Corele frowned. "Child, are you saying that you lied about the things you've seen?"
"No," Min said. "But if Rand loses, there is no Pattern."
"The girl is correct." Cadsuane sounded surprised. "What this child sees are weavings in the Pattern from a time still distant—but if the Dark One wins, he will destroy the Pattern entirely. This is the only way the visions could fail to occur. The same holds for other prophecies and Foretellings. Our victory is by no means sure."
That stilled the room. They weren't playing at village politics or national dominance. At stake was creation itself.
Light. Can I withhold this information if there's any chance of it helping Lan? It wrenched her heart to think of him, and she had few options. In fact, Lan's only hope seemed to rest in the armies Rand could marshal and the gateways his people could form.
Rand had to change. For Lan. For them all. And she had no idea what to do other than, unfortunately, to trust Cadsuane. Nynaeve swallowed her pride and spoke. "Do you know the location of a statue of an enormous sword, fallen to the earth as if stabbing it?"
Corele and Merise glanced at each other in confusion.
"The hand of the amahn'rukane." Cadsuane turned from Min with a raised eyebrow. "The full statue was never finished, from what scholars can tell. It rests near the Jehannah Road."
"Perrin is camping in its shadow."
Cadsuane pursed her lips. "I assumed he would go eastward, toward lands al'Thor has captured." She took a deep breath. "All right. We are going for him right now." She hesitated, then glanced at Nynaeve. "In answer to your question earlier, child, Perrin actually isn't important to our plans."
"He isn't?" Nynaeve asked. "But—"
Cadsuane raised a finger. "There are people with him who are vital. One in particular."
CHAPTER 45
The Tower Stands
Egwene walked slowly through the rebel camp, wearing a crimson gown, its skirts divided for riding. The color raised not a few eyebrows. Considering what the Red Ajah had done, these Aes Sedai weren't likely to wear the hue. Even the camp's serving women had noticed, selling their red and maroon dresses or cutting them up for rags.
Egwene had asked for the crimson specifically. In the Tower, sisters had formed the habit of wearing only their own Ajah's color, and the practice had helped fuel the division. While it was good to be proud of your Ajah affiliation, it was dangerous to begin assuming that you couldn't trust anyone wearing other colors.
Egwene was all Ajahs. Today, the red symbolized many things to her. The impending reunification with the Red Ajah. A reminder of the division that needed to be righted. A sign of the blood that would be spilled, the blood of good men who fought to defend the White Tower.
The blood of the dead Aes Sedai, beheaded not an hour ago by Egwene s order.
Siuan had found her Great Serpent ring; it felt very good to have it on her finger again.
The sky was an iron gray, and the scent of dirt rose into the air, accompanying the bustling motion around the camp. Women hurriedly washed clothing, as if they were late in getting their patrons ready for a festival. Novices ran—literally ran—from lesson to lesson. Aes Sedai stood about with arms folded, eyes ready to burn any who didn't keep up the tempo.
They sense the tension of the day, Egwene thought. And can't help but be made anxious by it. The night before, with its attack by the Seanchan. Followed by the return of the Amyrlin, who had spent the morning cleansing the Aes Sedai. And now afternoon, and the beating drums of war.
She doubted that Bryne's own camp was in such a state. He'd have his men ready for attack; he probably could have assaulted the White Tower at a moment's notice on any given day of the siege. His soldiers would decide this war. Egwene would not have her Aes Sedai riding into battle, wriggling around their oaths not to use the Power to kill. They would wait here, to be called only for Healing.
;Because," he said, striding toward the keep, voice growing almost too soft to hear, "I ... have a debt to you for caring when I cannot. If you seek Perrin out, tell him that I will soon need him."
With that, he left her.
Nynaeve stood in the horse yard, watching him go. There was a wet scent to the air, the smell of new rain, and she could feel that she'd missed a sprinkle. Not enough to clear the air or muddy the ground, but enough to leave wetted sections of stone in shaded corners. To her right, men galloped and exercised horses beneath the dun sky, riding across sandy earth between pickets. The Stone was the only fortress she knew of with exercise areas for cavalry—but, then, the Stone was far from ordinary.
The rumble of hoofbeats was like the sound of a distant storm, and she found herself glancing northward. The storm there felt closer than it had before. She'd assumed it was gathering in the Blight, but now she wasn't so certain.
She took a deep breath, then hastened to the keep. She passed Defenders in their immaculate uniforms, the upper arm portions ribbed and puffy, breastplates smooth and curved. She passed stableboys, each probably dreaming of one day wearing that same uniform, but for now only leading horses back to the stables for hay and currying. She passed dozens of servants in linens, doubtless far more comfortable than Nynaeve's maroon wool.
The keep itself was a towering rock of a structure, sheer walls broken only by windows. Except that she could still spot the place where Mat had destroyed a section of stone with his Illuminator's fireworks when coming to rescue Nynaeve and the others from their imprisonment. Fool boy. Where was he? She hadn't seen him in ... in quite a long time. Since Ebou Dar had fallen to the Seanchan. In a way, she felt as though she'd abandoned him, though she'd never admit that. Why, she'd embarrassed herself enough in front of the Daughter of the Nine Moons when she'd defended that scoundrel! She still didn't know what had come over her.
Mat could care for himself. He was probably carousing in some inn while the rest of them worked to save the world—drinking himself silly and playing at dice. Rand was another matter. He'd been so much easier to deal with when he'd continued to act like other men—stubborn and immature, but predictable. This new Rand with the cold emotions and the cold voice was truly unnerving.
The narrow corridors of the Stone were still unfamiliar to Nynaeve, and she often got lost. Her disorientation wasn't helped by the fact that hallways and walls sometimes changed places. She'd tried to discount such tales as superstitious nonsense, but the day before, she'd woken to discover that her room had indeed suddenly and mysteriously moved. Her door had opened to a smooth wall of the same seamless rock as the Stone itself. She'd been forced to escape through a gateway, and had been shocked to learn that her window looked out from a location two stories higher than it had the previous night!