A Crown of Swords (The Wheel of Time 7)

“Yes, I do, Moghedien. You may call me Moridin.”

Moghedien gasped. Not for the name; any fool could call himself Death. But a tiny black fleck, just large enough to see, floated straight across one of those blue eyes and then across the other in the same line. This Moridin had tapped into the True Power, and more than once. Much more. She knew that some men who could channel survived in this time aside from al’Thor — this fellow was much of a size with al’Thor — but she had not expected the Great Lord to allow one that particular honor. An honor with a bite, as any of the Chosen knew. In the long run, the True Power was far more addictive than the One Power; a strong will could hold down the desire to draw more saidar or saidin, but she herself did not believe the will existed strong enough to resist the True Power, not once the saa appeared in your eyes. The final price was different, but no less terrible.

“You have been given distinction greater than you know,” she told him. As though her filthy dress was the finest streith, she took the armchair opposite him. “Bring me some of that wine, and I will tell you. Only twenty-nine others have ever been granted — “

To her shock, he laughed. “You misapprehend, Moghedien. You still serve the Great Lord, but not quite as you once did. The time for playing your own games has passed. If you had not managed to do some good by accident, you would be dead now.”

“I am one of the Chosen, boy,” she said, fury burning through caution. She sat up straight, facing him with all the knowledge of an Age that made his little different from times of mud huts. As much of that knowledge as she had, anyway, and in some areas, concerning the One Power, no one outstripped her. She almost embraced the Source no matter how close Shayol Ghul lay. “Your mother probably used my name to frighten you not so many years gone, but know that grown men who could crumple you like a rag sweated when they heard it. You will watch your tongue with me!”

He reached into the open neck of his shirt, and her own tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. Her eyes fixed on the small cage of gold wire and blood-red crystal that he drew out dangling on a cord. She thought vaguely that he tucked another just like it back in, but she had eyes only for her own. It definitely was hers. His thumb stroked, and she felt that caress across her mind, her soul. Breaking a mindtrap did not require much more pressure than he was using. She could be on the other side of the world or farther, and it would not matter a hair. The part of her that was her would be separated; she would still see with her eyes and hear with her ears, taste what crossed her tongue and feel what touched her, but helpless within an automaton that was utterly obedient to whoever held the cour’souvra. Whether or not there was any way to get free of it, a mindtrap was just what its name implied. She could feel the blood draining from her face.

“You understand now?” he said. “You still serve the Great Lord, but now it will be by doing as I say.”

“I understand, Mia’cova,” she said automatically.

Again he laughed, a deep rich sound that mocked her as he put the mindtrap away beneath his shirt. “There is no need for that, now you’ve had your lesson. I will call you Moghedien, and you will call me Moridin. You are still one of the Chosen. Who is there to replace you?”

“Yes, of course, Moridin,” she said tonelessly. Whatever he said, she knew that she was owned.

Chapter 26

The Irrevocable Words

* * *

Morgase lay awake, staring at the ceiling through the moonlit darkness, and tried to think of her daughter.

A single pale linen sheet covered her, but despite the heat she sweated in a thick woolen sleeping gown, laced tightly to the neck. Sweat hardly mattered; no matter how many times she bathed, no matter how hot the water, she did not feel clean. Elayne must be safe in the White Tower. At times it seemed years since she could make herself trust Aes Sedai, yet whatever the paradox, the Tower was surely the safest place for Elayne. She tried to think of Gawyn — he would be in Tar Valon with his sister, full of his pride for her, so earnest in his desire to be her shield when she needed one — and of Galad — why would they not let her see him? She loved him as much as if he had come out of her own body, and in so many ways he needed it more than the other two. She tried to think of them. It was difficult to think of anything except . . . Wide eyes stared up into the darkness, glistening with unshed tears.

She had always thought she was brave enough to do whatever needed doing, to face whatever came; she had always believed she could pick herself up and continue to fight. In one endless hour, without leaving more than a few bruises that were already fading, Rhadam Asunawa had begun teaching her differently. Eamon Valda had completed her education with one question. The bruise her answer had left on her heart had not faded. She should have gone back to Asunawa herself and told him to do his worst. She should have . . . She prayed that Elayne was safe. Perhaps it was not fair to hope more for Elayne than for Galad or Gawyn, but Elayne would be the next Queen of Andor. The Tower would not miss the chance to put an Aes Sedai on the Lion Throne. If only she could see Elayne, see all her children once more.

Something rustled in the dark bedchamber, and she held her breath, fought against trembling. The faint moonlight barely let her make out the bedposts. Valda had ridden north from Amador yesterday, him and Asunawa, with thousands of Whitecloaks to face the Prophet, but if he had come back, if he . . .

A shape in the darkness resolved into a woman, too short for Lini. “I thought you might still be awake,” Breane’s voice said softly. “Drink this; it will help.” The Cairhienin woman tried to put a silvery cup into Morgase’s hand. It gave off a slightly sour smell.

“Wait until you’re summoned to bring me drink,” she snapped, pushing the cup away. Warm liquid spilled onto her hand, onto the linen sheet. “I was almost asleep when you came stamping in,” she lied. “Leave me!”

Instead of obeying, the woman stood looking down at her, face shadowed. Morgase did not like Breane Taborwin. Whether Breane truly was nobly born and come down in the world, as she sometimes claimed, or merely a servant who had learned to counterfeit her betters, she obeyed when and as she chose and let her tongue run entirely too free. As she proved now.

“You moan like a sheep, Morgase Trakand.” Even kept low, her voice seethed in anger. She set the cup on the small bedside table with a thump; more of the contents splashed onto the tabletop. “Bah! Many others have seen far worse. You are alive. None of your bones are broken; your wits are whole. Endure; let the past pass, and go on with your life. You have been so much on edge that the men walk on their toes, even Master Gill. Lamgwin has hardly slept a wink these three nights.”

Morgase flushed with annoyance; even in Andor, servants did not speak so. She caught the woman’s arm in a tight grip, but anxiety warred with displeasure. “They don’t know, do they?” If they did, they would try to avenge her, rescue her. They would die. Tallanvor would die.

“Lini and I drape linen over their eyes for you,” Breane sneered, pulling her hand away and flinging it back at her. “If I could save Lamgwin, I would let them know you for the bleating sheep you are. He sees the Light made flesh in you; I see a woman without courage to accept the day. I will not let you destroy him with your cowardice.”

Cowardice. Outrage welled up in Morgase, yet no words came. Her fingers knotted in the sheet. She did not think she could have decided in cold blood to lie with Valda, but had she, she could have lived with it. She thought she could. Another matter entirely to say yes because she feared facing Asunawa’s knotted cords and needles again, feared worse that he would have gotten to eventually. However she had screamed under Asunawa’s ministrations, Valda was the one who had showed her the true borders of her courage, so far short of where she had believed. Valda’s touch, his bed, could be forgotten, with time, but she would never be able to wash the shame of that “yes” from her lips. Breane hurled the truth in her face, and she did not know how to reply.

She was spared the need by a rush of boots in the outer room. The bedchamber door flung open, and a running man stopped a pace inside.

“So you’re awake; good,” Tallanvor’s voice said after a moment. Which allowed her heart to start beating again, allowed her to breathe. She tried to release Breane’s hand — she did not remember clasping it — but to her surprise, the woman squeezed once before letting go.

“Something is happening,” Tallanvor went on, striding to the lone window. Standing to one side as if to avoid being seen, he peered into the night. Moonlight outlined his tall form. “Master Gill, come and tell what you saw.”

A head appeared in the doorway, bald top shining in the darkness. Behind, in the other room, a hulking shadow moved; Lamgwin Dorn. When Basel Gill realized she was still in bed, that faint shining from his scalp jerked as he directed his eyes elsewhere, though he probably had difficulty making out more than the bed itself. Master Gill was even wider than Lamgwin, but not nearly as tall. “Forgive me, my Queen. I didn’t mean to . . . .”He cleared his throat violently, and his boots scraped on the floor, shifting. Had he had a cap, he would have been turning it in his hands, or wadding it nervously, “I was in the Long Corridor, on my way to . . . to . . . ” To the jakes, was what he could not bring himself to say to her. “Anyway, I glanced out one of the windows, and I saw a . . . a big bird, I think . . . land on top of the South Barracks.”

“A bird!” Lini’s thin voice drove Master Gill to leap into the room, clearing the doorway. Or maybe it was a sharp poke in his stout ribs. Lini usually took every advantage her gray hair offered. She stalked by him still belting her nightrobe. “Fools! Ox-brained lummoxes! You woke my ch — !” She stopped with a fierce cough; Lini never forgot that she had been Morgase’s nurse, and her mother’s as well, but she never slipped in front of others. She would be cross that she had now, and it showed in her voice. “You woke your Queen for a bird!” Patting her hairnet, she automatically tucked in a few strands that had escaped in her sleep. “Have you been drinking, Basel Gill?” Morgase wondered that herself.

“I don’t know it was a bird,” Master Gill protested. “It didn’t look like any bird, but what else flies, except bats? It was big. Men climbed off its back, and there was another still on its neck when it took off again. While I was slapping my face to wake up, another of the . . . things . . . landed, and more men climbed down, and then another came, and I decided it was time to tell Lord Tallanvor.” Lini did not sniff, but Morgase could almost feel her stare, and it was not directed at her. The man who had abandoned his inn to follow her certainly felt it. “The Light’s own truth, my Queen,” he insisted.