Egwene whispered very quietly to Silviana, “Gather the Hall of the Tower. Bring back any Sitters you can find. Get them all here, to this tent, as soon as you can.”
Silviana nodded, her face betraying no hint of the confusion she likely felt. She hastened off and Egwene sat down in the tent.
Siuan wasn’t there—she was likely helping with Healing again. That was good. Egwene wouldn’t have wanted to attempt this with Siuan glaring at her. As it was, she worried about Gawyn. He loved Bryne like a father, and already his anxiety streamed through their bond.
She would have to approach this very delicately, and she didn’t want to start until the Hall had arrived. She couldn’t accuse Bryne, but she couldn’t ignore Mat. He was a scoundrel and a fool, but she trusted him. Light help her, but she did. She’d trust him with her life. And things had been going oddly on the battlefield.
The Sitters gathered relatively quickly. They had charge of the war effort, and they met together each evening to get reports and tactical explanations from Bryne and his commanders. Bryne didn’t seem to think it odd that they came to him now; he kept at his work.
Many of the women did give Egwene curious looks as they entered. She nodded to them, trying to convey the weight of the Amyrlin Seat.
Eventually, enough of them had arrived that Egwene decided she should begin. Time was wasting. She needed to dismiss Mat’s accusations from her mind once and for all, or she needed to act on them.
“General Bryne,” Egwene said. “Have you been well? We’ve had a difficult time finding you.”
He looked up and blinked. His eyes were red. “Mother,” he said. He nodded to the Sitters. “I feel tired, but probably no more than you. I’ve been all over the battlefield, tending to all kinds of details; you know how it is.”
Gawyn hurried in. “Egwene,” he said, his face pale. “Trouble.”
“What?”
“I…” He took a deep breath. “General Bashere turned against Elayne. Light! He’s a Darkfriend. The battle would have been lost had the Asha’man not arrived.”
“What’s this?” Bryne asked, looking up from his maps. “Bashere, a Darkfriend?”
“Yes.”
“Impossible,” Bryne said. “He was the Lord Dragon’s companion for months. I don’t know him well, but… a Darkfriend? It couldn’t be.”
“It is somewhat unreasonable to assume…” Saerin said.
“You can speak with the Queen yourself, if you wish,” Gawyn said, standing tall. “I heard it from her own mouth.”
The tent stilled. Sitters looked to one another with worried faces.
“General,” Egwene said to Bryne, “how was it that you sent two cavalry units to protect us from the Trollocs on the hills south of here, sending them into a trap and leaving the main army’s left flank exposed?”
“How was it, Mother?” Bryne asked. “It was obvious that you were about to be overrun, anyone could see that. Yes, I had them leave the left flank, but I moved the Illianer reserves into that position. When I saw that Sharan cavalry unit split off to attack Uno’s right flank, I sent the Illianers out to intercept them; it was the right thing to do. I didn’t know there would be so many Sharans!” His voice had raised to a shout, but he stopped, and his hands were trembling. “I made a mistake. I’m not perfect, Mother.”
“This was more than a mistake,” Faiselle said. “I have just returned from speaking with Uno and the other survivors of that cavalry massacre. Uno said he could smell a trap as soon as he and his men started riding toward the sisters, but that you had promised him help.”
“I told you, I sent him reinforcements, I just didn’t expect the Sharans would send such a large force. Besides, I had it all under control. I had ordered up a Seanchan cavalry legion to reinforce our troops; they were supposed to take care of those Sharans. I had them staged across the river. I just didn’t expect them to be so late!”
“Yes,” Egwene said, hardening her voice. “Those men—so many thousands of them—were crushed between the Trollocs and the Sharans, with no hope for escape. You lost them, and all for no good reason.”
“I had to bring the Aes Sedai out!” Bryne said. “They’re our most valuable resource. Pardon, Mother, but you have made that same point to me.”
“The Aes Sedai could have waited,” Saerin said. “I was there. Yes, we needed out—we were being pressed—but we held, and could have held longer.
“You left thousands of good men to die, General Bryne. And you know the worst part? It was unnecessary. You left all those Seanchan across the ford here, the ones who were going to save the day, waiting for your order to attack. But that order never came, did it, General? You abandoned them, just like you abandoned our cavalry.”
“But I ordered them to attack; they finally went in, didn’t they? I sent a messenger. I… I…”
“No. If it wasn’t for Mat Cauthon, they would still be waiting on this side of the river, General!” Egwene turned away from him.
“Egwene,” Gawyn said, taking her arm. “What are you saying? Just because—”
Bryne raised a hand to his head. Then he sagged, as if suddenly his limbs had lost their strength. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he whispered, sounding hollow. “I keep making mistakes, Mother. They are the kind a man can recover from, and I keep telling myself that. Then I make another mistake, and there is more scrambling to fix it.”
“You’re just tired,” Gawyn said, voice pained, looking to him. “We all are.”
“No,” Bryne said softly. “No, it’s more than that. I’ve been tired before. This is like… my instincts are suddenly wrong. I give the orders, then afterward, I see the holes, the problems. I…”
“Compulsion,” Egwene said, feeling cold. “You’ve been Compelled. They’re attacking our great captains.”
Several women in the room embraced the Source.
“How would that be possible?” Gawyn protested. “Egwene, we have sisters watching the camp for signs of channeling!”
“I don’t know how it happened,” Egwene said. “Perhaps it was put in place months ago, before the battle began.” She turned to the Sitters. “I move that the Hall relieve Gareth Bryne as commander of our armies. It is your decision, Sitters.”
“Light,” Yukiri said. “We… Light!”
“It must be done,” Doesine said. “It is a clever move, a way to destroy our armies without us seeing the trap. We should have seen… The great captains should have been better protected.”
“Light!” Faiselle said. “We need to send word to Lord Mandragoran and to Thakan’dar! This could involve them, too—an attempt to bring down all four battlefronts at once in a coordinated attack.”
“I will see it done,” Saerin said, moving toward the tent flaps. “For now, I agree with Mother. Bryne must be relieved.”
One by one, the others nodded. It was not a formal vote in the Hall, but it would do. Beside the table, Gareth Bryne sat down. Poor man. He was no doubt shaken, worried.
Unexpectedly, he smiled.
“General?” Egwene asked.
“Thank you,” Bryne said, looking relaxed.
“For what?”
“I feared I was losing my mind, Mother. I kept seeing what I’d done… I left thousands of men to die… but it wasn’t me. It wasn’t me.”
“Egwene,” Gawyn said. He covered his pain well. “The army. If Bryne has been forced to lead us toward danger, we need to change our command structure immediately.”
“Bring in my commanders,” Bryne said. “I will relinquish control to them.”
“And if they have been corrupted as well?” Doesine asked.
“I agree,” Egwene said. “This smells of one of the Forsaken, perhaps Moghedien. Lord Bryne, if you were to fall in this fight, she’d know that your commanders would be next to take charge. They might have the same faulty instincts that you do.”
Doesine shook her head. “Who can we trust? Any bloody man or woman we put in command could have s
uffered Compulsion.”
“We may have to lead ourselves,” Faiselle said. “Getting to a man who cannot channel would be easier than a sister, who would sense channeling and notice a woman with the ability. We are more likely to be clean.”
“But who among us has the knowledge of battlefield tactics?” Ferane asked. “I consider myself well-read enough to oversee plans, but to make them?”
“We will be better than someone who may have been corrupted,” Faiselle said.
“No,” Egwene said, pulling herself up on Gawyn’s arm.
“Then what?” Gawyn asked.
Egwene clenched her teeth. Then what? She knew of only one man she could trust not to have been Compelled, at least not by Moghedien. A man who was immune to the effects of saidar and saidin. “We will have to put our armies under the command of Matrim Cauthon,” she said. “May the Light watch over us.”
CHAPTER
32
A Yellow Flower-Spider
The damane held open a hole in the floor for Mat. It looked down on the battlefield itself.
Mat rubbed his chin, still impressed, though he’d been using these holes for the last hour or so as he countered the trap that Bryne had laid for Egwene’s armies. He had sent in additional banners of Seanchan cavalry to reinforce both flanks of his troops at the river, and additional damane to counter the Sharan channelers and stem the flood of Trollocs pressing against the defenders.
Of course, this still wasn’t as good as being down on the battlefield himself. Maybe he should go out again and do a little more fighting. He glanced at Tuon, who sat on a throne—a massive, ten-foot-tall throne—at one side of the command building. Tuon narrowed her eyes at him, as if she could see right into his thoughts.
She’s Aes Sedai, Mat told himself. Oh, she can’t channel—she hasn’t let herself learn yet. She’s bloody one of them anyway. And I married her.
She was something incredible, though. He felt a thrill each time she gave orders; she did it so naturally. Elayne and Nynaeve could take lessons. Tuon did look very nice on that throne. Mat let his gaze linger on her, and that earned him a scowl, which was downright unfair. If a man couldn’t leer at his wife, who could he leer at?
Mat turned back to the battlefield. “Nice trick,” he said, stooping down to stick his hand through the hole. They were high up. If he fell, he’d have time to hum three verses of “She Has No Ankles That I Can See” before he hit. Maybe an extra round of the chorus.
“This one learned it,” the sul’dam said, referring to her new damane, “from watching the weaves of the Aes Sedai.” The sul’dam, Catrona, almost choked on the words “Aes Sedai.” Mat couldn’t blame her. Those could be tough words to speak.
He didn’t look too hard at the damane, nor the tattoos of flowering branches on her cheeks, reaching from the back of her head like hands to cup her face. Mat was responsible for her being captured. It was better than her fighting for the Shadow, wasn’t it?
Blood and bloody ashes, he thought to himself. You are doing a fine job of persuading Tuon not to use damane, Matrim Cauthon. Capturing one yourself…
It was unnerving how quickly the Sharan woman had taken to her captivity. The sul’dam had all remarked upon it. Barely a moment of struggle, then complete subservience. They expected a newly captured damane to take months to train properly, yet this one had been ready within hours. Catrona practically beamed, as if she were personally responsible for the Sharan woman’s temperament.
That hole was remarkable. Mat stood right on the edge, looking down at the world, counting off the banners and squadrons as he marked them in his head. What would Classen Bayor have done with one of these, he wondered? Maybe the Battle of Kolesar would have turned out differently. He’d have never lost his cavalry in the marsh, that’s for certain.
Mat’s forces continued to hold back the Shadow at the eastern border of Kandor, but he was not pleased with the current situation. The nature of Bryne’s trap had been subtle, as hard to see as a yellow flower-spider crouching on a petal. That’s how Mat had known. It had taken true military genius to put the army into such a bad situation without it looking like the army was in a bad situation. That sort of thing didn’t happen by accident.
Mat had lost more men than he wanted to count. His people were pressed up against the river, and Demandred—despite continuing to rave about the Dragon Reborn—was continually testing Mat’s defenses, trying to find a weak spot, sending out a heavy cavalry raid against one side, then an attack from Sharan archers and a Trolloc charge on the other. Consequently, Mat had to keep a close eye on Demandred’s movements to be able to counter them in time.
Night was coming soon. Would the Shadow pull back? The Trollocs could fight into the darkness, but those Sharans probably couldn’t. Mat gave another sequence of orders, and messengers galloped through gateways to deliver them. It seemed like only moments passed before his troops below responded. “So fast…” Mat said.
“This will change the world,” General Galgan said. “Messengers can respond instantly; commanders can watch their battles and plan in the moment.”
Mat grunted in agreement. “I’ll bet it still takes all bloody evening to get dinner from the mess tent, though.”
Galgan actually smiled. It was like seeing a boulder crack in half.
“Tell me, General,” Tuon said. “What is your assessment of our consort’s abilities?”
“I don’t know where you found this one, Greatest One, but he is a diamond of great worth. I have watched him these last hours as he rescued the forces of the White Tower. For all of his… unconventional style, I have rarely seen a battle commander as gifted as he.”
Tuon did not smile, but he could see from her eyes that she was pleased. They were nice eyes. And, actually, with Galgan not acting so gruff, perhaps this wouldn’t be such a bad place to be after all.
“Thanks,” Mat said under his breath to Galgan as they both leaned over to study the field below.
“I consider myself a man of truth, my Prince,” Galgan said, rubbing his chin with a callused finger. “You will serve the Crystal Throne well. It would be a shame to see you assassinated too early. I will make certain that the first I send after you are newly trained, so that you may stop them with ease.”
Mat felt his mouth drop open. The man said it with perfect frankness, almost affection. As if he were planning to do Mat a favor by trying to kill him!
“The Trollocs here,” he pointed at a group of them far below, “will pull back soon.”
“I concur,” Galgan said.
Mat rubbed his chin. “We’ll have to see what Demandred does with them. I’m concerned that the Sharans may try to slip some of their marath’damane into our camp during the night. They show a remarkable dedication to their cause. Or a bloody foolish disregard for self-preservation.”
Aes Sedai and sul’dam weren’t particularly timid, but they were generally cautious. The Sharan channelers were anything but, particularly the men.
“Get me some damane to create lights for the river,” Mat said. “And put the camp on lockdown, with a ring of damane spaced through camp to watch for channeling. Nobody channels, not even to light a bloody candle.”
“The… Aes Sedai… may not like this,” General Galgan said. He too hesitated upon using the words Aes Sedai. They had started using the term instead of marath’damane by Mat’s order, one that he’d expected Tuon to rescind. She had not.
Figuring that woman out was going to be a real pleasure if they both survived this bloody mess.
Tylee entered the room. Tall and with a scarred face, the dark-skinned woman walked with the confidence of a long-time soldier. She prostrated herself before Tuon, her clothing bloodied and her armor dented. Her legion had taken a beating today, and she probably felt like a rug did after a goodwife had been at it.
“I’m worried about our position here.” Mat turned back and squatted down, looking through the hole. As he’d predicted, the Trollocs had begun to fall
back.
“In what way?” General Galgan asked.
“We’ve run our channelers to the bone,” Mat said. “And we’re backed up against the river, a difficult position to defend long-term, especially against such a huge army. If they channel some gateways and move part of the Sharan army to this side of the river in the night, they could crush us.”
“I see what you mean,” Galgan said, shaking his head. “Given their strength, they will continue to wear us down, until we are so weak, they can throw a noose around us and tighten it.”
Mat looked directly at Galgan. “I think it’s time we abandon this position.”
“I agree, that seems to be our only reasonable course of action,” General Galgan said, nodding. “Why not choose a battlefield more to our advantage? Will your friends from the White Tower agree to a retreat?”
“Let’s see,” Mat said, straightening all the way up. “Someone send for Egwene and the Sitters.”
“They will not come,” Tuon said. “The Aes Sedai will not meet with us here. I doubt this Amyrlin will accept me into her camp, not with the protections I would require.”
“Fine.” Mat waved toward the gateway in the floor, which the damane was closing. “We’ll use a gateway and talk through it like a door.”
Tuon made no specific objection, so Mat sent the messengers. It took a little arranging, but Egwene seemed to like the idea well enough. Tuon entertained herself during the wait by having her throne moved to the other side of the room—Mat had no idea why. She then proceeded to begin annoying Min. “And this one?” Tuon asked as a lanky member of the Blood entered and bowed himself.
“He’ll marry soon,” Min said.
“You will give the omen first,” Tuon said, “then interpretation, if you desire.”
“I know exactly what this one means,” Min protested. She had been set on a smaller throne beside that of Tuon. The girl was so decked in fine cloth and lace that she could have been mistaken for a mouse hiding in a bale of silk. “Sometimes, I know immediately, and—”
“You will give the omen first,” Tuon said, her tone unchanged. “And you will refer to me as Greatest One. It is a high honor that you are given to speak with me directly. Do not let the Prince of the Ravens’ attitude prove a model for your own.”