“His fault?” Ladalin said, understanding—perhaps for the first time—why that statement was wrong. “No. Aiel take responsibility for themselves. This is our fault, and not that of my distant greatfather. We have forgotten who we are. We are without honor.”
“Our honor was taken from us,” Takai said, sighing as he stood. “People of the Dragon indeed. What is the good of being his people? We were crafted to be a spear, the legends say, forged in the Three-fold Land. He used us, then cast us away. What is a discarded spear to do, but go to war?”
What indeed, Ladalin thought. The Dragon had demanded peace, thinking that it would bring happiness to the Aiel. But how could they be happy, when the Light-cursed Seanchan were in the land? Her hatred of the invaders ran deep.
Perhaps that hatred had destroyed the Aiel. She listened to the wind howl as Takai stalked from the tent. On the morrow the Aiel would return to the Three-fold Land. If they would not accept peace themselves, it seemed they would have to have it forced upon them.
Aviendha took another step forward. She’d nearly reached the very center of the columns, and shards of light sparkled around her.
Her tears flowed freely now. She felt like a child. Being Ladalin had been worse than the others, for in her, Aviendha had seen hints of true Aiel ways, but corrupted, as if to make mockery. The woman had thought of war and associated it with honor, but hadn’t understood what honor was. No gai’shain? Retreat? There had been no mention of toh. This was battle stripped completely of point or reason.
Why fight? For Ladalin, it had been about hatred of the Seanchan. There was war because there had always been war.
How? How had this happened to the Aiel?
Aviendha took a step forward.
She was Oncala, Maiden of the Spear. She would eventually give the spear up and marry, just as her mother had and her mother’s mother before her. But now was the time to fight.
She strode through the streets of Caemlyn, her near-sister carrying the banner of the Dragon to announce her lineage. Next to Oncala was the man for whom she would likely give up her spears. Hehyal, Dawn Runner, had killed more Seanchan than any of his society, gaining much ji. He had been granted permission to travel to Rhuidean last year to become clan chief.
Rhuidean. The city was besieged by Seanchan. Oncala sneered. Seanchan had no honor. They had been told that Rhuidean was a place for peace. The Aiel did not assault the palace in Ebou Dar. The Seanchan should not attack Rhuidean.
They were lizards. It was a source of constant frustration that, after decades of war, the battle lines remained nearly the same as they had been after her greatfather went to Shayol Ghul.
She and Hehyal were accompanied by two thousand spears as a guard of honor. Queen Talana knew to expect them, and so the white Andoran palace gates were open. Hehyal waved for fifty spears, preselected, to walk with them through the fine halls. Lushness abounded here in the palace. Each tapestry, each vase, each golden frame seemed an insult to Oncala. Forty years of war, and Andor had not been touched. It lay safe, basking in the protection the Aiel defense gave them.
Well, Andor would see. The Aiel had grown stronger through their fighting. Once, their prowess had been legendary. Now it was greater! When the Aiel had destroyed the Seanchan, the world would see what the Aiel had learned. The wetland rulers would wish they had been more generous.
The throne room doors were open; Oncala and Hehyal entered, leaving their escort. The banner of the Dragon flew here, too, a reminder that the Andoran royal line also carried the lineage of the Car’a’carn. One more reason for Oncala to hate them. The Andoran nobility thought themselves her equals.
Queen Talana was a middle-aged woman with deep, lustrous red hair. Not very pretty, but very regal. She was speaking quietly with one of her advisors, and she waved for the Aiel to wait. An insult, deliberate. Oncala fumed.
Finally, they were summoned to approach the Lion Throne. Talana’s brother, her protector, stood behind her in court clothing—a vest and coat—hand on his sword. Oncala could have killed him while barely breaking a sweat.
“Ah,” Queen Talana said. “The Taardad Aiel again. You still carry the spear, Oncala?”
Oncala folded her arms, but said nothing. She knew she was not good with people. When she spoke, insults were too common. Better to let the clan chief take the lead.
“I assume you’re here to beg for aid again,” Talana said.
Hehyal flushed, and Oncala wished—for a moment—she hadn’t left her spear outside.
“We have something for you,” Hehyal said, taking out a leather pouch and handing it to one of the Queen’s Guards. The man opened it, inspecting the papers inside. Another insult. Must they be treated like assassins? Oncala did not like the Queen, true, but her family and Talana’s were sworn to allegiance because of their greatmothers, who had been first-sisters.
The soldier handed the Queen the papers. Talana perused them, face growing concerned and thoughtful.
Talana, like most of the rulers beneath the Dragon’s Peace, worried about the Seanchan. The Raven Empire’s techniques and skill with shaping the One Power were growing. The Aiel had them held at a stalemate, for now. What would happen if the Seanchan won? Would they hold to their oaths?
How much could the Seanchan be trusted? Hehyal’s agents had spent a great deal of time over the last decade seeding that very question among the great courts of the world. He was a wise man. Even before he had become chief, he had realized that this war could not be won by the Aiel alone. They needed these soft wetlanders.
And that was the final reason Oncala hated them.
“Where did you get these?” Talana asked.
“From the Seanchan palace,” Hehyal said. “They should not have struck at Rhuidean. By honor, that allowed us to reciprocate—though our attack was done quietly to recover these. I had long suspected where they were located, and only my honor in not breaching the Seanchan sacred palace held me back.”
Talana’s face grew hard. “You’re certain these are authentic?”
“You question me?” Hehyal asked.
Queen Talana shook her head, looking troubled. She knew that the Aiel did not lie.
“We have been patient with you,” Hehyal said. “We have come to you and explained what will happen if we cannot hold off the Seanchan.”
“The Dragon’s Peace—”
“What care do they have for the Dragon?” Hehyal asked. “They are invaders who forced him to bow to their Empress. She is considered above him. They will not keep promises they made to an inferior.”
Queen Talana looked down again. The documents were Seanchan plans for attacking Andor, along with a detailed plot for the assassination of the Queen. Underneath that were similar plans for dealing with the rulers of Tear, the Two Rivers, and Illian.
“I must have time to consult with my advisors,” Talana said.
We have her, Oncala thought, smiling. Oncala already knew what the Queen’s answer would be. The trick had been to get her to consider action.
Hehyal nodded, and the two of them withdrew. Oncala had to keep herself from yelling in victory. If Andor entered the war, the other nations would as well, particularly those in the Pact of the Griffin and those in the Court of the Sun. They looked to the Andoran Queen much as the other Aiel clans looked to Oncala. The blood of Rand al’Thor held much weight.
“Is this right?” Hehyal asked as they walked, their spears surrounding them to keep away prying ears.
Oncala started. “It was your plan.”
He nodded, frowning.
Nothing he had said to the Queen had been untrue. Their honor was unsoiled. However, Hehyal had left out one of the sheets they’d discovered. That one had explained that the other sheets were contingency plans.
The descriptions of Andor’s military forces, suggestions on how to use gateways and dragons to attack Caemlyn, the very plot to assassinate Queen Talana—these had been drawn up only in case Andor entered the war. They were me
ant as a preemptive study on a potential enemy, not an actual plan to attack.
It was virtually the same thing. The Seanchan were snakes. They would seize Andor eventually, and by then the Aiel might be unable to help. If this war went badly, her people would go to the Three-fold Land and leave the foolish wetlanders to be conquered. The Seanchan would find it impossible to fight the Aiel in their homeland.
Much better for Queen Talana to enter the war now. For her own good, it was best she never saw that other sheet.
“It is done,” Hehyal said. “There is no room for question now.”
Oncala nodded. The Seanchan would fall, and the Aiel would take their rightful place. The blood of the Dragon Reborn was in her veins. She deserved to rule.
It would not be the Raven Empire that rose at the end of this all, but the Dragon Empire.
“I don’t want to go on,” Aviendha said to the empty forest of glass.
The breeze had fallen still. Her comment was met with silence. Her tears had marked the dust by her feet, like fallen drops of rain.
“That…creature had no honor,” she said. “She has ruined us.”
The worst part was, the woman—Oncala—had thought of her mother’s mother. Her greatmother. Inside Oncala’s head, there had been a face attached to that title. Aviendha had recognized it.
As her own.
Cringing, closing her eyes, she stepped forward into the very center of the radiant columns.
She was Padra, daughter of the Dragon Reborn, proud Maiden of the Spear. She yanked her weapon from the neck of a dying Seanchan, then watched the rest flee through their gateway.
Light curse the one who taught the Seanchan Traveling, Padra thought. Even if their weaves aren’t very elegant.
She was convinced that no living person understood the One Power as she and her siblings did. She’d been able to weave since she’d been a child, and her brothers and sister were the same. To them, it was natural, and all others who channeled seemed awkward by comparison.
She was careful not to speak that way. Aes Sedai and Wise Ones didn’t like being reminded of their shortcomings. It was true nonetheless.
Padra joined her spear-sisters. They left one of their number dead on the grass, and Padra mourned for her. Tarra, of the Taardad Aiel. She would be remembered. But honor was theirs, for they had slain eight Seanchan soldiers.
She wove a gateway—for her, it happened as fast as she could think. She held the One Power perpetually, even while she slept. She’d never known what it was like not to have that comforting, surging Power in the back of her mind. Others said they feared being consumed by it, but how was that possible? Saidar was a piece of her, like her arm or her leg. How could one be consumed by one’s own flesh, bone and blood?
The gateway led to the Aiel camp in the land called Arad Doman. The camp wasn’t a city; Aiel didn’t have cities. But it was a very large camp, and it had not moved in almost a decade. Padra strode across the grass, and Aiel in cadin’sor showed her deference. Padra and her siblings, as children of the Dragon, had become…something to the Aiel.
Not lords—that concept made her sick. But she was more than an ordinary algai’d’siswai. The clan chiefs looked to her and her siblings for advice, and the Wise Ones took special interest in them. They allowed her to channel, though she was not one of them. She could no sooner stop channeling than she could stop breathing.
She dismissed her spear-sisters, then made her way directly to Ronam’s tent. The clan chief—son of Rhuarc—would need to hear her report. She entered and was surprised to see that Ronam was not alone. A group of men sat on the rug, clan chiefs every one. Her siblings were sitting there as well.
“Ah, Padra,” Ronam said. “You have returned.”
“I can come back another time, Ronam,” she said.
“No, you were wanted for this meeting. Sit and share my shade.”
Padra bowed her head at the honor he showed her. She sat between Alarch and Janduin, her brothers. Though the four siblings were quadruplets, they looked very dissimilar. Alarch took more after their wetlander side, and had dark hair. Janduin was blond and tall. Beside him sat Marinna, their sister, small of build with a round face.
“I should report,” Padra said to Ronam, “that the Seanchan patrol was where we thought. We engaged them.”
There were uncomfortable mumbles about that.
“It is not against the Dragon’s Peace for them to enter Arad Doman,” said Tavalad, clan chief of the Goshien Aiel.
“Nor is it wrong for us to kill them for getting too close, clan chief,” Padra replied. “The Aiel are not bound by the Dragon’s Peace. If the Seanchan wish to risk inspecting our camp, then they need to know that it is a risk.”
Several of the others—more than she would have expected—nodded at that comment. She glanced at Janduin, and he raised an eyebrow. She covertly raised two fingers. Two Seanchan, dead by her spear. She would have liked to take them captive, but the Seanchan did not deserve to become gai’shain. They also made terrible prisoners. Better to spare them the shame and let them die.
“We should speak what we came to say,” said Alalved, chief of the Tomanelle Aiel. Padra did a quick count. All eleven chiefs were accounted for, including those who had blood oaths against one another. A meeting like this hadn’t been seen in years, not since her father had been preparing for the Last Battle.
“And what did we come to say?” asked one of the others.
Alalved shook his head. “The spears grow restless. The Aiel are not meant to grow fat in lush lands, tending crops. We are warriors.”
“The Dragon asked for peace,” Tavalad said.
“The Dragon asked others for peace,” Alalved replied. “He excluded the Aiel.”
“That is true,” said Darvin, chief of the Reyn.
“Do we return to raiding one another after all of these years of holding our blood feuds in abeyance?” Ronam asked softly. He was an excellent clan chief, much as Rhuarc had been. Wise, yet not afraid of battle.
“What would be the point?” asked Shedren, chief of the Daryne Aiel.
Others nodded. But that raised a larger problem, one her mother had often spoken of. What was it to be Aiel, now that their duty to the past had been fulfilled, their toh as a people cleansed?
“How long can we wait,” Alalved said, “knowing that they have Aiel women captive with those bracelets of theirs? It has been years, and they still continue to refuse all offers of payment and barter! They return our civility with rudeness and insults.”
“We are not meant to beg,” said aged Bruan. “The Aiel will soon become milk-fed wetlanders.”
All nodded at his words. Wise Bruan had lived through the Last Battle.
“If only the Seanchan Empress…” Ronam shook his head, and she knew what he was thinking. The old empress, the one who had ruled during the days of the Last Battle, had been considered a woman of honor by Ronam’s father. An understanding had nearly been reached with her, so it was said. But many years had passed since her rule.
“Regardless,” Ronam continued, “the spears clash; our people fight when they meet. It is our nature. If the Seanchan won’t listen to reason, then what cause do we have to leave them be?”
“This peace of the Dragon’s will not last long, anyway,” Alalved said. “Skirmishes between the nations are common, though none speak of them. The Car’a’carn required promises of the monarchs, but there is no enforcement. Many wetlanders cannot be held at their word, and I worry that the Seanchan will devour them while they squabble.”
There were many nods. Only Darvin and Tavalad did not seem convinced.
Padra held her breath. They had known this was coming. The skirmishes with the Seanchan, the restlessness of the clans. She had dreamed of this day, but feared it as well. Her mother had gained great ji in battle. Padra had had few chances to prove herself.
A war with the Seanchan…the prospect invigorated her. But it would also mean much death.
; “What say the Dragon’s children?” Ronam asked, looking at the four of them.
It still seemed strange that these elders looked to her. She checked on saidar, comfortable in the back of her mind, and drew strength from it. What would she do without it?
“I say that we must reclaim our own who are held by the Seanchan,” said Marinna. She was training to become a Wise One.
Alarch seemed uncertain, and he glanced at Janduin. Alarch often deferred to his brother.
“The Aiel must have a purpose,” Janduin said, nodding. “We are useless as we are, and we made no promise not to attack. It is a testament to our patience and respect for my father that we have waited this long.”
Eyes turned to Padra. “They are our enemies,” she said.
One by one, the men in the room nodded. It seemed such a simple event to end years of waiting.
“Go to your clans.” Ronam stood up. “Prepare them.”
Padra remained seated as the others said their farewells, some somber, others excited. Seventeen years was too long for the Aiel to be without battle.
Soon, the tent was empty save for Padra. She waited, staring at the rug before her. War. She was excited, but another part of her was somber. She felt as if she had set the clans on a path that would change them forever.
“Padra?” a voice asked.
She turned to see Ronam standing in the entryway to the tent. She blushed and stood. Though he was ten years her senior, he was quite handsome. She’d never give up the spear, of course, but if she did….
“You seem worried,” he said.
“I was simply thinking.”
“About the Seanchan?”
“About my father,” she replied.
“Ah.” Ronam nodded. “I remember when he first came to Cold Rocks Hold. I was very young.”
“What was your impression of him?”
“He was an impressive man,” Ronam said.
“Nothing else?”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Padra, but I did not spend much time with him. My path led me elsewhere. I…heard things, from my father, though.”
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