The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  Nynaeve hadn’t the mind to ask more details at the moment. She had another task. She stepped up to the proper tent, feeling so tired from the testing that she felt she would soon tumble to the ground in a flurry of yellow cloth. A few Warders passed through the camp nearby, watching her with calm expressions.

  The tent before her was a simple gray thing. It was lit with a faint glow, and shadows moved inside. “Myrelle,” Nynaeve said loudly. “I would speak with you.” She was surprised at how strong her voice sounded. She didn’t feel that she had much strength remaining.

  The shadows paused, and then moved again. The tent flaps rustled, and a confused face peered out. Myrelle wore a blue nightgown that was almost translucent, and one of her Warders—a bear of a man with a thick black beard after the Illianer fashion—sat shirtless on the tent floor inside.

  “Child?” Myrelle said, sounding surprised. “What are you doing here?” She was an olive-skinned beauty, with long black hair and rounded curves. Nynaeve had to stop herself from reaching for her braid. It was too short now to tug. That was going to take a lot of getting used to.

  “You have something that belongs to me,” Nynaeve said.

  “Hmm…That depends on opinion, child.” Myrelle frowned.

  “I was raised today,” Nynaeve said. “Formally. I passed the testing. We are equals now, Myrelle.” She left the second part unsaid—that Nynaeve was the stronger of the two. Not truly equals, then.

  “Return tomorrow,” Myrelle said. “I am occupied.” She moved to turn back into the tent.

  Nynaeve caught the woman’s arm. “I have never thanked you,” she said, though she had to grit her teeth to get the words out. “I do so now. He lives because of you. I realize that. However, Myrelle, this is not a time to push me. Today, I have seen people I love slaughtered, I have been forced to consign children to living torment. I have been burned, scourged and harrowed.

  “I swear to you, woman, if you do not pass me Lan’s bond this very moment, I will step into that tent and teach you the meaning of obedience. Do not press me. In the morning, I swear the Three Oaths. I’m free of them for one more night.”

  Myrelle froze. Then she sighed and stepped back out of the tent. “So be it.” She closed her eyes, weaving Spirit and sending the weaves into Nynaeve.

  It felt like an object being shoved physically into her mind. Nynaeve gasped, her surroundings spinning.

  Myrelle turned and slipped back into her tent. Nynaeve slid down until she was sitting on the ground. Something was blossoming inside her mind. An awareness. Beautiful, wonderful.

  It was him. And he was still alive.

  Blessed Light, she thought, eyes closed. Thank you.

  Chapter 21

  An Open Gate

  “We thought it best,” Seonid said, “to let one of us give the full report. I have gathered information from the others for presentation.”

  Perrin nodded absently. He sat on cushions in the meeting pavilion, Faile at his side. It was crammed full of people again.

  “Cairhien is still in a mess, of course,” Seonid began. The businesslike Green was a curt woman. Not mean or disagreeable, but even her interactions with her Warders seemed like those of a prosperous farmer with his workers. “The Sun Throne has remained unoccupied for far too long. All know that the Lord Dragon has promised the throne to Elayne Trakand, but she has been struggling to secure her own throne. She has finally done so, by reports.”

  She looked to Perrin for comment, smelling satisfied. He scratched at his beard. This was important, and he needed to pay attention. But thoughts of his training in the wolf dream kept drawing his mind. “So Elayne is Queen. That must make Rand happy.”

  “The Lord Dragon’s reaction is unknown,” Seonid continued, as if checking off another item on a list. The Wise Ones made no comments and asked no questions; they sat on their cushions in a little cluster, like rivets on a hinge. Likely, the Maidens had already told them all of this.

  “I am reasonably certain that the Lord Dragon is in Arad Doman,” Seonid continued. “Several rumors speak of this—though, of course, there are rumors placing him in many places. But Arad Doman makes sense for him as a tactical conquest, and the unrest there threatens to destabilize the Borderlands. I’m not certain if it’s true that he sent the Aiel there or not.”

  “He did,” Edarra said simply. She offered no further explanation.

  “Yes,” Seonid said. “Well, many of the rumors say that he is planning to meet the Seanchan in Arad Doman. I suspect he would want the clans there to aid him.”

  That brought up thoughts of Malden. Perrin imagined damane and Wise Ones at war, the One Power ripping through ranks of soldiers, blood, earth and fire spinning in the air. It would be like Dumai’s Wells, only worse. He shivered. Anyway, from the visions—and they appeared as Seonid spoke—he knew that Rand was where she said.

  Seonid continued, speaking of trade and food resources in Cairhien. Perrin found himself thinking about that strange violet wall he’d seen in the wolf dream. Idiot, he told himself sternly. Keep listening. Light! He really was a bad ruler. He’d had no trouble running at the front of the wolves when they’d let him hunt. Why couldn’t he do the same for his own people?

  “Tear is rallying troops,” Seonid said. “Rumors say the Lord Dragon commanded King Darlin to gather men for war. There is apparently a king in Tear now, by the way. A curious event. Some say that Darlin will march for Arad Doman, though others say it must be for the Last Battle. Still others insist that al’Thor intends to defeat the Seanchan first. All three options seem plausible, and I can’t give more without a trip to Tear myself.” She eyed Perrin, smelling hopeful.

  “No,” Perrin said. “Not yet. Rand isn’t in Cairhien, but Andor seems stable. It makes the most sense for me to head there and talk to Elayne. She’ll have information for us.”

  Faile smelled worried.

  “Lord Aybara,” Seonid said, “do you think the Queen will welcome you? With the flag of Manetheren, and your self-endowed title of Lord…”

  Perrin scowled. “Both of those fool banners are down now, and Elayne will see things right, once I explain them to her.”

  “And my soldiers?” Alliandre said. “You will probably want to ask before moving foreign troops onto Andoran soil.”

  “You won’t be coming,” Perrin said. “I’ve said it before, Alliandre. You’ll be in Jehannah. We’ll get you there as soon as we deal with the Whitecloaks.”

  “Has a decision been made about them, then?” Arganda asked, leaning forward, eager and excited.

  “They’ve demanded a battle,” Perrin said. “And they ignore my requests for further parley. I’ve a mind to give them a fight.”

  They began talking of that, though it soon became a discussion of what it meant to have a king in Tear. Eventually, Seonid cleared her throat and steered the conversation back to her report.

  “The Seanchan are a matter of great discussion in Cairhien,” Seonid said. “The invaders seem to be focusing on securing their lands, including Altara. They are still expanding in the west, however, and there are pitched battles on Almoth Plain.”

  “Expanding toward Arad Doman,” Arganda said. “There is a battle brewing there.”

  “Most likely,” Seonid said.

  “If the Last Battle comes,” Annoura said, “then it would be advantageous to have an alliance with the Seanchan.” She seemed thoughtful, legs crossed as she sat on her embroidered blue and yellow silk pillow.

  “They have chained Wise Ones,” Edarra said, her too-young face growing dark. She smelled dangerous. Angry but cold, like the smell before a person planned to kill. “Not just Shaido, who deserve their fate. If there is an alliance with the Seanchan, it will end as soon as the Car’a’carn’s work is finished. Already, many of my people speak of a blood feud with these invaders.”

  “I doubt Rand wants a war between you,” Perrin said.

  “A year and a day,” Edarra said simply. “Wise Ones cannot be
taken gai’shain, but perhaps the Seanchan ways are different. Regardless, we will give them a year and a day. If they do not release their captives when we demand them after that time, they will know our spears. The Car’a’carn cannot demand any more from us.”

  The pavilion grew still.

  “Anyway,” Seonid said, clearing her throat. “Once finished with Cairhien, we met up with those who had gone to Andor to check on rumors there.”

  “Wait,” Perrin said. “Andor?”

  “The Wise Ones decided to send Maidens there.”

  “That wasn’t the plan,” Perrin growled, looking at the Wise Ones.

  “You don’t control us, Perrin Aybara,” Edarra said calmly. “We needed to know if there were still Aiel in the city or not, and if the Car’a’carn was there. Your Asha’man complied when we asked them for the gateway.”

  “The Maidens could have been seen,” he grumbled. Well, he had told Grady to do the gateways as the Aiel asked him, though he’d been referring to the timing of the departure and the return. He should have been more precise.

  “Well, they weren’t seen,” Seonid sounded exasperated, like one talking with a foolish child. “At least not by anyone they didn’t intend to speak with.” Light! Was it him, or was she beginning to seem a lot like a Wise One? Was that what Seonid and the others were doing in the Aiel camp? Learning to become more stubborn? Light help them all.

  “Regardless,” Seonid continued, “it was wise of us to visit Caemlyn. Rumor cannot be trusted, particularly not when one of the Forsaken was said to be operating in the area.”

  “One of the Forsaken?” Gallenne asked. “In Andor?”

  Perrin nodded, waving for another cup of warmed tea. “Rand said it was Rahvin, though I was in the Two Rivers when the battle happened.” The colors swirled in Perrin’s head. “Rahvin was impersonating one of the local noblemen, a man named Gabral or Gabil or some such. He used the Queen—made her fall in love with him, or something—and then killed her.”

  A serving tray hit the ground with a muted peal.

  Porcelain cups shattered, tea spraying into the air. Perrin spun, cursing, and several of the Maidens leaped to their feet, clutching belt knives.

  Maighdin stood, looking stunned, arms at her sides. The fallen tray lay on the ground before her.

  “Maighdin!” Faile said. “Are you all right?”

  The sun-haired serving woman turned to Perrin, looking dazed. “If you please, my Lord, will you repeat what you said?”

  “What?” Perrin asked. “Woman, what’s wrong?”

  “You said one of the Forsaken had taken up residence in Andor,” Maighdin said, voice calm. She gave him as sharp a look as he’d gotten from any Aes Sedai. “Are you certain of what you heard?”

  Perrin settled back on his cushion, scratching his chin. “Sure as I can be. It’s been some time, now, but I know Rand was convinced. He fought someone with the One Power in the Andoran palace.”

  “His name was Gaebril,” Sulin said. “I was there. Lightning struck from an open sky, and there was no doubt it was the One Power. It was one of the Shadowsouled.”

  “There were some in Andor who claimed the Car’a’carn spoke of this,” Edarra added. “He said that this Gaebril had been using forbidden weaves on wetlanders in the palace, twisting their minds, making them think and do as he wished.”

  “Maighdin, what’s wrong?” Perrin asked. “Light, woman, he’s dead now! You needn’t fear.”

  “I must be excused,” Maighdin said. She walked from the pavilion, leaving the tray and broken porcelain, bone white, scattered on the ground.

  “I will see to her later,” Faile said, embarrassed. “She is distraught to find that she’d lived so close to one of the Forsaken. Perhaps she has family in Caemlyn.”

  The others nodded, and other servants moved forward to clean up the mess. Perrin realized he wasn’t going to be getting any more tea. Fool man, he thought. You lived most your life without being able to order tea on command. You won’t die now that you can’t get a refill by waving your hand.

  “Let’s move on,” he said, settling on his cushions. He could never quite get comfortable on the blasted things.

  “My report is finished,” Seonid said, pointedly ignoring the servant who was cleaning up porcelain shards in front of her.

  “I stand by my earlier decision,” Perrin said. “Dealing with the Whitecloaks is important. After that we’ll go to Andor, and I’ll talk to Elayne. Grady, how are you managing?”

  The weathered Asha’man looked up from where he sat in his black coat. “I’m fully recovered from my sickness, my Lord, and Neald almost is as well.”

  “You still look tired,” Perrin said.

  “I am,” Grady said, “but burn me, I’m better than I was many a day in the field before I went to the Black Tower.”

  “It’s time to start sending some of these refugees where they belong,” Perrin said. “With those circles, you can keep a gateway open longer?”

  “I’m not right sure. Being in a circle is still tiring. Maybe more so. But I can make much larger gateways with the help of the women, wide enough to drive two wagons through.”

  “Good. We’ll start by sending the ordinary folk home. Each person we see back where they belong will be a stone off my back.”

  “And if they don’t want to go?” Tam asked. “A lot of them have started the training, Perrin. They know what’s coming, and they’d rather face it here—with you—than cower in their homes.”

  Light! Were there no people in this camp who wanted to go back to their families? “Surely there are some of them who want to go back.”

  “Some,” Tam said.

  “Remember,” Faile said, “the weak and the aged were sent away by the Aiel.”

  Arganda nodded. “I’ve looked in on these troops. More and more of the gai’shain are coming out of their stupor, and when they do, they’re hard. Hard as many soldiers I’ve known.”

  “Some will want to check on family,” Tam said, “but only if you’ll let them back. They can see that sky. They know what’s coming.”

  “For now, we’ll send back the ones that want to go and remain in their homes,” Perrin said. “I can’t deal with the others until after I’m done with the Whitecloaks.”

  “Excellent,” Gallenne said eagerly. “You have a plan of attack?”

  “Well,” Perrin said, “I figure that if they’re going to be companionable enough to line up, we’ll have at them with my archers and channelers and destroy them.”

  “I approve of this plan,” Gallenne said, “so long as my men can charge to deal with the rabble left at the end.”

  “Balwer,” Perrin said. “Write the Whitecloaks. Tell them we’ll fight, and that they should pick a place.”

  As he said the words, he felt a strange reluctance. It seemed such a waste to kill so many who could fight against the Shadow. But he didn’t see a way around it.

  Balwer nodded, smelling fierce. What had the Whitecloaks done to Balwer? The dusty secretary was fascinated with them.

  The meeting began to break up. Perrin stepped to the tent’s open side and watched the separate groups leave, Alliandre and Arganda moving toward their section of the camp. Faile walked beside Berelain; oddly, the two were chatting together. Their scents said they were angry, but their words sounded companionable. What were those two up to?

  Only a few wet stains on the ground inside the tent remained of the dropped tray. What was wrong with Maighdin? Erratic behavior like that was disturbing; all too often, it was followed by some manifestation of the Dark One’s power.

  “My Lord?” a voice asked, preceded by a quiet cough. Perrin turned, realizing that Balwer was waiting behind him. The secretary stood with hands clasped before him, looking like a pile of sticks that children had dressed up in an old shirt and coat.

  “Yes?” Perrin asked.

  “I happened to overhear several items of, ah, some interest while visiting the scholars of Cairhien.”


  “You found the supplies, right?”

  “Yes, yes. I am quite well stocked. Please, a moment. I do believe you’ll be interested in what I overheard.”

  “Go ahead, then,” Perrin said, walking back into the pavilion. The last of the others had left.

  Balwer spoke in a soft voice. “First off, my Lord, it appears that the Children of the Light are in league with the Seanchan. It is common knowledge now, and I worry that the force ahead of us was planted to—”

  “Balwer,” Perrin interrupted, “I know you hate the Whitecloaks, but you’ve already told me that news a half-dozen times over.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Nothing more about the Whitecloaks,” Perrin said, holding up a hand. “Unless it’s specific news about this force ahead of us. Do you have any of that?”

  “No, my Lord.”

  “All right, then. Was there anything else you wanted to tell me?”

  Balwer showed no signs of annoyance, but Perrin could smell dissatisfaction. Light knew that the Whitecloaks had plenty to answer for, and Perrin didn’t blame Balwer for his hatred, but it did grow wearying.

  “Well, my Lord,” Balwer continued, “I would hazard that the tales of the Dragon Reborn wanting a truce with the Seanchan are more than idle hearsay. Several sources indicate that he has sued their leader for peace.”

  “But what did he do to his hand?” Perrin asked, dispelling yet another image of Rand from his vision.

  “What was that, my Lord?”

  “Nothing,” Perrin said.

  “In addition,” Balwer said, reaching into his sleeve, “there are an alarming number of these traveling among cutpurses, slipfingers and footpads in Cairhien.” He pulled out a sheet of paper with a sketch of Perrin’s face on it. The likeness was alarmingly good. Perrin took the paper, frowning. There were no words on it. Balwer handed him a second one, identical to the first. A third paper followed, this one with a picture of Mat.