The Gathering Storm

Sheriam hesitated. Her first instinct was to lie or hedge—this seemed like information she could hold over the figure. But lying to one of the Chosen? A poor choice. "We had twenty," Sheriam said truthfully. "But one was with the woman Leane, who was captured. That leaves us with nineteen." Just enough for Egwene's meetings in the World of Dreams— one for each of the Sitters and one for Sheriam herself.

"Yes," the figure hissed, shrouded in darkness. "Useful indeed. Steal the sleepweavers, then give them to me. This rabble has no business treading where the Chosen walk."

"I. . . ." Steal the ter'angreal? How was she going to manage that! "I live to serve, Great Mistress."

"Yes you do. Do these things for me, and you will find yourself greatly rewarded. Fail me. . . ." The figure contemplated for a moment. "You have three days. Each of the sleepweavers you fail to acquire in that time will cost you a finger or a toe." With that, the Chosen opened a gateway right in the middle of the room, then vanished through it. Sheriam caught a glimpse of the familiar tiled hallways of the White Tower on the other side.

Steal the sleepweavers! All nineteen of them? In three days? Darkness above! Sheriam thought. / should have lied about the number we had! Why didn't I lie?

She remained kneeling, breathing in and out, for a long time, thinking about her predicament. Her period of peace was at an end, it appeared.

It had been brief.

"She will be tried, of course," Seaine said. The soft-spoken White sat on a chair provided for her by the two Reds guarding Egwene's cell.

The cell door was open, and Egwene sat on a stool inside—also provided by the Reds. Those two guards, plump Cariandre and stern Pa-trinda, watched carefully from the hallway, both holding the Source and maintaining Egwene's shield. They looked as if they expected her to dart away, scrambling for freedom.

Egwene ignored them. Her two days of imprisonment had not been pleasant, but she would suffer them with dignity. Even if they locked her away in a tiny room with a door that wouldn't let in light. Even if they refused to let her change from the bloodied novice dress. Even if they beat her each day for how she had treated Elaida. Egwene would not bow.

The Reds reluctantly allowed her visitors, as stipulated by Tower law. Egwene was surprised she had visitors, but Seaine wasn't the only one who had come to her. Several had been Sitters. Curious. Nevertheless, Egwene was starved for news. How was the Tower reacting to Egwene's imprisonment? Were the rifts between the Ajahs still deep and wide, or had her work started to bridge them?

"Elaida broke Tower law quite explicitly," Seaine explained. "And it was witnessed by five Sitters of five different Ajahs. She has tried to forestall a trial, but was unsuccessful. However, there were some who listened to her argument."

"Which was?" Egwene asked.

"That you are a Darkfriend," Seaine said. "And, because of it, she expelled you from the Tower, and then beat you."

Egwene felt a chill. If Elaida was able to get enough support for that argument. . . .

"It will not stand," Seaine said, consolingly. "This is not some backward village, where the Dragon's Fang scrawled on someone's door is enough to convict."

is insane, Gawyn thought. There's never in all of history been an Aes Sedai who could force herself to adopt that kind of posture.

Bryne stepped up beside him. Gawyn stooped down, trying to get a look at the woman's face. She bowed down further, scrubbing more furiously at the shirt in the trough before her.

"Woman," Gawyn said. "May I see your face?"

She didn't respond. Gawyn looked up at Bryne. Hesitantly, the general reached down and pushed back the plump woman's kerchief. The face underneath was distinctly Aes Sedai, with that unmistakable ageless quality. She didn't look up. She just kept working.

"I said it wouldn't work," said a hefty woman nearby. The woman rose and waddled down the line, wearing a tentlike dress of green and brown. " 'My Lady,' I told her, 'you can do as you wish, I ain't one to refuse such as you, but someone's going to notice you.' "

"You're in charge of the washwomen," Bryne said.

The large woman nodded firmly, her red curls bouncing. "Indeed I am, General." She turned to the Aes Sedai, curtsying. "Lady Tagren, I did warn you. Light burn me, but I did. I'm right sorry."

The woman called Tagren bowed her head. Were those tears on her cheeks? Was that even possible? What was going on?

"My Lady," Bryne said, squatting down beside her. "Are you Aes Sedai? If you are, and you command me to leave, I will do so without question."

A good way to approach it. If she really was Aes Sedai, she couldn't lie.

"I'm not Aes Sedai," the woman whispered.

Bryne looked up at Gawyn, frowning. What did it mean if she said that? An Aes Sedai couldn't lie. So. ...

The woman softly said, "My name is Shemerin. I was Aes Sedai, once. But no more. Not since. . . ." She looked down again. "Please. Just leave me to work in my shame."

"I will," Bryne said. Then he hesitated. "But I'll need you to talk to some sisters from the camp first. They'd have my ears if I don't bring you in to speak with them."