touch of Compulsion had been needed to make Nazran nearly as avid to obey as they, not to mention certain that he might yet taste her charms again. She laughed softly. Well, he believed he had tasted them; just a little prettier, and he might have. Of course, he would have been useless for anything else then. He would ride horses to death reaching Ituralde, and if that message, delivered by Alsalam’s close cousin, supposedly coming from the King himself and with Gray Men trying to stop it, did not satisfy the Great Lord’s command to increase chaos, nothing would, short of balefire. And it would serve her own ends very nicely as well. Her own ends.
Graendal’s hand went to the only ring on the table that was not a signet, a plain golden band too small for any but her little finger. It had been a pleasant surprise to find an angreal attuned to women among Sammael’s possessions. A pleasant surprise to have time to find much of anything useful with al’Thor and those puppies who called themselves Asha’man constantly in and out of Sammael’s chambers in the Great Hall of the Council. They had stripped it bare of what she had not taken. Dangerous puppies, all of them, especially al’Thor. And she had not wanted to risk anyone being able to draw a line from Sammael to her. Yes, she must increase the pace of her own plans, and distance herself from Sammael’s disaster.
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