The Wheel of Time, page 1261
“Invading dreams,” Lanfear said. “She was here in the flesh. That affords one certain advantages, particularly when playing with dreams. That hussy. She thinks she knows this place, but it has always been mine. It would have been best if you’d killed her.”
“That was Graendal, wasn’t it?” Perrin asked. “Or was it Moghedien?”
“Graendal,” Lanfear said. “Though, again, we are not to use that name for her. She’s been renamed Hessalam.”
“Hessalam,” Perrin said, trying the word out in his mouth. “I don’t know it.”
“It means ‘without forgiveness.’ ”
“And what is your new name, the one we’re supposed to call you, now?”
That actually pulled a blush out of her. “Never mind,” she said. “You are skilled here in Tel’aran’rhiod. Much better than Lews Therin ever was. I always thought I would rule at his side, that only a man who could channel would be worthy of me. But the power you display here … I think I may accept it as a substitute.”
Perrin grunted. Gaul had moved across the small clearing between the camp tents, spear raised, shoufa covering his face. Perrin waved him off. Not only was Lanfear likely to be much better with the wolf dream than Gaul, but she hadn’t done anything specifically threatening yet.
“If you’ve been watching me,” Perrin said, “you’ll know that I’m married, quite happily.”
“So I have seen.”
“Then stop looking at me like a flank of beef hung up for display in the market,” Perrin growled. “What was Graendal doing here? What does she want?”
“I’m not certain,” Lanfear said lightly. “She always has three or four plots going at the same time. Don’t underestimate her, Perrin. She’s not as skilled here as some others, but she is dangerous. She’s a fighter, unlike Moghedien, who will run from you whenever she can.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Perrin said, walking up to the place where she’d vanished by gateway. He prodded at the earth where the gateway had cut the ground.
“You could do that, you know,” Lanfear said.
He spun on her. “What?”
“Go back and forth into the waking world,” she said. “Without requiring the help of one like Lews Therin.”
Perrin didn’t like the way she sneered when she said his name. She tried to cover it up, but he smelled hatred on her whenever she mentioned him.
“I can’t channel,” Perrin said. “I suppose I could imagine being able to…”
“It wouldn’t work,” she said. “There are limits to what one can accomplish here, regardless of how strong the mind. The ability to channel is not a thing of the body, but a thing of the soul. There are still ways for one such as you to move back and forth between worlds in the flesh. The one you call Slayer does it.”
“He’s not a wolfbrother.”
“No,” she said. “But he is something similar. I’m honestly not certain another has had his skills before. The Dark One did … something to this Slayer when capturing his soul, or his souls. I suspect Semirhage might have been able to tell us more. It’s a pity she’s dead.”
Lanfear didn’t smell of pity at all. She glanced at the sky, but was calm, not worried.
“You don’t seem as worried about being spotted as you once were,” Perrin noted.
“My former master is … occupied. This last week watching you, I’ve rarely felt his eyes on me.”
“Week?” Perrin asked, shocked. “But—”
“Time passes oddly here,” she said, “and the barriers of time itself are fraying. The closer you are to the Bore, the more time will distort. For those who approach Shayol Ghul in the real world, it will be just as bad. For every day that passes to them, three or four might pass to those more distant.”
A week? Light! How much had happened on the outside? Who lived, and who had died, while Perrin hunted? He should wait at the Traveling ground for his portal to open. But, judging by the darkness he’d seen through Graendal’s gateway, it was night. Perrin’s escape portal could be hours away.
“You could make a gateway for me,” Perrin said. “A pathway out, then back in. Will you?”
Lanfear considered it, strolling past one of the flickering tents and letting her fingers trail on the canvas as it vanished. “No,” she finally said.
“But—”
“You must learn to do this thing for yourself if we are to be together.”
“We’re not going to be together,” he said flatly.
“You need this power of and for yourself,” she said, ignoring what he had said. “You are weak so long as you are trapped only in one of the worlds; being able to come here when you want will give you great power.”
“I don’t care about power, Lanfear,” he said, watching her as she continued to stroll. She was pretty. Not as pretty as Faile, of course. Beautiful nonetheless.
“Don’t you?” She faced him. “Have you never thought of what you could do with more strength, more power, more authority?”
“That won’t tempt me to—”
“Save lives?” she said. “Prevent children from starving? Stop the weak from being bullied, end wickedness, reward honor? Power to encourage men to be straightforward and honest with one another?”
He shook his head.
“You could do so much good, Perrin Aybara,” she said, walking up to him, then touching the side of his face, running her fingers down his beard.
“Tell me how to do what Slayer does,” Perrin said, pushing her hand away. “How does he move between worlds?”
“I cannot explain it to you,” she said, turning away, “as it is a skill I have never had to learn. I use other methods. Perhaps you can beat it out of him. I would be quick, assuming you wish to stop Graendal.”
“Stop her?” Perrin said.
“Didn’t you realize?” Lanfear turned back to him. “The dream she was invading was not one of the people from this camp—space and distance matter not to dreams. That dream you saw her invading … it belongs to Davram Bashere. Father of your wife.”
With that, Lanfear vanished.
CHAPTER
23
At the Edge of Time
Gawyn tugged urgently on Egwene’s shoulder. Why wouldn’t she move? Whoever that man was in the armor made of silver discs, he could sense female channelers. He’d picked Leane out of the darkness; he could do the same for Egwene. Light, he probably would, as soon as he took a moment to notice.
I’m going to haul her up onto my shoulder, if she doesn’t move, he thought. Light help me, I’ll do it, no matter how much noise it makes. We’re going to be caught anyway, if we—
The one who called himself Bao moved off, towing Leane—still wrapped in Air—with him. The others followed in a mass, leaving the awful, charred remnants of the other captives behind.
“Egwene?” Gawyn whispered.
She looked at him, a cold strength in her eyes, and nodded. Light! How could she be so calm when he had to clench his teeth for fear they would start rattling together?
They wriggled out from under the cart backward, moving on their stomachs until they emerged. Egwene glanced in the direction of the Sharans. Her cold sense of control radiated into his mind from the bond. Hearing that man’s name had done that to her, given her a sudden spike of shock followed by grim determination. What was that name? Barid something? Gawyn thought he’d heard it before.
He wanted Egwene out of this death trap. He put the Warder cloak around her shoulders. “The best way out is directly east,” he whispered. “Around the mess tent—what’s left of it—then on to the camp perimeter. They have a guard post set up next to what was our Traveling ground. We’ll go around that to the north side.”
She nodded.
“I’ll scout ahead, you follow,” Gawyn said. “If I see anything, I’ll toss a stone back toward you. Listen for it hitting, all right? Count to twenty, then follow me at a slow pace.”
“But—”
“You can’t go first, lest we run across some of those channelers. I need to take the lead.”
“At least wear the cloak,” she hissed.
“I’ll be fine,” he whispered, then slipped away before she could argue further. He did feel her spike of annoyance, and suspected he’d get an earful once they were out of this. Well, if they lived long enough for that to happen, he’d accept the reprimand happily.
Once he was a short distance from her, he slipped on one of the rings of the Bloodknives. He had activated it with his blood, as Leilwin had said was needed.
She’d also said it might kill him.
You’re a fool, Gawyn Trakand, he thought as a tingling sensation ran across his body. Though he’d used the ter’angreal only once before, he knew that his figure had been blurred and darkened. If people glanced in his direction, their eyes would slide away from him. It worked particularly well in shadows. For once, he was pleased that those clouds blocked out any moonlight or starlight.
He moved on, stepping carefully. Earlier in the night, when he’d first tested the ring as Egwene slept, he’d been able to pass within a few steps of sentries holding lanterns. One had looked right at Gawyn, but hadn’t seen him. In this much darkness, he might as well have been invisible.
The ter’angreal allowed him to move more quickly as well. The change was slight, but noticeable. He itched to try out the ability in a duel. How many of these Sharans could he take on his own while wearing one of these rings? A dozen? Two?
That would last right up until one of those channelers cooked you, Gawyn told himself. He collected a few pebbles off the ground to toss back toward Egwene if he spotted one of the female channelers.
He looped around the mess tent, following the path he’d scouted earlier. It was important to keep reminding himself to be careful; earlier, the ter’angreal’s power had made him too bold. It was a heady thing, knowing how easily he could move.
He had told himself he wouldn’t use the rings, but that had been during battle—when he’d been tempted to try to make a name for himself. This was different. This was protecting Egwene. He could allow an exception for this.
* * *
The moment she hit the count of twenty, Egwene moved into the darkness. She wasn’t as good at sneaking as Nynaeve and Perrin were, but she was from the Two Rivers. Every child in Emond’s Field learned how to move in the woods without startling game.
She turned her attention to the path before her, testing with her toes—she’d removed her shoes—to avoid dried leaves or weeds. Moving this way was second nature to her; that left her mind free, unfortunately.
One of the Forsaken led the Sharans. She could only guess from his words that their entire nation followed him. This was as bad as the Seanchan. Worse. The Seanchan captured and used Aes Sedai, but they didn’t slaughter the common people with such recklessness.
Egwene had to survive to escape. She needed to bring this information to the White Tower. The Aes Sedai would have to face Demandred. Light send that enough of their number had escaped the battle earlier to do so.
Why had Demandred sent for Rand? Everyone knew where to find the Dragon Reborn.
Egwene reached the mess tent, then crept around it. Guards chatted in the near distance. That Sharan accent was oddly monotone, as if the people had no emotions at all. It was as if … the music was gone from their speech. Music that Egwene hadn’t realized was normally there.
The ones speaking were men, so she probably didn’t need to worry that they would sense her ability to channel. Still, Demandred had done it with Leane; perhaps he had a ter’angreal for the purpose. Such things existed.
She gave the men a wide berth anyway and continued on into the darkness of what had once been her camp. She moved past fallen tents, the scent of smoldering fires still lingering in the air, and crossed a path that she had taken most evenings while collecting troop reports. It was disturbing, how quickly one could go from being in a position of power to slinking through camp like a rat. Being suddenly unable to channel changed so many things.
My authority is not drawn from my power to channel, she told herself. My strength is in control, understanding, and care. I will escape this camp, and I will continue the fight.
She repeated those words, fighting off a creeping sense of powerlessness—the feeling of despair at so many dead, the tingling between her shoulder blades, as if someone were watching her in the darkness. Light, poor Leane.
Something hit the bare earth near her. It was followed by two more pebbles dropping to the ground. Gawyn apparently didn’t trust in just one. She moved quickly to the remnants of a nearby tent, half-burned, the other half of the canvas hanging from the poles.
She crouched down. At that moment she realized a half-burned body was lying on the ground mere inches from her. He was Shienaran, she saw in a flash of lightning from the rumbling clouds above, though he wore the symbol of the White Tower on his shirt. He lay with one eye up toward the sky, silent, the other side of his head burned down to the skull.
A light appeared from the direction she’d been heading. She waited, tense, as two Sharan guards approached, bearing a lantern. They didn’t speak. As they turned to walk southward along their route, she could see that their armor had symbols etched across the back that mimicked the tattoos she’d seen on men earlier. These marks were quite extravagant, and so—by her best guess—the men were actually of low rank.
The system disturbed her. You could always add to a person’s tattoo, but she knew of no way to remove one. Having the tattoos grow more intricate the lower one was in society implied something: people could fall from grace, but they could not rise once fallen—or born—to a lowly position.
She sensed the channeler behind her mere moments before a shield slammed between Egwene and the Source.
Egwene reacted immediately. She didn’t give terror time to gain purchase; she grabbed her belt knife and spun toward the woman she could sense approaching from behind. Egwene lunged, but a weave of Air snatched her arm and held it tightly; another one filled her mouth, gagging her.
Egwene thrashed, but other weaves grabbed her and hauled her into the air. The knife dropped from her twitching fingers.
A globe of light appeared nearby, a soft blue aura, much dimmer than that of a lantern. It had been created by a woman with dark skin and very refined features. Delicate. A small nose, a slender frame. She stood up from her crouch, and Egwene found her to be quite tall, nearly as tall as a man.
“You are a dangerous little rabbit,” the woman said, her thick, toneless accent making her difficult to understand. She emphasized words in the wrong places, and pronounced many sounds in a just-off way. She had the tattoos on her face, like delicate branches, reaching from the back of her neck forward onto her cheeks. She also wore one of those dresses shaped like a cow’s bell, black, with strands of white tied a handspan below the neck.
The woman touched her arm, where Egwene’s knife had nearly taken her. “Yes,” the woman said, “very dangerous. Few of the Ayyad would reach for a dagger so quickly, rather than for the Source. You have been trained well.”
Egwene struggled in her bonds. It was no use. They were tight. Her heart began racing, but she was better than that. Panic would not save her. She forced herself to be calm.
No, she thought. No, panic won’t save me … but it may alert Gawyn. She could sense that he was worried, out there somewhere in the darkness. With effort, she allowed her terror to rise. She let go of all of her careful Aes Sedai training. It was not nearly as easy as she had expected.
“You move quietly, little rabbit,” the Sharan woman said, inspecting Egwene. “I would never have been able to follow you if I hadn’t already known you were moving in this direction.” She walked around Egwene, looking curious. “You watched the Wyld’s little show all the way through, did you? Brave. Or stupid.”
Egwene shut her eyes and focused on her terror. Her sheer panic. She had to bring Gawyn to her. She reached within, and opened the tight little nugget of emotion she’d packed there. Her fear at being captured again by the Seanchan.
She could feel it. The a’dam on her neck. The name. Tuli. A name for a pet.
Egwene had been younger then, but no more powerless than she was now. It would happen again. She would be nothing. She would have her very self stripped away. She would rather be dead. Oh, Light! Why couldn’t she have died?
She’d sworn she’d never be captured like this again. She began to breathe quickly, now unable to control her terror.
“Now, now,” the Sharan said. She seemed amused, though her tone was so flat, Egwene couldn’t completely tell. “It won’t be that bad now, will it? I have to decide. Which will gain me more? Turning you over to him, or keeping you for myself? Hmmm…”
Strong channeling came suddenly from the far side of the camp, where Demandred had gone. The Sharan glanced that way, but didn’t seem alarmed.
Egwene could feel Gawyn approaching. He was very worried. Her message had served its purpose, but he wasn’t coming quickly enough, and he was farther away than she’d expected. What was wrong? Now that she’d let her worry out of its hidden place, it overwhelmed her, beating against her, a series of blows.
“Your man…” the Sharan said. “You have one of them. What are they called, again? Odd, that you should rely on the protection of a man, but you never reach your potential in this land, I am told. He will be taken. I’ve sent for him.”
As Egwene had feared. Light! She’d led Gawyn to this. She’d led the army to disaster. Egwene squeezed her eyes shut. She’d led the White Tower to its destruction.
Her parents would be slaughtered. The Two Rivers would burn.
She should have been stronger.
She should have been smarter.
No.
She had not been broken by the Seanchan. She would not be broken by this. Egwene opened her eyes and met the gaze of the Sharan in the soft blue light. Egwene wrestled her emotions to stillness, and felt the Aes Sedai calm envelop her.
“You … are an odd one,” the Sharan whispered, still held by Egwene’s eyes. So transfixed was she that the woman didn’t notice when the shadow moved up behind her. A shadow that could not have been Gawyn, for he was still distant.
