Still, knowing she was there—and knowing what she was—made Egwene nervous. In the chaos of the Seanchan attack, Siuan hadn’t been able to watch Sheriam. Why did the Keeper wear a bandage on her left hand? Egwene didn’t believe her excuse of an accident while riding, her little finger getting caught in her reins. Why had she refused Healing? Blast Siuan! Instead of watching Sheriam, she’d come to kidnap Egwene!
The Hall grew still, the women waiting to see what Egwene’s response would be to her “freedom.” Romanda, gray-streaked hair up in a bun, sat primly in a yellow dress. She oozed satisfaction, while Lelaine—on the opposite side of the room—sulked while trying to act pleased at Egwene’s return. After what Egwene had been through in the White Tower, this squabbling felt ridiculously petty.
Egwene took a deep breath, then embraced the Source. It felt so good! No bitter forkroot to squeeze her power to a trickle, no need to reach through other women to lend her strength. No need for a sa’angreal. Sweet though the fluted wand’s power had been, being strong in and of herself was even more satisfying.
Several of the women frowned at the action, and not a few of them embraced the Source themselves, as if by reflex, looking about as if for danger.
“There will be no need for that,” Egwene said to the women. “Not yet. Please release the Source.”
They were hesitant, but—ostensibly—they accepted her as Amyrlin. One by one their power winked away. Egwene did not release it herself.
“I am very glad to see that you returned safely, Mother,” Lelaine said. She skirted the Three Oaths by adding the word “safely.”
“Thank you,” Egwene said calmly.
“You said that there were important revelations to make,” Varilin added. “Is this regarding the Seanchan attack?”
Egwene reached to the pouch on her skirt and pulled its contents free. A smooth white rod with the numeral three inscribed on it in the script of the Age of Legends, near the base. There were several gasps.
Egwene wove Spirit into the Rod, then spoke in a clear voice. “I vow that I will speak no word that is not true.” She felt the oath fall over her like a physical thing, her skin growing tighter, prickling. It was easy to ignore; the pain was nothing compared with what she had been through. “I vow that I will make no weapon for one man to kill another. I vow that I will never use the One Power as a weapon except against Darkfriends and Shadowspawn, or in the last extreme of defending my life or that of my Warder or of another sister.”
The Hall was silent. Egwene released her weave. Her skin felt so odd! As if someone had pinched the excess up at the base of her neck and along her spine, yanking it and binding it in place.
“Let it no longer be thought that I can avoid keeping the Three Oaths,” Egwene announced. “Let it no longer be breathed that I am not fully Aes Sedai.” None of them said anything about her not having taken the test to gain the shawl. She would see to that another day. “And now that you’ve seen me use the Oath Rod and know that I cannot lie, I will tell you something. During my time in the White Tower, a sister came to me and confided that she was Black Ajah.”
The women’s eyes bulged, and several gasped quietly.
“Yes,” Egwene said. “I know we don’t like to speak of them, but can any of us honestly claim that the Black Ajah does not exist? Can you hold to the oaths while saying that you’ve never considered the possibility—even the likelihood—of there being Darkfriends among us?”
Nobody dared to. The tent felt hot despite the early hour. Stuffy. None of them sweated, of course—they knew the age-old trick of avoiding that.
“Yes,” Egwene said, “It is shameful, but it is a truth that we—as the leaders of our people—must admit. Not in public; but among ourselves there is no avoiding it. I have seen firsthand what distrust and quiet politicking can do to a people. I will not see the same disease infect us here. We are of different Ajahs, but we are single in purpose. We need to know that we can trust one another implicitly, because there is very little else in this world that can be trusted.”
Egwene looked down at the Oath Rod, which she’d fetched early in the morning from Saerin. She rubbed her thumb on it. I wish you’d been able to find this when you visited, Verin, she thought. Perhaps it wouldn’t have saved you, but I would have liked to try. I could use your aid.
Egwene looked up. “I am not a Darkfriend,” she announced to the room. “And you know it cannot be a lie.”
The Sitters looked perplexed. Well, they would soon see the point.
“It is time for us to prove ourselves,” Egwene said. “Some clever women in the White Tower hit upon this idea, and I intend to expand it. We will each in turn use the Oath Rod to release ourselves from the Three Oaths, then reswear them in turn. Once we are all bound, we will be able to promise that we are not servants of—”
Sheriam embraced the Source. Egwene had been anticipating that. She slammed a shield between Sheriam and the Source, causing the woman to gasp. Berana cried out in shock, and several other women embraced the Source, looking this way and that.
Egwene turned and met Sheriam’s eyes. The woman’s face was nearly as red as her hair, and she was breathing in and out quickly. Like a captured rabbit, its leg in a snare, eyes wide with fright. She clutched her bandaged hand.
Oh, Sheriam, Egwene thought. I had hoped that Verin was wrong about you.
“Egwene?” Sheriam asked uncomfortably. “I was just—”
Egwene stepped forward. “Are you Black Ajah, Sheriam?”
“What? Of course not!”
“Do you consort with the Forsaken?”
“No!” Sheriam said, glancing to the sides.
“Do you serve the Dark One?”
“No!”
“Have you been released from your oaths?”
“No!”
“Do you have red hair?”
“Of course not, I never—” She froze.
And thank you for that trick as well, Verin, Egwene thought with a mental sigh.
The tent grew very, very still.
“I misspoke, of course,” Sheriam said, sweating nervously. “I didn’t know what question I was answering. I can’t lie, of course. None of us can. . . .”
She trailed off as Egwene held out the Oath Rod. “Prove it, Sheriam. The woman who came to me in the Tower gave me your name as a leader among the Black Ajah.”
Sheriam met Egwene’s eyes. “Ah, then,” the woman said softly, eyes mournful. “Who was it, now, who came to you?”
“Verin Mathwin.”
“Well, well,” Sheriam said, settling back on her chair. “Never expected it of her, I’ll say. How did she get past the oaths to the Great Lord?”
“She drank poison,” Egwene said, heart twisting.
“Very clever.” The flame-haired woman nodded. “I could never bring myself to do such a thing. Never indeed. . . .”
Egwene wove bonds of Air and wrapped Sheriam in them, then tied off the weaves. She turned back to an incredulous group of women, white-faced. Some terrified. “The world marches to the Last Battle,” Egwene said sternly. “Did you expect that our enemies would leave us alone?”
“Who else?” Lelaine whispered. “Who else was mentioned?”
“Many others,” Egwene said. “Sitters among them.”
Moria leaped to her feet and ran for the exit. She barely made it two steps. A dozen different sisters enclosed the former Blue with shields and bound her in weaves of Air. In seconds, she was hanging, gagged, tears leaking down the sides of her oval face.
Romanda clicked her tongue, walking around the woman. “Both from the Blue,” she noted. “This was a dramatic way to make the revelations, Egwene.”
“You will address me as ‘Mother,’ Romanda,” Egwene said, walking down from the dais. “And it is not so odd that there would be a higher percentage of them among the Blue here, since that entire Ajah fled the White Tower.” She held up the Oath Rod. “The reason I had to make the revelation this way was simple. How wo
uld you have responded if I’d simply declared them to be Black without offering proof?”
Romanda nodded her head. “You are correct on both counts, Mother,” she admitted.
“Then you wouldn’t mind being the first to retake the oaths, I presume?”
Romanda hesitated only briefly, glancing at the two women bound in Air. Almost everyone in the room held to the Source, eyeing the others as if they might grow coppersnakes for hair at any moment.
Romanda took the Oath Rod, and did as instructed, releasing herself from the oaths. The process was obviously painful, but she held herself to a controlled, hissing intake of breath. The others watched carefully for a trick, but Romanda was straightforward in reswearing. She handed the rod back to Egwene. “I am not a Darkfriend,” she said. “And I never have been.”
Egwene accepted the Oath Rod back. “Thank you, Romanda,” she said. “Lelaine, do you wish to be next?”
“Gladly,” the woman said. She probably felt a need to vindicate the Blue. One by one, the other women forswore—gasping or hissing at the pain of it—then swore again and promised that they were not Darkfriends. Egwene let out a silent sigh of relief at each one. Verin had admitted that there would be sisters she didn’t get, and that Egwene might discover other members of the Black among the Sitters.
When Kwamesa, the last, handed the Rod back to Egwene and declared herself not a Darkfriend, there was a visible release of tension in the room.
“Very good,” Egwene said, returning to stand at the head of the room. “From now on, we continue as one. No more squabbling. No more fighting. We each have the best interests of the White Tower—and the world itself—at heart. The twelve of us, at least, are confident in one another.
“A cleansing is never easy. It is often painful. Today, we have cleansed ourselves, but what we have to do next will be nearly as painful.”
“You . . . know the names of many others?” Takima asked, for once looking not a bit distracted.
“Yes,” Egwene said. “Over two hundred total, some from each Ajah. Some seventy among us here in this camp. I have the names.” She had returned in the night to fetch Verin’s books from her room. They were now safely hidden in her tent, invisible. “I propose that we arrest them, though it will be difficult, as we will have to seize all of them as simultaneously as possible.” Their greatest advantage, beyond surprise, was going to be the inherently distrusting nature of the Black Ajah. Verin and other sources had indicated that few sisters in the Black knew more than a handful of other names. There was an entire write-up in the book about Black Ajah organization, and their system of groups known as “hearts” that had minimal interaction to keep them hidden. Hopefully, that very system would slow their realizing what was happening.
The Sitters looked daunted. “First,” Egwene said, “we will claim that we need to spread important news to every Sister, but can’t let it be overheard by the soldiers in camp. We’ll call the sisters into this pavilion by Ajah—it’s big enough to hold about two hundred people. I’ll distribute to each of you the names of all the Black sisters. When each Ajah enters, I’ll repeat to them what I told you and tell them they’re all going to have to reswear on the Oath Rod. We’ll be ready to seize Black sisters who try to escape. We’ll tie them up and deposit them in the audience tent.” That smaller tent was connected to the side of the Hall, and could be closed off so that entering sisters wouldn’t see the captives.
“We’ll have to do something about Warders,” Lelaine said grimly. “Let them come in with their sisters, I suppose, and be prepared to seize them.”
“Some of them will be Darkfriends,” Egwene said. “But not all. And I don’t know which ones.” Verin had had some notes about this, but not many, unfortunately.
“Light, what a mess,” Romanda muttered.
“It must be done,” haughty Berana said with a shake of her head.
“And it must be done quickly,” Egwene said. “So that the Black sisters don’t have time to escape. I’ll warn Lord Bryne to create a perimeter of archers and sisters we trust to stop any trying to escape, just in case. But that will only work for those too weak to make gateways.”
“We mustn’t let it come to that,” Lelaine said. “A war inside the camp itself . . .”
Egwene nodded.
“And what of the White Tower?” Lelaine said.
“Once we have cleansed ourselves,” Egwene said, “then we can do what must be done to reunify the Aes Sedai.”
“You mean—”
“Yes, Lelaine,” Egwene said. “I mean to begin an assault on Tar Valon by this evening. Pass the word and tell Lord Bryne to prepare his men. The news will serve to distract the Black members among us, and will make them less likely to notice what we are doing.”
Romanda glanced at Sheriam and Moria, hanging in the air at the side of the tent, both weeping openly, mouths bound with gags of Air. “It must be done. I put forth a motion before the Hall to take the action the Amyrlin has suggested.”
The tent grew still. Then, slowly, each women rose to give consensus. It was unanimous.
“Light preserve us,” Lelaine whispered. “And forgive us for what we are about to do.”
My thoughts exactly, Egwene added.
CHAPTER 44
Scents Unknown
“Tarwin’s Gap is the place that makes the most sense!” Nynaeve argued.
She and Rand rode on an overgrown road in the open grassland of Maredo, accompanied by a crowd of Aiel. Nynaeve was the only Aes Sedai there; Narishma and Naeff rode near the back of the group, looking sullen. Rand had forced their Aes Sedai to stay behind. He seemed particularly determined to assert his independence from them, lately.
Nynaeve was astride a pure white mare named Moonlight, appropriated from Rand’s stable in Tear. It still seemed odd that he would have his own stable at all, let alone one in each of the major cities of the world.
“Tarwin’s Gap,” Rand said, shaking his head. “No. The more I think about it, the more I realize that we don’t want to fight there. Lan is doing me a favor. If I can coordinate an assault alongside his own, I can gain great advantage. But I don’t want to distract my armies with the Gap. It would be a waste of resources.”
A waste of resources? The Gap was where Lan was heading, like an arrow loosed from a Two Rivers longbow. Heading there to die! And Rand said helping was a waste? Wool-headed fool!
Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to calm down. If only he would argue, rather than speaking in that distant way he had recently adopted. He seemed so emotionless, but she had seen the beast get free and roar at her. It was coiled inside him, and if he didn’t let his emotions out soon, they would devour him from the inside.
But how to make him see reason? She had prepared argument after argument—each of them distinctly reasoned and calmly explained—during their time in Tear. Rand had ignored all of them, spending the last two days meeting with his generals and planning strategy for the Last Battle.
Each day brought Lan one step closer to a fight he couldn’t win. Each day made her more anxious; several times, she’d nearly abandoned Rand and ridden for the north. If Lan was going to fight an impossible battle, then she longed to be at his side. But she stayed. Light take Rand al’Thor, she stayed. What good would it do to help Lan, only to let the world fall into Shadow because of a stubborn sheepherder’s stubborn . . . stubbornness!
She gave her braid a solid yank. The jeweled bracelets and rings on her hands glittered in the faint sunlight—the sky was cloudy, of course, just as it had been for weeks. Everyone tried to ignore how unnatural that was, but Nynaeve could still feel that storm building to the north.
Such a short time left until Lan reached the Gap! Light send that he was slowed down by the Malkieri who had come to support him in his ride. Light send that he was not alone. Thinking of him, riding into the Blight, facing the army of Shadowspawn who infested his homeland. . . .
“We have to attack there,” Nynaeve said. “Itu
ralde says that the Blight is swarming with Trollocs. The Dark One is gathering his forces. You can bet that the bulk of them will be at the Gap, where it’s easiest to get through and strike at Andor and Cairhien!”
“That is exactly why we will not attack at the Gap, Nynaeve,” Rand said, voice cold and even. “We cannot let the enemy dictate our battlefield. The last thing we want to do is fight where they want us to, or where they expect us to.” He turned eyes northward. “Yes, let them gather. They seek me, and I shall not deliver myself. Why fight at Tarwin’s Gap? It makes the best sense to jump most of our armies right to Shayol Ghul.”
“Rand,” she said, trying to sound reasonable. Couldn’t he see that she was reasonable? “There is no way that Lan has been able to gather a large enough force to hold back a mass assault by the Trollocs, particularly not with most of the Borderlander armies doing Light only knows what down here. He’ll be overrun, and the Trollocs will invade!”
Mention of the Borderlanders made Rand’s face tighten; they rode to meet with their messengers. “The Trollocs will invade,” Rand repeated.
“Yes!”
“Good,” Rand said. “It will keep them occupied as I do what needs to be done.”
“And Lan?” Nynaeve asked.
“His attack will be well placed.” Rand nodded. “He will draw my enemies’ attention to Malkier and the Gap, and it will make them think that I am there. Shadowspawn can’t move through gateways, so they can’t move as quickly as I can. By the time they’ve engaged Lan, I’ll be past them and attacking directly at the Dark One’s heart.
“I don’t plan to abandon the southern lands, not at all. When the Trollocs punch through the Gap, they will break up into fists to invade. That’s when my forces will hit them, led by Bashere, Traveling by gateway to strike at each group of Trollocs from the sides or behind. That way, we can pick the best battlefields to suit our needs.”
“Rand,” Nynaeve said, her anger fading to horror. “Lan will die!”
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