Snow: The Prologue to Winter's Heart

  Nowhere was the wall finished, nowhere more than twelve or Fifteen feet high, none of the towers or bastions more than begun. In places, she could have clambered over the piles of black stone, except for her orders not to attempt escape, The thing ran for eight miles, though, and she believed Logain when he said it was begun less than three months ago, The man held her too tightly to bother with lying. He called the wall a waste of time and effort, and perhaps it was, but it made her teeth chatter. Just three months. Made using the Power. The male half of the Power. When she thought of that black wall, she saw an implacable force that could not be stopped, an avalanche of black stone sliding down to bury the White Tower. Impossible, of course. Impossible, but when she did not dream of strangling Elaida, she dreamed of that.

  There had been snowfall in the night, and a heavy blan-ket of white covered every roof, but she did not have to pick her way along the broad streets. The hard-packed dirt had been cleared, a chore of men in training before the sun came up. They used the Power for everything from filling woodboxes to cleaning their clothes! Black-clad men hurried here and there in the streets, and more were gathering in rows in front of their barracks with others calling roll in loud voices. Women bundled up against the cold walked past them, placidly carrying baskets to the quartermaster's storehouse or water buckets to the nearest fountain, though how any woman could remain, knowing what her husband was, was beyond Toveine's comprehension. Even more bizarre, children ran up and down the street, around the squares of men who could channel, shouting and laughing, rolling hoops, tossing painted balls, playing with dolls or dogs. A drop of normality that heightened the evil stench of the rest,

  Ahead of her, a mounted party was approaching up the street at a walk. In the short time she had been here - the endless time - she had not seen anyone ride in the village except workmen on carts or wagons. Nor any visitors, which some of these plainly must be. Five men in black were escorting a dozen in the red coats and cloaks of the Queen's Guard, with two yellow-haired women at the front, one in a red-and-white cloak lined with black fur and the other.... Toveine's eyebrows climbed. The other wore green Kandori trousers and a coat made up as if it belonged to the Captain-General of the Guard. Her red cloak even had golden knots of rank on the shoulder! Maybe she was mistaken about the men, That one would find short shift when she encountered real Guardsmen. In any case, it was strangely early for visitors,

  Each time the odd party reached one of the formations, the man in front shouted "Asha'man, attend front." and boot heels stamped on the hardened earth as the others stiffened like pillars of stone.

  Pulling her hood forward better to hide her face, Toveine moved to the side of the wide street, close beside the corner of one of the smaller stone barracks. A fork-bearded old man coming out, a silver sword pin on his high collar, glanced at her curiously without slowing his stride.

  What she had done struck her like a bucket of cold water, and she nearly wept. None of those strangers would spot an Aes Sedai face, now, if they could recognize one. If either of those women could channel, unlikely though that was, she would not pass close enough to tell that Toveine could, too, She fretted and fumed over how to disobey Logain, and then did everything necessary to carry out his instructions without even thinking about it!

  As an act of defiance, she stopped where she was, turning to watch the visitors, Automatically, her hands checked her hood before she could snatch them to her sides. It was pitiful, and ridiculous. She knew the Asha'man guiding the party, by sight at least, a bulky man in his middle years with oily black hair, an oily smile, and eyes like augurs. None of the others, though. What could she hope to gain by this', How could she entrust a message to any of them? Even if the escort vanished, how could she get close enough to pass a message when she was forbidden to let any outsider discover the presence of Aes Sedai?

  The augur-eyed fellow looked bored with his duty this morning, hardly bothering to hide his yawns behind a gloved hand. "...when we do finish here," he was saying as he rode past Toveine. "I will show you the Craft Town. Quite a bit bigger than this. We do have every kind. of craftsfolk, from masons and carpenters to metalsmiths and tailors. We can make everything we need, Lady Elayne."

  "Except turnips," one of the women said in a high voice, and the other laughed.

  Toveine's head jerked. She watched the riders move on down the street accompanied by shouted orders and stamping boots, Lady Elayne? Elayne Trakand? The younger of the pair might match the description she had been given. Elaida did not reveal why she was so desperate to lay her hands on one runaway Accepted, even one who might become a queen, but she never let a sister leave the Tower without orders on what to do if she encountered the girl. Be very careful, Elayne Trakand, Toveine thought. I would not like Elaida to have the satisfaction of laying hands on you.

  She wanted to think on this, on whether there was some way to use the girl's presence here, but abruptly she became aware of the sensations at the back of her head. A mild contentment and a growing purpose. Logain had finished. his breakfast. He would be coming out, soon, He had told her to be there when he did.

  Her feet were running before she thought. With the result that her skirts tangled in her legs, and she fell hard, knocking her breath out. Anger welled up, fury, but she scrambled to her feet and, without pausing to brush off the dust, gathered her skirts above her knees and began to run again, cloak billowing behind. Men's raucous shouts followed her down the street, and laughing children pointed as she ran past.

  Suddenly a pack of dogs was around her, snarling, nipping at her heels. She leapt and spun and kicked, but they harried her. She wanted to shriek with frustration and fury. Dogs were always a bother, and she could not channel a feather to drive them off. A gray hound seized a mouth-ful of dangling skirt, pulling her sideways, Panic overwhelmed everything else. If she fell again, they would tear her to shreds.

  A shouting woman in brown wool swung her heavy basket at the dog tugging Toveine's skirt, making it dodge away. A round woman's bucket caught a brindled cur in the ribs, and it ran yelping. Toveine gaped in astonishment, and for her inattention had to pull her left leg away from another dog at the cost of a piece of her sacking and a little skin. There were women all around her, flailing away at the animals with whatever they had to hand.

  "Go on with you, Aes Sedai," a skinny, graying woman told her, slicing at a spotted dog with a switch, "They won't bother you more. I'd like a nice cat, myself, but cats won't abide the husband now, Go on."

  Toveine did not wait to thank her rescuers, She ran, considering furiously. The women knew. If one did, they all did. But they would carry no messages, give no help to an escape, not when they were willing to remain themselves, Not if they understood what they were helping, There was that,

  Just short of Logain's house, one of several down a narrower side street, she slowed and hastily let down her skirts. Eight or nine men in black coats were waiting outside, boys and oldsters and in between, but there was no sign of Logain yet. She could still sense him, full of purpose but concentrating. Reading, perhaps. She walked the rest of the way at a dignified pace, Composed and every inch an Aes Sedai, no matter the circumstances. She almost managed to forget her frantic flight from the dogs.

  The house surprised her every time she saw it, Others on the street were as large and two larger, An ordinary wooden house of two stories, though the red door, shutters and window frames looked odd, Plain curtains hid the interior, but the glass in the windows was so poor she doubted she could have seen anything clearly with the curtains drawn. A house suitable for a not overly successful shopkeeper; hardly the dwelling for one of the most notorious men alive.

  Briefly she wondered what was keeping Gabrelle. The other sister bonded to Logain had the same instruction she did, and until now, she had always been here first. Gabrelle was eager, studying the Asha'man as if she intended writing a book on the subject. Perhaps she did; Browns would write about anything. She put the other sister out of her mind.
Although, if Gabrelle did turn up late, she would have to find out how the woman had managed it, For now, she had her own studying.

  The men outside the red door eyed her, but said nothing, even to each other. Still there was no animosity. They were simply waiting. None had a cloak, though their breath made pale feathers in front of their faces. All were Dedicated, with the silver sword. pin on their collars.

  It had been the same every morning she had reported this way, though not always the same men. She knew some, knew their names at least, and sometimes a few other gleaned tidbits, Evin Vinchova, the pretty lad who had been there when Logain captured her, leaning against the corner of the house and toying with a bit of string. Donalo Sandomere, if that was his real name, with his creased farmer's face and sharply trimmed oiled beard, attempting the languid stance he thought a nobleman would assume, The Taraboner Androl Genhald, a square fellow with his heavy eyebrows drawn in thought and his hands clasped behind his back; he wore a gold signet ring, but she thought him an apprentice who had shaved his mustaches and abandoned his veil. Mezar Kurin, a Domani with gray at his temples, fingering the garnet in his left ear; he very well might be a minor noble. She was collecting a neat file of names and faces in her head. Sooner or later they would be hunted down, and every piece of information that could help identify them would be useful.

  The red door opened, and the men straightened, but it was not Logan who came out.

  Toveine blinked in surprise, then met Gabrelle's sooty green eyes with a flat stare, making no effort to hide her disgust. That accursed link with Logain had made clear what he was up to the night before - she had been afraid she would never fall asleep! - but not in her darkest imaginings had she suspected Gabrelle! Some of the men seemed as startled as she. Some attempted to hide smiles, Kurin grinned openly and stroked his thin mustache with a thumb.

  The dusky woman did not even have the grace to blush. She liked her upturned nose a trifle, then boldly adjusted her dark blue dress over her hips as if to advertise that she had just donned the garment. Sweeping her cloak around her shoulders, she tied the ribbons as she glided toward Toveine, as serene as if she were back in the Tower.

  Toveine grabbed the taller woman's arm, pulling her a little way from the men. "We may be captives, Gabrelle," she whispered harshly, "but that is no reason to surrender. Especially to Ablar's vile lusts!" The other woman did not so much as look abashed! A thought came, Of course. "Did he... ? Did he order you?"

  With something close to a sneer, Gabrelle pulled free. "Toveine, it took me two days to decide I should 'surrender' to his lusts, as you put it. I feel lucky it only required four to convince him to let me. You Reds might not be aware, but men love to talk and gossip, All you need do is listen, or even pretend to, and a man will tell you his whole life." A thoughful frown creased her forehead, and the twist to her lips vanished, "I wonder whether it's like that for ordinary women.

  "Whether what is like what." Toveine demanded. Gabrelle was spying on him? Or just trying to get more material for her book? But this was unbelievable, even for a Brown! "What are you talking about?"

  That musing expression never left the other's face. "I felt ...helpless, Oh, he was gentle, but I never really thought before on how strong a man's arms are, and me unable to channel a whisker, He was... in charge, I suppose, though that isn't quite right. Just... stronger, and I knew it, It Felt ...strangely exhilarating."

  Toveine shuddered. Gabrelle must be insane! She was about to tell her so when Logain himself appeared, closing the door behind him. He was tall, taller than any other man there, with dark hair that brushed wide shoulders and framed an arrogant face. His high collar carried both the silver sword and that ridiculous snake with legs. He flashed a smile at Gabrelle as the others gathered around him, The hussy smiled back, too. Toveine shuddered again. Exhilarating, The woman was insane!

  As on previous mornings, the men began making reports, Most of the time, Toveine had not been able to make up from down with them, but she listened,

  "I found two more who seem interested in that new kind of Healing this Nynaeve used on you, Logain," Genhald said, frowning, "but one can barely do the Healing we already know, and the other, he wants to know more than I could tell him."

  "What you can tell him is all I know," Logain replied. "Mistress al'Meara didn't tell me much of what she was doing, and I could only learn bits and pieces listening to the other sisters talk. Just keep planting the seed and hope something grows, It's all you can do." Several other men nodded along with Genhald.

  Toveine filed it away, Nynaeve al'Meara. She had heard that name often after returning to the Tower. Another runaway Accepted, another one Elaida wanted more than the normal desire to catch runaways seemed to account for, From the same village as al'Thor, too. And associated somehow with Logain. That might lead to something, eventually. But a new kind of Healing? Used by an Accepted? That was unlikely bordering close on impossible, but she had seen the impossible happen before, so she tucked it away. Gabrelle was listening closely, too, she noticed. But watching her as well, out of the corner of her eye,

  "There's a problem with some of those Two Rivers men, Logain," Vinchova said. An angry flush rose on his smooth face. "Men, I say, but these two are boys, fourteen at most!

  They won't say." He might have been a year or two older, with his beardless cheeks. "It was a crime, bringing them here,"

  Logain shook his head; whether it was in anger or regret was hard to say. "I've heard the White Tower takes girls as young as twelve. Look after the Two Rivers men where you can. No coddling, or the others will turn on them, but try to see they don't do anything stupid, The Lord Dragon might not like it if we kill too many from his district."

  "He doesn't seem to be caring much at all as I can see," a sleek fellow muttered. The sound of Murandy was strong in his mouth, though his fiercely curled mustaches told where he was from plainly enough. He was rolling a silver coin across the backs of his fingers and seemed as intent on that as on Logain. "I was hearing it was the Lord Dragon himself told the M'Hael m pluck up anything male in this Two Rivers that could channel, down to the roosters. With the number he brought back, I'm just surprised he didn't bring the chicks and lambs, as well," Chuckles met his sally, but Logain's level tones cut them like a blade,

  "Whatever the Lord Dragon ordered, I trust I've made my orders clear," Every head nodded this time, and some men murmured "Yes, Logain" and "As you say, Logain."

  Toveine hastily smoothed the sneer from her lips. Ignorant louts. The Tower accepted girls under fifteen only if they had already begun channeling. The other was interesting, though. The Two Rivers again. Everyone said al'Thor had turned his back on his home, but she was not so certain, Why was Gabrelle watching her?

  "Last night," Sandomere said after a moment, "I learned that Mishraile is having private lessons from the M'Hael." He stroked his pointed beard with satisfaction, as if he had produced a gem of great price.

  Perhaps he had, but Toveine could nor say what kind. Logain nodded slowly. The others exchanged silent looks with faces that might have been carved. She chewed frustration, watching. Too often it was like this, matters they saw no reason to comment on - or feared to?- and she did not understand. She always felt there were gems hidden there, beyond her reach.

  A wide Cairhienin fellow, barely as tall as Logain's chest, opened his mouth, but whether he meant to speak of Mishraile, whoever he was, she never found out.

  "Logain!" Welyn Kajima pounded down the street at a dead run, the bells at the ends of his black braids jangling. Another Dedicated, a man in his middle years who smiled too much, he had been there when Logain captured her, too. Kajima had bonded Jenare. He was almost out of breath when he pushed through the other men, and he was not smiling now,

  "Logain," he panted, "the M'Hael's back from Cairhien, and he's posted new deserters on the board at the palace. You won't believe the names!" He spilled out his list in a breathless rush amid exclamations from the others that kep
t Toveine from hearing more than fragments.

  "Dedicated have deserted before," the Cairhienin muttered. when Kajima was done, "but never a full Asha'man. And now seven at once',"

  "If you don't believe me," Kajima began, drawing himself up in a fussy manner. He had been a clerk, in Arafel.

  "We believe you," Genhald said soothingly. "But Gedwyn and Torval, they are the M'Hael's men. Rochaid and Kisman, too. Why would they desert,' He gave them anything a king could want."

  Kajima shook his head irritably, making his bells chime, 'You know the list never gives reasons. Just names."

  "Good riddance," Kurin growled. "At least, it would be if we didn't have to hunt them down, now,"

  "It's the others I cannot understand," Sandomere put in, "I was at Dumai's Wells. I saw the Lord Dragon choose, after. Dashiva had his head in the clouds, like always. But Flinn, Hopwil, Narishma? You never saw men more pleased. They were like lambs let loose in the barley shed,"

  A sturdy fellow with gray in his hair spat. "Well, I wasn't at the Wells, but I went south against the Seanchan." His accents were Andoran. "Maybe the lambs didn't like the butcher's yard as much as they did the barley shed."

  Logain had been listening without taking part, arms folded across his chest. His face was unreadable, a mask "Do you worry about the butcher's yard, Canler?" he said now.

  The Andoran grimaced, then shrugged. "I reckon we're all headed there, soon or late, Logain. Don't see we have much choice, but I don't have to grin about it."

  "As long as you're there on the day," Logain said quietly. He addressed. the man called Can1er, but several of the others nodded.

  Looking past the men, Logain considered Toveine and Gabrelle, Toveine tried to look as if she had not been eavesdropping, and remembering names fiercely, "Go inside out of the cold," he told them. "Have some tea to warm you. I'll be back as soon as I can. Don't touch my papers." Gathering up the other men with a gesture, he led them off in the direction Kajima had come from.