Lord of Chaos (The Wheel of Time 6)

“Don’t move!” In a disgusted tone he added, “Burn him, it seems it ripples if you move. I’ll fasten it to the floor, but you still can’t jump about. I don’t know how big I can make it, and this is no time to find out.” Somara’s mouth had fallen open, though she snapped it shut quickly.

Fasten what to the floor? What was he talking —? It came to her so suddenly that she forgot to wonder who the “him” was. Rand had woven saidin around her. Her eyes widened; she was breathing too quickly, but she could not stop. How close was it? Every shred of reason told her the taint could not seep out of whatever he channeled; he had touched her with saidin before, but if anything, that thought only made it worse. Instinctively she narrowed her shoulders and held her skirts close in front of her.

“What —? What did you do?” She was very proud of her voice, a trifle unsteady maybe, but nothing like the wail she wanted to let out.

“Look in that mirror,” he laughed. Laughed!

Grumpily she obeyed — and gasped. There in the silvered glass was the gilded chair on its dais. Some of the rest of the room. But not her. “I’m . . . invisible,” she breathed. Once Moiraine had hidden them all behind a screen of saidar, but how had he learned it?

“Much better than hiding under my bed,” he said, speaking to air a good hand to the right of her head. As if that had ever entered her mind! “I want you to see how respectful I can be. Besides,” his tone became more serious, “maybe you’ll see something I miss. Maybe you’ll even be willing to tell me.” With a bark of a laugh he leaped onto the dais, scooped up the tasseled spearhead and took his seat. “Send them in, Somara. Let the embassy of the White Tower approach the Dragon Reborn.” His twisted smile made Egwene almost as uncomfortable as the nearness of woven saidin. How close was the bloody stuff?

Somara vanished, and in moments the doors opened wide.

A plump, stately woman who could only be Coiren led the way in a dark blue gown, flanked a pace to the rear by Nesune in plain brown wool and a raven-haired Aes Sedai in green silk, a pretty, round-faced woman with a plump, demanding mouth. Egwene wished Aes Sedai always wore the colors of their Ajah — Whites did at every chance — because whatever that woman was, she would not believe her Green, not with the hard stare she gave Rand from her first step into the room. Cold serenity barely masked her contempt, perhaps did mask it for anyone not used to Aes Sedai. Would Rand see? Maybe not; he seemed to be concentrating on Coiren, whose face was completely unreadable. Nesune, of course, took in everything, bird-like eyes darting this way and that.

Right then, Egwene was very glad of the cloak he had woven for her. She started to dab at her face with the handkerchief she still held, then froze. He said he would fix it to the floor. Had he? Light, she might be standing there naked for all she knew. Except that Nesune’s gaze swept past without pausing. Sweat rolled down Egwene’s face. It poured. Burn the man! She would have been perfectly happy hiding under his bed.

Behind the Aes Sedai came a full dozen more women, plainly dressed, with coarse linen dustcloaks hanging down their backs. Most were stocky, but they labored under the weight of two chests, not small, the polished brass strapping worked with the Flame of Tar Valon. The serving women set the chests down with audible sighs of relief, furtively working arms and knuckling backs as the doors swung shut, and Coiren and the other two sank into curtsies in perfect unison, though not very deeply.

Rand was down out of the chair before they straightened. The glow of saidar surrounded the Aes Sedai, all three together; they had linked. Egwene tried to remember what she had seen, how they did it; despite the glow, nothing ruffled their outward calm as Rand strode by them to the serving women and peered into each face in turn.

What was he —? Of course; making sure none had the ageless face of an Aes Sedai. Egwene shook her head, then froze again. He was a fool if he thought that enough. Most wore too much age — not all old by any means, but you could put an age to them — yet two were young enough to be Aes Sedai not long raised. They were not — Egwene could only sense the ability in the three Aes Sedai, and she was close enough — but he certainly could not tell by looking.

Tipping up one solid young woman’s chin, he smiled into her eyes. “Do not be afraid,” he said softly. She swayed as if she might faint. With a sigh, Rand spun on his heel. He did not look at the Aes Sedai as he passed them. “You will not channel around me,” he said firmly. “Let it go.” A brief look of speculation crossed Nesune’s face, but the other two serenely watched him take his seat. Rubbing his arm — Egwene had been there when he learned that tingle — he spoke in a harder tone. “I said you will not channel around me. Or even embrace saidar.”

A stretched-out moment, while Egwene prayed silently. What would he do if they held on to the Source? Try to cut them off? Cutting a woman off from saidar once she embraced it was far harder than shielding her beforehand. She was not certain even he could manage it with three women, and linked to boot. Worse, what would they do if he tried anything at all? The glow vanished, and she barely stopped a heavy sigh of relief. Whatever he had done made her invisible, but plainly it did not stop sound.

“Much better.” Rand’s smile took them all in, but it never reached his eyes. “Let us begin again from the beginning. You are honored guests, you only entered this very moment.”

They understood, of course. He had not been guessing. Coiren stiffened slightly, and the raven-haired woman’s eyes actually widened. Nesune merely nodded to herself, adding to her mental notes. Egwene hoped desperately that he would b

e careful. Nesune would not miss anything.

With a visible effort Coiren gathered herself, smoothing her dress and very nearly adjusting the shawl she was not wearing. “I have the honor,” she announced in ringing tones, “to be Coiren Saeldain Aes Sedai, Ambassador from the White Tower and emissary of Elaida do Avriny a’Roihan, the Watcher of the Seals, the Flame of Tar Valon, the Amyrlin Seat.” Somewhat less florid introductions, though with the full honorific Aes Sedai, named the other two; the hard-eyed woman was Galina Casban.

“I am Rand al’Thor.” The simplicity was a marked contrast. They had not mentioned the Dragon Reborn and neither had he, but somehow his leaving it out seemed to make the title whisper faintly in the room.

Coiren drew a deep breath, moved her head as if hearing that whisper. “We bring a gracious invitation to the Dragon Reborn. The Amyrlin Seat is fully cognizant that signs have been given and prophecies fulfilled, that . . . ” Those deep round tones took little time to reach the point, that Rand should accompany them, “in all honor as deserved,” to the White Tower, and that if he accepted this invitation, Elaida offered not only the protection of the Tower, but the full weight of its authority and influence behind him. Another goodly bit of flowery speech flowed before she finished with, “ . . . and in token of this, the Amyrlin Seat sends this trifling gift.”

She turned toward the chests, raising her hand, then hesitated with the faintest grimace. She had to gesture twice before the servants understood and lifted the brass-strapped lids; apparently she had planned to fling them open with saidar. Leather sacks filled the chests. At another, sharper, gesture, the serving women began untying them.

Egwene swallowed a gasp. No wonder those women had struggled! The opened sacks spilled gold coins of every size, sparkling rings and glittering necklaces and unset gems. Even if those below held dross, it was a fortune.

Leaning back in that thronelike chair, Rand looked at the chests with a near smile. The Aes Sedai studied him, faces masks of composure, yet Egwene thought she detected a hint of complacency in Coiren’s eyes, a faint increase of contempt on Galina’s full lips. Nesune . . . Nesune was the real danger.

Abruptly the lids snapped down without a hand touching them, and the serving women leaped back, not bothering to muffle their squeals. The Aes Sedai stiffened, and Egwene prayed as hard as she sweated. She wanted him arrogant and a touch insolent, but just enough to put their backs up, not to the point of making them decide to try gentling him on the spot.

Suddenly it occurred to her that so far he had shown nothing of that “humble as a mouse.” He had never intended to. The man had been toying with her! If she were not too frightened to be sure of her knees, she would go over and box his ears.

“A great deal of gold,” Rand said. He seemed relaxed, his smile taking in his whole face. “I can always find a use for gold.” Egwene blinked. He sounded almost greedy!

Coiren answered with a smile of her own, a definite picture of poised self-satisfaction now. “The Amyrlin Seat is, of course, most generous. When you reach the White Tower — ”

“When I reach the Tower,” Rand cut in as though thinking aloud. “Yes, I look forward to the day I stand in the Tower.” He leaned forward, elbow on his knee and Dragon Scepter dangling. “It will take a little time, you understand. I have commitments to meet first, here, in Andor, elsewhere.”

Coiren’s mouth tightened for just an instant. Her voice remained as smooth and round as ever, though. “We surely have no objections to resting a few days before we begin the return journey to Tar Valon. In the meanwhile, may I suggest that one of us remain close at hand, to offer advice should you wish it? We have, of course, heard of Moiraine’s unfortunate demise. I cannot offer myself, but Nesune or Galina would be most willing.”

Rand studied the named pair with a frown, and Egwene held her breath. He seemed to be listening to something again, or listening for something. Nesune examined him in return as openly as he did her. Galina’s fingers stroked her skirts unconsciously.