The Gathering Storm

Turn her over to the White Tower? That would never happen. Cadsuane wouldn't let Semirhage out of her grip until she got the answers she wanted. The wind still blew outside, his own banners flapping before his eyes.

"Turn her over to the White Tower, you say?" he said, glancing back into the room. "Which White Tower? Would you entrust her to Elaida? Or did you mean the others? I doubt that Egwene would be pleased if I dropped one of the Forsaken in her lap. Egwene might just let Semirhage go and take me captive instead. Force me to kneel before the White Tower's justice and gentle me just to give her another notch in her belt."

Nynaeve frowned. "Rand! Egwene would never—"

"She's Amyrlin," he said, downing his cup of wine in one gulp. It was as putrid as he recalled. "Aes Sedai to the core. I'm just another pawn to her."

Yes, Lews Therin said. We need to stay away from all of them. They refused to help us, you know. Refused! Said my plan was too reckless. That left me with only the Hundred Companions, no women to form a circle. Traitors! This is their fault. But. . . but I'm the one who killed Hyena. Why?

Nynaeve said something, but Rand ignored her. Lews Therin? he said to the voice. What was it you did? The women wouldn't help? Why?

But Lews Therin had begun sobbing again, and his voice grew distant.

"Tell me!" Rand yelled, throwing his cup down. "Burn you, Kinslayer! Speak to me!"

The room fell silent.

Rand blinked. He'd never . . . never tried speaking to Lews Therin out loud where others could hear. And they knew. Semirhage had spoken of the voice that he heard, dismissing Rand as if he were a common madman.

Rand reached up, running a hand through his hair. Or he tried to ... but he used the arm that was only a stump, and it accomplished nothing.

Light! he thought. I'm losing control. Half the time, I don't know which voice is mine and which is his. This was supposed to get better when I cleansed saidin/ / was supposed to be safe. . . .

Not safe, Lews Therin muttered. We were already mad. Can't turn back from that now. He began to cackle, but the laughter turned to sobs.

Rand looked around the room. Min's dark eyes were so worried he had to turn away. Alivia—who had watched the exchange about Semirhage with those penetrating eyes of hers—seemed too knowing. Ny-naeve finally gave in and tugged on her braid. For once, Cadsuane didn't chastise him for his outburst. Instead she just sipped her wine. How could she stand the stuff?

The thought was trivial. Ridiculous. He wanted to laugh. Only, the sound wouldn't come out. He couldn't summon even a wry humor, not anymore. Light! I can't keep this up. My eyes see as if in a fog, my hand is burned away, and the old wounds in my side rip open if I do anything more strenuous than breathe. I'm dry, like an overused well. I need to finish my work here and get to Shayol Ghul.

Otherwise, there won't be anything left of me for the Dark One to kill.

That wasn't a thought to cause laughter; it was one to cause despair. But Rand did not weep, for tears could not come from steel.

For the moment, Lews Therin's cries seemed enough for both of them.

CHAPTER 2

The Nature of Pain

Egwene stood up straight, backside aflame with the now-familiar agony of a solid beating beneath the hands of the Mistress of Novices. She felt like a rug that had just been pounded free of its dust. Despite that, she calmly straightened her white skirts, then turned to the room's mirror and calmly dabbed the tears from the corners of her eyes. Only one tear in each eye this time. She smiled to her reflection, and her twin selves nodded to one another in satisfaction.

A small, dark-paneled room reflected behind her on the mirror's silvery surface. Such a stern place it was, a sturdy stool in the corner, the top darkened and smoothed from years and years of use. A blockish desk, set with the Mistress of Novices' thick tome. The narrow table directly behind Egwene had some carvings, but its leather padding was far more distinctive. Many a novice—and not a few Accepted—had bent down across that table, bearing the punishment for disobedience. Egwene could almost imagine that the table's dark color had come from repeated tearstains. Many of her own had been shed there.

But none today. Only two tears, and neither had fallen from her cheeks. Not that she didn't hurt; her entire body seemed to burn from the pain. Indeed, the severity of those beatings had increased the longer she continued to defy the powers in the White Tower. But as the beatings had grown more frequent and more painful, Egwene's resolve to endure had grown as well. She hadn't yet managed to embrace and accept the pain as the Aiel did, but she felt that she was close. The Aiel could laugh during the most cruel of tortures. Well, she could smile the moment she stood up.

Each lash she endured, each pain she suffered, was a victory. And victory was always a reason for happiness, no matter how one's pride or one's skin burned.

Standing beside the table behind Egwene, reflected in the mirror, was the Mistress of Novices herself. Silviana looked down at the leather strap in her hands, frowning. Her ageless square face seemed just faintly confused; she regarded the strap as one might a knife that refused to cut or a lamp that refused to light.

The woman was of the Red Ajah, a fact reflected in the trim on the hem of her simple gray dress and the fringed shawl on her shoulders. She was tall and stocky and she had her black hair back in a bun. In most ways Egwene considered her a superior Mistress of Novices. Even if she had administered a ridiculous number of punishments to Egwene. Perhaps because of that. Silviana did her duty. Light knew there were few enough in the Tower lately of whom that could be said!

Silviana looked up and met Egwene's eyes in the mirror. She quickly put down the strap and washed all emotion from her face. Egwene turned around calmly.

Uncharacteristically, Silviana sighed. "When will you give this up, child?" she asked. "You've proven your point quite admirably, I must say, but you must know that I will continue to punish you until you submit. Proper order must be maintained."

Egwene held in her shock. The Mistress of Novices rarely addressed Egwene except to offer instruction or reprobation. Still, there had been cracks before. . . .

"Proper order, Silviana?" Egwene asked. "As it has been maintained elsewhere in the Tower?"