The Wheel of Time, page 742
She heard movement among the Sitters behind her. An actual shifting on benches and the crisp swishing of divided skirts being adjusted. At least some must be severely agitated. Well, several had suggested that the Black Tower might be dealt with in passing. Not one believed there could be more than a dozen or so men there at most, no matter what they heard; after all, it simply was not possible that hundreds of men would want to channel. Then again, it might have been the realization that Egwene was not going to name either Romanda or Lelaine.
Arathelle frowned, perhaps catching a hint of something in the air. Pelivar moved, on the point of rising again, and Donel drew himself up querulously. There was nothing for it but to press on. There never had been.
“I understand your concerns,” she continued in the same formal tone, “and I will address them.” What was that strange call to arms the Band used? Yes. It was time to toss the dice. “I give you this assurance as the Amyrlin Seat. For one month we will stay here, resting, and then we will leave Murandy, but we will not cross the border into Andor. Murandy will be troubled by us no more after that, and Andor will not be troubled at all. I’m certain,” she added, “the Murandian lords and ladies here will be happy to supply our wants in exchange for good silver. We will pay fair prices.” There was no point mollifying the Andorans if it meant Murandians raiding the horses and supply trains.
The Murandians, looking around uneasily, appeared decidedly torn in any case. There was coin to be made, and a great deal of it supplying an army so large, but on the other hand, who could haggle successfully with whatever an army so large offered? Donel actually seemed ready to sick up, while Cian seemed to be doing sums in her head. Mutters rose among the onlookers. More than mutters; nearly loud enough for Egwene.
She wanted to look over her shoulder. The silence from the Sitters was deafening. Siuan was staring straight ahead and gripping her skirts as if to keep herself looking forward by main force. At least she had known what was coming. Sheriam, who had not, eyed the Andorans and Murandians regally, calmly, as though she had expected every word.
Egwene needed to make them forget the girl they saw before them, and hear a woman with the reins of power firmly in hand. If they were not in her hands now, they would be! She firmed her voice. “Mark me well. I have made my decision; it is for you to accept it. Or face what surely will come from your failure.” As she fell silent, the wind gusted to a brief howl, rattling the canopy, tugging at garments. Egwene straightened her hair calmly. Some of the watching nobles shivered and twitched their cloaks around them, and she hoped their shivers came from more than the weather.
Arathelle exchanged looks with Pelivar and Aemlyn, and all three studied the Sitters before slowly nodding. They believed she was merely mouthing words the Sitters had put on her tongue! Even so, Egwene very nearly sighed with relief.
“It will be as you say,” the hard-eyed noblewoman said. Again, to the Sitters. “We do not doubt the word of Aes Sedai, of course, but you will understand if we also remain. Sometimes, what you hear isn’t what you think you heard. Not that that’s the case here, I’m sure. But we will stay while you do.” Donel truly looked ready to empty himself. Very likely his lands lay nearby. Andoran armies in Murandy had seldom been known to pay for anything.
Egwene stood, and she could hear the rustle of the Sitters rising behind her. “It is agreed, then. We must all depart soon, if we are to return to our own beds before dark, but we should spare a few moments. Getting to know one another a little better now might avoid misunderstandings later.” And talk might give her a chance to reach Talmanes. “Oh. One other thing you should all be aware of. The novice book is now open to any woman, whatever her age, if she tests true.” Arathelle blinked. Siuan did not, yet Egwene thought she heard a faint grunt. This was not part of what they had discussed, but there would never be a better time. “Come. I’m sure you would all like to speak with the Sitters. Let formality go.”
Without waiting for Sheriam to offer a hand, she stepped down. She almost felt like laughing. Last night she had been afraid she might never reach her goal, but she was halfway there, almost halfway, and it had not been nearly as difficult as she had feared. Of course, the other half remained.
CHAPTER
18
A Peculiar Calling
For a moment after Egwene descended, no one else moved. And then the Andorans and Murandians headed for the Sitters, almost as one. Apparently, a girl Amyrlin—a girl puppet and figurehead!—held no interest, not with ageless faces in front of them that at least said they actually were speaking to Aes Sedai. Two or three lords and ladies clustered around each Sitter, some thrusting their chins demandingly, others diffidently bending their necks, yet every one insistent on being heard. The sharp breeze whisked away the mist of their breath and fluttered cloaks forgotten in the importance of asking their questions. Sheriam was buttonholed too, by red-faced Lord Donel, who blustered and jerked bows by turns.
Egwene pulled Sheriam away from the narrow-eyed man. “Find out discreetly all you can about these sisters and Tower Guards in Andor,” she whispered hastily. As soon as she released the woman, Donel reclaimed her. Sheriam actually looked put-upon, but her frown disappeared quickly. Donel blinked uneasily as she began questioning him.
Romanda and Lelaine gazed at Egwene through the crowd with faces carved from ice, but each had acquired a pair of nobles who wanted. . . . Something. Reassurance that there was no hidden trick in Egwene’s words, perhaps. How they would hate doing that, but dodge and duck as they would—and they would!—there was no way to really avoid that reassurance without repudiating her on the spot. Even those two would not go that far. Not here, not publicly.
Siuan slipped close to Egwene, features set in meekness. Except that her eyes darted, maybe looking for Romanda or Lelaine coming to seize them where they stood, and forget law, custom, propriety and who was watching. “Shein Chunla,” she all but hissed in a whisper.
Egwene nodded, but her eyes searched for Talmanes. Most of the men and some of the women were tall enough to hide him. With everyone shifting about. . . . She went up on her toes. Where had he gone to?
Segan planted herself in front of her, fists on her hips, eyeing Siuan doubtfully. Egwene let her heels down hurriedly. The Amyrlin could not bob about like a girl at a dance looking for a boy. A rosebud unfolding. Calm. Serenity. Drat all men!
A slender woman with long dark hair, Segan seemed to have been born petulant, her full mouth fixed in a pout. Her dress was good blue wool and made for warmth, but it had far too much vivid green embroidery across her bosom, and her gloves were bright enough for a Tinker. She looked Egwene up and down, pursing her lips, with as much incredulity on her face as she had given Siuan. “What you said about the novice book,” she said abruptly. “Were you meaning any woman of any age at all? Any can become Aes Sedai, then?”
A question close to Egwene’s heart, and an answer she dearly wanted to give—along with a box on the ear for the doubt—but just then a small gap in the flow of people showed her Talmanes near the back of the pavilion. Talking with Pelivar! They stood stiffly, mastiffs not quite ready to show teeth, yet they were keeping a watch to make sure no one came close enough to overhear what they had to say. “Any woman of any age at all, daughter,” she agreed absently. Pelivar?
“Thank you,” Segan said, and haltingly added, “Mother.” She sketched a curtsy, the barest hint of one, before hurrying off. Egwene stared after her. Well, it was a beginning.
Siuan snorted. “I don’t mind sailing the Fingers of the Dragon in the dark if I must,” she muttered half under her breath. “We discussed that; we weighed the dangers, and anyway, there doesn’t seem to be a gull’s last dinner for choice. But you have to set a fire on deck just to make things interesting. Netting lion-fish isn’t enough for you. You have to stuff a prickleback down your dress, too. You aren’t content trying to wade a school of silverpike—”
Egwene broke in. “Siuan, I think I should tell Lord Bryne you’re head over heels in love with him. It’s only fair that he know, don’t you agree?” Siuan’s blue eyes bulged, and her mouth worked, but all that came out was a sort of gobbling. Egwene patted her shoulder. “You’re Aes Sedai, Siuan. Try to maintain at least a little dignity. And try to find out about those sisters in Andor.” The crowd parted again. She saw Talmanes in a different place, but still on the edge of the pavilion. And alone, now.
Trying not to hurry, she walked in his direction, leaving Siuan still gobbling. A pretty, black-haired serving man, whose bulky woolen breeches could not quite hide neatly turned calves, offered Siuan a steaming silver cup from a tray. Other servants were moving about with other silver trays. Refreshment was being offered, if a bit late. It was much too late for the kiss of peace. She did not hear what Siuan said as she snatched a cup, but from the way the fellow jerked and started bobbing bows, he had received sharp shards of her temper at the least. Egwene sighed.
Talmanes stood with arms folded, observing the goings-on with an amused smile that did not reach his eyes. He seemed poised to explode into motion, but his eyes were tired. At her approach, he made a respectful leg, but there was a wry touch to his voice when he said, “You changed a border today.” He gathered his cloak against the icy breeze. “It has always been . . . fluid . . . between Andor and Murandy, no matter what maps say, but Andor has never come south in such numbers before. Except for the Aiel War, and the Whitecloak War, anyway, but they were only passing through, then. Once they have been here a month, new maps will show a new line. Look at the Murandians scramble, fawning over Pelivar and his companions as much as they do the sisters. They are hoping to make new friends for the new day.”
To Egwene, trying to conceal her careful watch on those who might be watching her, it seemed that all of the nobles, Murandian and Andoran, were intent on the Sitters, crowding around them. In any case, she had slightly more important matters in mind than borders. To her, if not to the nobles. Except for brief moments, none of the Sitters were visible beyond the tops of their heads. Only Halima and Siuan seemed to notice her, and a babble like that of a flock of excited geese filled the air. She lowered her voice, and chose her words carefully.
“Friends are always important, Talmanes. You’ve been a good friend to Mat, and I think to me. I hope that hasn’t changed. I hope you’ve not told anyone what you shouldn’t.” Light, she was anxious, or she would not have been so direct. Next, she would come right out and ask what he and Pelivar had been talking about!
Luckily, he did not laugh at her for a blunt-tongued village woman. Though he might have been thinking it. He studied her seriously before speaking. In a soft voice. He also knew caution. “Not all men gossip. Tell me, when you sent Mat south, did you know what you would do here today?”
“How could I know that two months ago? No, Aes Sedai aren’t omniscient, Talmanes.” She had hoped for something that would put her in the place she was, had planned for it, but she had not known, not back then. She also hoped he did not gossip. Some men did not.
Romanda started toward her with a firm stride and a frozen face, but Arathelle intercepted her, catching the Yellow Sitter’s arm and refusing to be put off despite Romanda’s astonishment.
“Will you at least tell me where Mat is?” Talmanes asked. “On his way to Caemlyn with the Daughter-Heir? Why are you surprised? A serving woman will speak to a soldier when fetching water from the same stream. Even when he is a horrible Dragonsworn,” he added dryly.
Light! Men really were . . . inconvenient . . . at times. The best of them found ways to say exactly the wrong thing at the wrong moment, to ask the wrong question. Not to mention inveigling serving women into prattle. So much easier if she could just lie, but he had given her plenty of room within the Oaths. Half the truth would suffice, and keep him from haring off to Ebou Dar. Maybe less than half.
Over in the far corner of the pavilion, Siuan stood conversing with a tall young redhead with curled mustaches who was eyeing her as dubiously as Segan had. Nobles usually knew the look of Aes Sedai. But he held only a part of Siuan’s attention. Her gaze constantly flickered toward Egwene. It seemed to shout, loud as conscience. Easier. Expedient. What it was to be Aes Sedai. She had not known about today, only hoped! Egwene expelled an irritated breath. Burn the woman!
“He was in Ebou Dar, the last I heard,” she muttered. “But he must be hurrying north as fast as he can by now. He still thinks he has to save me, Talmanes, and Matrim Cauthon wouldn’t miss the chance to be on the spot so he can say I told you so.”
Talmanes did not look at all surprised. “I thought it might be so,” he sighed. “I have . . . felt . . . something, for weeks now. Others in the Band have, too. Not urgent, but always there. As if he needed me. As if I should look south, anyway. It can be peculiar, following a ta’veren.”
“I suppose it can,” she agreed, hoping none of her incredulity showed. It was strange enough to think of Mat the wastrel as leader of the Band of the Red Hand, much less as ta’veren, but surely a ta’veren had to be present, nearby at least, to have any effect.
“Mat was wrong about you needing rescue. You never had any intention of coming to me for help, did you?”
He still spoke softly, but she looked around hurriedly anyway. Siuan was still watching them. And so was Halima. Paitr stood much too close to her, puffing and preening and stroking his mustaches—from the way he stared down her dress, he had not mistaken her for a sister, that was certain!—but she was giving him only half her mind, darting sidelong glances in Egwene’s direction while she smiled up at him warmly. Everyone else appeared occupied, and no one stood close enough to hear.
“The Amyrlin Seat could hardly go running for sanctuary, now could she? But there have been times it’s been a comfort knowing you were there,” she admitted. Reluctantly. The Amyrlin Seat was hardly supposed to need a bolt-hole, but it could do no harm so long as none of the Sitters knew. “You have been a friend, Talmanes. I hope that continues. I truly do.”
“You have been more . . . open . . . with me than I expected,” he said slowly, “so I will tell you something.” His face did not change—to any watcher, he must have seemed as casual as before—but his voice dropped to a whisper. “I have had approaches from King Roedran about the Band. It seems he has hopes of being Murandy’s first real king. He wants to hire us. I would not have considered it, normally, but there is never enough coin, and with this . . . this feel of Mat needing us. . . . It might be better if we remain in Murandy. Clear as good glass, you are where you want to be and have everything in hand.”
He fell silent as a young serving woman curtsied to offer mulled wine. She wore finely embroidered green wool and a cloak plush with spotted rabbit. Other servants from the camp were helping out now, as well, no doubt for something to do besides stand and shiver. The young woman’s round face was decidedly pinched from the cold.
Talmanes waved her off and pulled his cloak back around him, but Egwene took a silver cup to gain a moment for thought. Truly there was little need for the Band any longer. Despite all the muttering, the sisters took their presence as a matter of course now, Dragon-sworn or not; they no longer feared an attack, and there had been no real need to use the Band’s presence to prod them into moving since leaving Salidar. The only true purpose Shen an Calhar served now was to draw recruits into Bryne’s army, men who thought two armies meant a battle and wanted to be on the side with the greatest numbers. She had no need of them, but Talmanes had acted as a friend. And she was Amyrlin. Sometimes friendship and responsibility pushed in the same direction.
As the serving woman moved off, Egwene laid a hand on Talmanes’ arm. “You must not do that. Even the Band can’t conquer all of Murandy by itself, and every hand will be against you. You know very well the one thing that makes Murandians stand together is foreigners on their soil. Follow us to Tar Valon, Talmanes. Mat will come there; I have no doubt of that.” Mat would not really believe she was the Amyrlin until he saw her wearing the stole in the White Tower.
“Roedran is no fool,” he said placidly. “All he wants us to do is sit and wait, a foreign army—without Aes Sedai—and nobody knowing what it is up to. He should not have much trouble uniting the nobles against us. Then, so he says, we quietly slip across the border. He thinks he can hold on to them afterward.”
She could not stop a touch of heat entering her voice. “And what is to stop him betraying you? If the threat goes away without a fight, his dream of a united Murandy might, too.” The fool man seemed amused!
“I am not a fool either. Roedran cannot be ready before spring. This lot would never have stirred from their manors if the Andorans had not come south, and they were on the march before the snows began. Before then, Mat will find us. If he is coming north, he must hear of us. Roedran will have to be satisfied with whatever he has managed by then. So if Mat does intend to go to Tar Valon, I may see you there yet.”
Egwene made a vexed sound. It was a remarkable plan, the sort of thing Siuan might devise, and hardly a scheme she thought Roedran Almaric do Arreloa a’Naloy could carry off. The fellow was said to be so dissolute he made Mat look wholesome. But then, it was hardly a scheme she would have believed Roedran could think up. The only certainty was that Talmanes had made up his mind.
“I want your word, Talmanes, that you won’t let Roedran pull you into a war.” Responsibility. The narrow stole around her neck seemed to weigh ten times more than her cloak. “If he moves sooner than you think, you will leave whether or not Mat has joined you.”
