The Gathering Storm

  Beside her was Siuan. The former Amyrlin had latched herself on to Lelaine with the strength of a barnacle. Romanda was well enough pleased with the newfound ability to Heal a stilling—she was Yellow after all—but a part of her wished it hadn’t happened to Siuan. As if Lelaine weren’t bad enough to deal with. Romanda had not forgotten Siuan’s crafty nature, even if so many others in camp seemed to have done so. Lesser strength in the Power did not mean decreased capacity for scheming.

  Sheriam was there, of course. The red-haired Keeper sat beside Lelaine. Sheriam had been withdrawn lately, and barely maintained the dignity of an Aes Sedai. Foolish woman. She needed to be removed from her place; everyone could see that. If Egwene ever returned—and Romanda prayed that she did, if only because it would upset Lelaine’s plans—then there would be an opportunity. A new Keeper.

  The other person in the tent was Magla. Romanda and Lelaine had argued—with control, of course—over who would be first to interrogate Shemerin. They’d decided that the only fair way was to do it together. Because Shemerin was Yellow, Romanda had been able to call the meeting in her own tent. It had been a shock when Lelaine had shown up with not just Siuan but Sheriam in tow. But they’d never said how many attendants they could bring. And so Romanda was left with only Magla. The thick-shouldered woman sat beside Romanda, listening quietly to the confession. Should Romanda have sent for someone else? It would have looked very obvious, delaying the meeting for that.

  It wasn’t really an interrogation, however. Shemerin spoke freely, without resisting questions. She sat on a small stool before them. She’d refused a cushion for it. Romanda had rarely seen a woman as determined to punish herself as this poor child.

  Not a child, Romanda thought. A full Aes Sedai, whatever she says. Burn you, Elaida, for turning one of us into this!

  Shemerin had been Yellow. Burn it, she was Yellow. She’d been talking to them for the better part of an hour now, answering questions about the status of the White Tower. Siuan had been the first to ask how the woman had come to escape.

  “Please forgive me for seeking work in the camp without coming to you, Aes Sedai,” Shemerin said, head bowed. “But I have fled the Tower against the law. As an Accepted leaving without permission, I am a runaway. I knew I would be punished if discovered.

  “I have stayed in this area because it is so familiar, and I cannot let it go. When your army came, I saw a chance for work, and I took it. But please, do not force me to go back. I will not be a danger. I will seek a life as a normal woman, careful not to use my abilities.”

  “You are Aes Sedai,” Romanda said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. This woman’s attitude lent much credence to the things Egwene said about Elaida’s power-hungry reign in the Tower. “No matter what Elaida says.”

  “I. . . .” Shemerin just shook her head. Light! She never had been the most poised of Aes Sedai, but it was shocking to see her fallen so far.

  “Tell me about this watergate,” Siuan said, leaning forward in her chair. “Where could we find it?”

  “On the southwestern side of the city, Aes Sedai,” Shemerin said. “About five minutes’ walk eastward from where the ancient statues of Eleyan al’Landerin and her Warders stand.” She hesitated, suddenly seeming anxious. “But it is a small gate. You couldn’t take an army through it. I only know of it because I had the duty of caring for the beggars who live there.”

  “I want a map anyway,” Siuan said, then she glanced at Lelaine. “At least, I think we should have one.”

  “It is a wise idea,” Lelaine said in a nauseatingly magnanimous tone.

  “I do want to know more of your . . . situation,” Magla said. “How is it Elaida could think that demoting a sister was wise? Egwene did speak of this event, and I did find it incredible then, too. What was Elaida’s thought?”

  “I . . . cannot speak for the Amyrlin’s thought,” Shemerin said. She cringed as the women in the room gave her a set of not-so-subtle glares at calling Elaida the Amyrlin. Romanda didn’t join in. Something small was creeping beneath the canvas floor of the tent, moving from one corner toward the center of the room. Light! Was that a mouse? No, it was too small. Perhaps a cricket. She shifted uncomfortably.

  “But surely you did do something to earn her ire,” Magla said. “Something worthy of such treatment?”

  “I. . . .” Shemerin said. She kept glancing at Siuan for some reason.

  Fool woman. Romanda almost thought Elaida had made the right move. Shemerin should never have been given the shawl. Of course, demoting her to Accepted was no way to handle the situation either. The Amyrlin couldn’t be given that much power.

  Yes, that was definitely something under the canvas, determinedly pushing its way to the center of the tent, a tiny lump moving in jerks and starts.

  “I was weak before her,” Shemerin finally said. “We were speaking of . . . events in the world. I could not stomach them. I did not show poise befitting an Aes Sedai.”

  “That’s it?” Lelaine asked. “You didn’t plot against her? You didn’t contradict her?”

  Shemerin shook her head. “I was loyal.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” Lelaine said.

  “I believe her,” Siuan said dryly. “Shemerin showed well enough she was in Elaida’s pocket on several occasions.”

  “This do be a dangerous precedent,” Magla noted. “Burn my soul, but it do.”

  “Yes,” Romanda agreed, watching the canvas-covered whatever-it-was inch along before her. “I suspect she used poor Shemerin as an example, acclimating the White Tower to the concept of demotion. That will let her use it on those who are actually her enemies.”

  The conversation hit a lull. The Sitters who supported Egwene would likely head the list of those to be demoted, if Elaida retained her power and the Aes Sedai reconciled.

  “Is that a mouse?” Siuan asked, looking down.

  “It’s too small,” Romanda said. “And it’s not important.”

  “Small?” Lelaine said, leaning down.

  Romanda frowned, glancing at the spot again. It did seem to have grown larger. In fact—

  The bump jerked suddenly, pushing upward. The canvas floor split, and a thick-bodied cockroach—as wide as a fig—scrambled through. Romanda pulled back in revulsion.

  The roach skittered across the canvas, antennae twitching. Siuan took off her shoe to swat it. But the bottom of the tent bubbled up near the rip, and a second cockroach climbed through. Then a third. And then a wave of them, pouring through the split like too-hot tea sprayed from a mouth. A black and brown carpet of scrambling, scratching, scurrying creatures, pushing over one another in their hurry to get out.

  The women screeched in revulsion, throwing back stools and chairs as they stood. Warders were in the room a moment later; broad-shouldered Rorik bonded to Magla, and that coppery-skinned stone of a man was Burin Shaeren, bonded to Lelaine. They had swords drawn at the screams, but the cockroaches seemed to stump them. They stood, staring at the stream of filthy insects.

  Sheriam hopped up on her chair. Siuan channeled and began to squash the creatures closest to her. Romanda hated to use the One Power for death, even on such vile creatures, but she too found herself channeling Air and smashing the insects in swaths, but the creatures were pouring in too quickly. Soon the ground was swarming with them, and the Aes Sedai were forced to scramble out of the tent and into the quiet darkness of the camp. Rorik pulled the flaps shut, though that wouldn’t stop the insects from squeezing out.

  Outside, Romanda couldn’t stop herself from running her fingers through her hair, just in case, to make certain none of the creatures had gotten into it. She shivered as she imagined the creatures scrambling over her body.

  “Is there anything in the tent that is dear to you?” Lelaine asked, looking back at the tent. Through the lamplight, she could see the shadowy insects scurrying up the walls.

  Romanda spared a thought for her journal, but knew that she’d never be able to to
uch those pages after her tent had been infested this way. “Nothing that I’d care to keep now,” she said, weaving Fire. “And nothing I can’t replace.”

  The others joined her, and the tent burst into flames, Rorik jumping back as they channeled. Romanda thought she heard the insects popping and sizzling inside. The Aes Sedai moved back from the sudden heat. In moments, the entire tent was an inferno. Women rushed out of nearby tents to look.

  “I do no think that was natural,” Magla said softly. “Those did be four-spine roaches. Sailors do see them on ships that visit Shara.”

  “Well, it isn’t the worst we’ve seen from the Dark One,” Siuan said, folding her arms. “And we’ll see worse yet, mark my words.” She eyed Shemerin. “Come, I want that map from you.”

  They left with Rorik and the others, who would alert the camp that the Dark One had touched it this night. Romanda stood watching the tent burn. Soon it was only smoldering coals.

  Light, she thought. Egwene is right. It is coming. Fast. And the girl was imprisoned now; she’d met with the Hall the night before in the World of Dreams, informing them of her disastrous dinner with Elaida and the aftermath of insulting the false Amyrlin. And yet Egwene still refused rescue.

  Torches were lit and Warders roused as a precaution against more evil. She smelled smoke. That was the remains of all she had owned in the world.

  The Tower needed to be whole. Whatever it took. Would she be willing to bow before Elaida to make that happen? Would she put on an Accepted dress again if it would bring unity for the Last Battle?

  She couldn’t decide. And that disturbed her nearly as much as those scuttling roaches had.

  CHAPTER 27

  The Tipsy Gelding

  Mat didn’t escape the camp without the Aes Sedai, of course. Bloody women.

  He rode down the ancient stone roadway, no longer followed by the Band. He was, however, accompanied by the three Aes Sedai, two Warders, five soldiers, Talmanes, a pack animal and Thom. At least Aludra, Amathera and Egeanin hadn’t insisted on coming. This group was too big as it was.

  The three-needle pines guarded the road, smelling of pine sap, and the air was melodic with mountain finches’ calls. It was still several hours until sundown; he’d halted the Band near noon. He rode slightly ahead of the clustered Aes Sedai and Warders. After he’d refused Joline horses and funds, they hadn’t been about to let him win another point. Not when they could force him to take them down to the village, where they could spend at least one night in an inn with soft beds and warm baths.

  He didn’t argue too loudly. He hated to have more tongues wagging about the Band, and women did gossip, even Aes Sedai. But there was little chance of the Band passing without causing a stir in the village anyway. If any Seanchan patrols made it through these twisting mountain paths. . . . Well, Mat would just have to keep the Band on a steady pace northward and that was that. No use crying about it.

  Besides, he was beginning to feel right again, riding Pips down that road, spring breeze crisp in the air. He’d taken to wearing one of his older coats, red with brown trim, unbuttoned to show his old tan shirt beneath.

  This was what it was about. Traveling to new villages, throwing dice in the inns, pinching a few barmaids. He would not think of Tuon. Flaming Seanchan. She’d be all right, wouldn’t she?

  No. His hands almost itched to be at the dicing. It had been far too long since he’d sat down in a corner somewhere and thrown with the ordinary sort. They’d be a little dirtier of face and coarser of language, but as good of heart as any man. Better than most lords.

  Talmanes rode just ahead. He’d probably wish for a nicer tavern than Mat, a place to join a game of cards rather than throwing dice. But they might not have much of a choice. The village was of decent size, probably worthy of being called a town, but was unlikely to have more than three or four inns. Their choices would be limited.

  Decent size, Mat thought, grinning to himself as he took off his hat and scratched at the back of his head. Hinderstap would only have three or four inns, and that made it a “small” town. Why, Mat could remember when he’d thought Baerlon a large city, and it probably wasn’t much larger than this Hinderstap!

  A horse pulled up beside him. Thom was looking at that blasted letter again. The lanky gleeman’s face was thoughtful, his white hair stirring in the breeze, as he stared down at the words. As if he hadn’t read them a thousand times already.

  “Why don’t you put that away?” Mat said. Thom looked up. It had taken some talking to get the gleeman to come down to the village, but Thom needed it, needed some distraction.

  “I mean it, Thom,” Mat said. “I know you’re eager to go for Moiraine. But it’ll be weeks before we can break away, and reading over those words won’t do anything but make you anxious.”

  Thom nodded and folded the paper with reverent fingers. “You’re right, Mat. But I’d been carrying this letter for months. Now that I’ve shared it, I feel. . . . Well, I just want to be on with it.”

  “I know,” Mat said, looking up toward the horizon. Moiraine. The Tower of Ghenjei. Mat almost felt as if he could see the building out there, looming. That’s where his path pointed, and Caemlyn was just a stepping-stone along the way. If Moiraine was still alive . . . Light, what would that mean? How would Rand react?

  The rescue was another reason Mat felt he needed a good night dicing. Why had he agreed to go with Thom into the tower? Those burning snakes and foxes—he had no desire to see them again.

  But . . . he also couldn’t let Thom go alone. There was an inevitability to it. As if a part of Mat had known all along that he had to go back and face those creatures again. They’d gotten the better of him twice now, and the Eelfinn had tied strings around his brain with those memories in his head. He had a debt to settle with them, that was for certain.

  Mat had little love for Moiraine, but he wouldn’t leave her to them, no matter that she was Aes Sedai. Bloody ashes. He’d probably be tempted to ride in and save one of the Forsaken themselves if they were trapped there.

  And . . . maybe one was. Lanfear had fallen through that same portal. Burn him, what would he do if he found her there? Would he really rescue her as well?

  You’re a fool, Matrim Cauthon. Not a hero. Just a fool.

  “We’ll get to Moiraine, Thom,” Mat said. “You have my word, burn me. We’ll find her. But we have to see the Band someplace safe, and we need information. Bayle Domon says he knows where the tower is, but I won’t be comfortable until we can go to some large city and sniff for rumors and stories about this tower. Someone has to know something. Besides, we’ll need supplies, and I doubt we’ll find what we need in these mountain villages. We need to reach Caemlyn if possible, though maybe we’ll stop at Four Kings on the way.”

  Thom nodded, though Mat could see he chafed at leaving Moiraine trapped, being tortured or who knows what. Thom’s brilliant blue eyes got a far-off look to them. Why did he care so much? What was Moiraine to him but another Aes Sedai, one of those who had cost the life of Thom’s nephew?

  “Burn it,” Mat said. “We’re not supposed to be thinking about things like this, Thom! We’re going to have a good night of dice and laughter. There’ll probably be some time for a song or two as well.”

  Thom nodded, face growing lighter. He had his harp case strapped to the back of his horse; it would be good to see him open it again. “You plan to try juggling for your supper again, apprentice?” Thom asked, eyes twinkling.

  “Better than trying to play that blasted flute,” Mat grumbled. “Never was very good at that. Rand took to it right fine, though, didn’t he?”

  Colors swirled in Mat’s head, resolving to an image of Rand, sitting alone in a room by himself. He sat splay-legged in a richly embroidered shirt, a coat of black and red tossed aside and crumpled next to the log wall beside him. Rand had one hand to his forehead as if trying to squeeze away the pain of a headache. His other was . . .

  That arm ended in a stump. The first ti
me Mat had seen that—a few weeks back—it had shocked him. How had Rand lost the hand? The man barely seemed alive, propped up like that, unmoving. Though his lips did seem to be moving, mumbling or muttering. Light! Mat thought. Burn you, what are you doing to yourself?

  Well, at least Mat wasn’t near him. Count your fortunes in that, Mat told himself. Life hadn’t been so easy lately, but he could have been stuck near Rand. Sure, Rand was a friend. But Mat didn’t mean to be there when Rand went insane and killed everyone he knew. There was friendship, and then there was stupidity. They’d fight together at the Last Battle, of course, no helping that. Mat just hoped to be on the other side of that battlefield from any saidin-wielding madmen.

  “Ah, Rand,” Thom said. “That boy could have made a life for himself as a gleeman, I warrant. Maybe even a proper bard, if he’d started when he was younger.”

  Mat shook his head, dispelling the vision. Burn you, Rand. Leave me alone.

  “Those were better days, weren’t they, Mat?” Thom smiled. “The three of us, traveling down the river Arinelle.”

  “Myrddraal chasing us for reasons unknown,” Mat added grimly. Those days hadn’t been so easy either. “Darkfriends trying to stab us in the back every time we turned around.”

  “Better than gholam and Forsaken trying to kill us.”

  “That’s like saying you’re grateful to have a noose around your neck instead of a sword in your gut.”

  “At least you can escape the noose, Mat.” Thom knuckled his long, white mustache. “Once the sword is stuck into you, there’s not much you can do about it.”

  Mat hesitated, then found himself laughing. He rubbed at the scarf around his neck. “I suppose you’re right at that, Thom. I suppose you’re right. Well, for today why don’t we forget about all of that? We’ll go back and pretend things are like they once were!”