The Path of Daggers (The Wheel of Time 8)

Inevitably, despite their whispers, their talk had been noticed. Maybe because of their whispers. The girl who claimed to be Amyrlin, a rebel against the White Tower, in conversation with the leader of ten thousand Dragonsworn. Had she made Talmanes’ scheme with Roedran harder, or easier? Was war in Murandy less likely, or more? Siuan and her bloody Law of Unintended Consequences! Fifty gazes followed her, then darted away, as she moved through the crowd warming her fingers on her cup. Well, most darted away. The Sitters’ faces were all ageless Aes Sedai serenity, but Lelaine might have been a brown-eyed crow watching a fish struggle in the shallows, while Romanda’s slightly darker eyes could have drilled holes through iron.

Trying to keep a watch on the sun outside, she made a slow circuit through the pavilion. The nobles were still importuning Sitters, but they moved from one to another as if seeking better answers, and she began to notice small things. Donel paused on his way from Janya to Moria, bowing low to Aemlyn, who acknowledged him with a gracious nod. Cian, turning away from Takima, curtsied deeply to Pelivar and received a slight bow in return. There were others, always a Murandian deferring to an Andoran who responded just as formally. The Andorans tried to ignore Bryne except for the odd scowl, but any number of Murandians sought him out, one by one and well away from everyone else, and from the directions their eyes went, it was plain they were discussing Pelivar, or Arathelle, or Aemlyn. Perhaps Talmanes had been right.

She received bows and curtsies, too, though none so deep as those given Arathelle and Pelivar and Aemlyn, much less the Sitters. Half a dozen women told her how thankful they were that matters had been resolved peacefully, though in truth, almost as many made noncommittal noises or shrugged uneasily when she expressed the same sentiment, as though they were uncertain it all would end peacefully. Her assurances that it would were met with a fervent “The Light send it so!” or a resigned “If the Light wills.” Four called her Mother, one without hesitating first. Three others said that she was quite lovely, that she had beautiful eyes, and that she had a graceful carriage, in that order; suitable compliments perhaps for Egwene’s age but not her station.

At least she found one unalloyed pleasure. Segan was not alone in being intrigued by her announcement concerning the novice book. Plainly that was why most of the women spoke to her in the first place. After all, the other sisters might be in rebellion against the Tower, but she claimed to be the Amyrlin Seat. Their interest had to be strong to overcome that, though no one wanted to let it show. Arathelle made the inquiry with a frown that put more creases in her cheeks. Aemlyn shook her graying head at the answer. Blocky Cian asked, followed by a sharp-faced Andoran lady named Negara, then a pretty, big-eyed Murandian called Jennet, and others. None wanted to know for herself — several made that clear quickly, especially the younger women — but before long, every single noblewoman there had asked, and several servants as well, under cover of offering more spiced wine. One, a wiry woman named Nildra, had come from the Aes Sedai camp.

Egwene felt quite pleased with the seed she had planted there. She was not so pleased with the men. A few spoke to her, but only when they came face-to-face and seemed to have no other choice. A murmured word about the weather, either praising the end of the drought or deploring the sudden snows, a muttered hope that the bandit problem would end soon, perhaps with a significant look toward Talmanes, and they slipped away like greased pigs. A bear of an Andoran by the name of Macharan tripped over his own boots to avoid her. In a way, it was hardly surprising. The women had the justification, if only to themselves, of the novice book, but the men had only the thought that being seen conversing with her might tar them with the same brush.

It was really quite discouraging. She did not care what the men thought about novices, but she very much wanted to know if they were as fearful as the women that this would come to blows in the end. Fears like that could fulfill themselves very easily. At last, she decided there was only one way to find out.

Pelivar turned from taking a fresh cup of wine from a tray and started back, with a muffled oath, to keep from bumping into her; had she stood any closer, she would have had to stand on his boots. Hot wine splashed over his gloved hand and ran down under his coatsleeve, producing a curse not so muted. Tall enough to loom over her, he made a good job of it. His scowl belonged on a man wanting to send an annoyi

ng young woman briskly out of his way. Or on a man who had nearly stepped on a red adder. She held herself erect and focused on an image of him as a small boy up to no good; that always helped; most men seemed to feel it. He muttered something — it might have been a polite greeting, or another oath — and dipped his head slightly, then tried to step around her. She side-stepped to stay in front of him. He moved back, and she followed. He began to look hunted. She decided to try putting him at ease before pressing the important question. She wanted answers, not more mumbling.

“You must be pleased to hear that the Daughter-Heir is on her way to Caemlyn, Lord Pelivar.” She had heard several of the Sitters mention that.

His face went blank. “Elayne Trakand has a right to put in her claim to the Lion Throne,” he replied in a flat voice.

Egwene’s eyes widened, and he stepped back again, uncertainly. Perhaps he thought her angry over the absence of her title, but she barely noticed that. Pelivar had supported Elayne’s mother in her claim for the throne, and Elayne had been sure he would support her, too. She spoke of Pelivar fondly, like a favorite uncle.

“Mother,” Siuan murmured at her elbow, “we must leave if you want to be sure of reaching the camp before sunset.” She managed to put considerable urgency into those quiet words. The sun had passed its peak.

“This is no weather to be in the open at nightfall,” Pelivar said hurriedly. “If you will excuse me, I must make ready to leave.” Shoving his cup onto the tray of a passing servant, he hesitated before halfway making a leg, and stalked off with the air of a man who had wriggled free of a trap.

Egwene wanted to grind her teeth with frustration. What did the men think of their agreement? If it could be called that, the way she had forced it on them. Arathelle and Aemlyn had more power and influence than most of the men, yet it was Pelivar and Culhan and the like who rode with the soldiers; they could still make this flare up in her face like a barrel of lamp oil.

“Find Sheriam,” she growled, “and tell her to get everyone mounted now, no matter what it takes!” She could not give the Sitters a night to think about what had happened today, to plan and plot. They had to be back in camp before the sun went down.

Chapter 19

The Law

* * *

Getting the Sitters to their mounts proved no bother; they were as eager to be away as Egwene, especially Romanda and Lelaine, both cold as the wind and with eyes like thunderclouds. The rest were the very image of cool-eyed Aes Sedai serenity, giving off composure like a heavy scent, yet they glided to their horses so quickly that the nobles were left gaping and the brightly clad servants scrambled in loading the packhorses to catch up as best they could.

Egwene had Daishar set a hard pace in the snow, and with no more than a look and a nod from her Lord Bryne made sure the armored escorts moved as fast. Siuan on Bela and Sheriam on Wing rushed to join her. For long stretches they churned through fetlock-deep cover, the horses stepping high at near to a trot, the Flame of Tar Valon rippling in the icy breeze, and even when it was necessary to slow, when the horses were sinking knee-deep through the snow crust, they kept to a fast walk.

The Sitters had no choice except to keep up, and their speed cut down their opportunity to talk on the way. At that tiring pace, a lack of attention to your horse could bring a broken leg for the animal and a broken neck for you. Even so, Romanda and Lelaine each managed to gather her coterie around her, and those two knots floundered through the snow surrounded by wards against eavesdropping. The pair seemed to be delivering tirades. Egwene could imagine the topic. For that matter, other Sitters managed to ride together for a time, exchanging a few words quietly and casting cool glances sometimes at her and sometimes at the sisters wrapped around by saidar. Only Delana never joined one of those brief conversations. She stayed close beside Halima, who at last admitted that she was cold. Face tight, the country woman held her cloak close around her, but she still tried to comfort Delana, whispering to her almost constantly. Delana seemed to need comforting; her brows were drawn down, putting a crease in her forehead that actually made her seem aged.

She was not the only one worried. The others masked the feeling rigidly, radiating absolute poise, but the Warders rode like men expecting the worst to leap out of the snow at the next step, eyes shifting in an unceasing watch, disquieting cloaks streaming in the wind to leave hands free. When an Aes Sedai worried, her Warder worried, and the Sitters were too absorbed to think of calming the men. Egwene was just as glad to see it. If the Sitters were troubled, they had not yet made up their minds.

When Bryne rode out to confer with Uno, she took the opportunity to ask what the two women had learned about Aes Sedai and Tower Guards in Andor.

“Not much,” Siuan replied in a tight voice. Shaggy Bela did not seem to be having any difficulty with the pace, but Siuan did, gripping her reins tightly in one hand and the pommel of her saddle with the other. “As near as I can make out, there are fifty rumors and no facts. It’s a likely sort of tale to spring up, but it might still be true.” Bela lurched, her front hooves sinking deep, and Siuan gasped. “The Light burn all horses!”

Sheriam had learned no more. She shook her head, and sighed irritably. “It sounds all feathers and nonsense to me, Mother. There are always rumors of sisters sneaking about. Didn’t you ever learn to ride, Siuan?’ she added, her voice suddenly dripping derision. “By tonight, you’ll be too sore to walk!” Sheriam’s nerves must have been ragged for her to burst out so openly. From the way she kept shifting in her saddle, she had already achieved her prediction for Siuan.

Siuan’s eyes hardened, and she opened her mouth already half snarling, never mind who was watching from behind the banner.

“Be still, both of you!” Egwene snapped. She took a deep, calming breath. She was a bit ragged herself. Whatever Arathelle believed, any force Elaida sent to interfere with them would be too large for sneaking. That left the Black Tower, a disaster in the making. You got further plucking the chicken in front of you than trying to start on one up a tree. Especially when the tree was in another country and there might not even be another chicken.

Still, she bit off her words in giving Sheriam instructions for once they reached the camp. She was the Amyrlin Seat, and that meant all Aes Sedai were her responsibility, even those following Elaida. Her voice was rock steady, though. It was too late to be frightened once you grabbed the wolf by the ears.

Sheriam’s tilted eyes went wide at the orders. “Mother, if I may ask, why . . .?” She trailed off under Egwene’s level gaze, and swallowed. “It will be as you say, Mother,” she said slowly. “Strange. I remember the day you and Nynaeve came to the Tower, two girls who couldn’t decide whether to be excited or frightened. So much has changed since then. Everything.”

“Nothing stays the same forever,” Egwene told her. She gave Siuan a significant look, but Siuan refused to see. She appeared to be sulking. Sheriam looked sick.