The Gathering Storm

"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. / 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, Sberiam, Egwene thought. / 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, whitefaced. 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?"