A Crown of Swords

## Chapter 20

#### Patterns Within Patterns

Contemptuously Sevanna studied her dusty companions, seated in a circle with her in the small clearing. The nearly leafless branches overhead provided a bit of cool shade, and the place where Rand al’Thor had hurled death lay more than a hundred miles to the west, yet the other women’s eyes shifted with an air of looking over shoulders. Without sweat tents, none had been able to clean herself properly, no more than a hasty washing of face and hands at day’s end. Eight small silver cups, all different, sat by her side on the dead leaves, and a silver pitcher, filled with water, that had been dented in the retreat.

“Either the Car’a’carn is not following,” she said abruptly, “or he has been unable to find us. Either contents me.”

Some of them actually jumped. Tion’s round face paled, and Modarra patted her shoulder. Modarra would have been pretty if she was not so tall, if she did not always try to mother everyone within reach. Alarys became much too intent on straightening skirts already neatly spread around her, attempting to ignore what she did not want to see. Meira’s thin mouth drew down, but who could say whether for the others’ open fear of the Car’a’carn or her own? They had reason to be afraid.

Two full days since the battle, and fewer than twenty thousand spears had grouped around Sevanna. Therava and most of the Wise Ones who had been to the west were still absent, including all the rest who were tied to her. Some of the missing surely were making their way back to Kinslayer’s Dagger, but how many would never again see the sun rise? No one remembered such a slaughter, so many dead in so short a time. Even the algai’d’siswai were not truly ready to dance the spears again so soon. Reason to be afraid, yet none for showing it, displaying heart and soul on your face like a wetlander, open and naked for all to see.

Rhiale at least seemed to realize that much. “If we are to do this thing, let us do it,” she muttered, stiff with embarrassment. She was one who had jumped.

Sevanna took the small gray cube from her pouch and placed it atop the brown leaves in the middle of the circle. Someryn put her hands on her knees, leaning over to examine it until she appeared in danger of falling out of her blouse. Her nose nearly touched the cube. Intricate patterns covered every side, and close up you could see smaller patterns within the larger, and still smaller inside those, and a hint of what seemed smaller yet. How they could have been made, the tiniest so fine, so precise, Sevanna had no idea. Once she had thought the cube stone, but she was no longer certain. Yesterday she had dropped it accidentally on some rocks without marring one line of the carving. If it was carving. The thing must be a ter’angreal; that they knew.

“The smallest flow possible of Fire must be touched lightly there, on what looks like a twisted crescent moon,” she told them, “and another there on the top, on that mark like a lightning bolt.” Someryn straightened very quickly.

“What will happen then?” Alarys asked, combing her hair with her fingers. It seemed an absentminded gesture, but she always found ways to remind everyone that her hair was black instead of common yellow or red.

Sevanna smiled. She enjoyed knowing what they did not. “I will use it to summon the wetlander who gave it to me.”

“That much you told us already,” Rhiale said in a sour voice, and Tion bluntly asked, “How will it summon him?” She might fear Rand al’Thor, but not a great deal else. Certainly not Sevanna. Belinde lightly stroked the cube with one bony finger, her sun-bleached eyebrows drawn down.

Maintaining a smooth face, Sevanna irritably prevented her hands from fingering a necklace or adjusting her shawl. “I have told you all you need know.” Considerably more than they needed, in her opinion, but it had been necessary. Otherwise they would all be back with the spears and the other Wise Ones, eating hard bread and dried meat. Or rather they would all be on the move eastward, watching for any sign of other survivors. Watching for any sign of pursuit. With a late start, they might still cover fifty miles before halting. “Words will not skin the boar, much less kill it. If you have decided to creep back to the mountains and spend your lives running and hiding, then go. If not, then do what you must, and I will do my part.”

Rhiale’s blue eyes stared flat defiance, and Tion’s gray. Even Modarra looked doubtful, and she and Someryn lay the most solidly in her grasp.

Sevanna waited, outwardly calm, unwilling to tell them again or ask. Inside, her stomach churned with anger. She would not be beaten because these women had pale hearts.

“If we must,” Rhiale sighed at last. Excepting the absent Therava, she resisted most often, but Sevanna had hopes of her. The spine that refused to bend at all was often the most malleable once it gave way. That was as true for women as men. Rhiale and the others turned their eyes to the cube, some frowning.

Sevanna saw nothing, of course. In fact, she realized that if they did nothing, they could claim the cube failed to work, and she would never know.

Abruptly, though, Someryn gasped, and Meira almost whispered, “It draws more. Look.” She pointed. “Fire there and there, and Earth, and Air and Spirit, filling the runnels.”

“Not all of them,” Belinde said. “They could be filled many ways, I think. And there are places where the flows . . . twist . . . around something that is not there.” Her forehead furrowed. “It must be drawing the male part, as well.”

Several drew back a little, shifting shawls, brushing skirts as though to rub away dirt. Sevanna would have given anything to see. Almost anything. How could they be such cowards? How could they let it show?

Finally Modarra said, “I wonder what would happen if we touched it with Fire elsewhere.”

“Power the callbox too much or in the wrong way, and it may melt,” a man’s voice said out of the air. “It could even ex—”

The voice cut off as the other women surged to their feet, peering in among the trees. Alarys and Modarra went so far as to draw their belt knives, though they had no need of steel when they had the One Power. Nothing moved among the sun-streaked shadows, not so much as a bird.

Sevanna did not stir. She had believed perhaps a third of what of the wetlander had told her, not including this, in truth, but she recognized Caddar’s voice. Wetlanders always had more names, but that was all he had given. A man of many secrets, she suspected. “Take your places again,” she ordered. “And put the flows back where they were. How can I summon him if you fear words?”

Rhiale swung around, mouth gaping and eyes incredulous. Undoubtedly wondering how she knew they had stopped channeling; the woman was not thinking clearly. Slowly, uneasily, they settled in the circle again. Rhiale donned a flatter face than anyone else.

“So you are back,” Caddar’s voice said from the air. “Do you have al’Thor?”

Something in his tone warned her. He could not know. But he did. She abandoned all she had prepared to say. “No, Caddar. But we still must talk. I will meet you in ten days where we first met.” She could reach that valley in Kinslayer’s Dagger sooner, but she needed time to prepare. How did he know?

“Well that you told the truth, girl,” Caddar murmured dryly. “You will learn I do not like being lied to. Maintain the wayline for location, and I will come to you.”

Sevanna stared at the cube in shock. Girl? “What did you say?” she demanded. Girl! She could not believe her ears. Rhiale very pointedly did not look at her, and Meira’s mouth twisted in a smile, awkward because so seldom used.

Caddar’s sigh filled the clearing. “Tell your Wise One to continue doing exactly what she is doing—nothing else—and I will come to you.” The forced patience in his tone scraped like a grist-stone. When she had what she wanted from the wetlander, she would dress him in gai’shain white. No, in black!

“What do you mean, you will come, Caddar?” Silence answered. “Caddar, where are you?” Silence. “Caddar?”

The others exchanged uneasy glances.

“Is he mad?” Tion said. Alarys muttered that he must be, and Belinde angrily demanded to know how long they were to continue this nonsense.

“Until I say to stop,” Sevanna said softly, staring at the cube. A prickle of hope wormed through her chest. If he could do this, then surely he could deliver what he had promised. And maybe . . . She would not hope too much. She looked up through the branches that nearly met above the clearing. The sun still had a way to climb to its peak. “If he has not come by midday, we will go.” It was too much to expect they would not grumble.

“So we sit here like stones?” Alarys tossed her head in a practiced way, sweeping all of her hair over one shoulder. “For a wetlander?”

“Whatever he promised you, Sevanna,” Rhiale said with a scowl, “it cannot be worth this.”

“He is mad,” Tion growled.

Modarra nodded toward the cube. “What if he can still hear?”

Tion sniffed dismissively, and Someryn said, “How should we care if a man hears what we say? But I do not relish waiting for him.”

“What if he is like those wetlanders in black coats?” Belinde compressed her lips till they nearly matched Meira’s.

“Do not be ridiculous,” Alarys sneered. “Wetlanders kill such men on sight. Whatever the algai’d’siswai claim, that must have been the work of the Aes Sedai. And Rand al’Thor.” That name produced a pained silence, but it did not last.

“Caddar must have a cube like this one,” Belinde said. “He must have a woman with the gift to make it work.”

“An Aes Sedai?” Rhiale made a noise of disgust in her throat. “If there are ten Aes Sedai with him, let them come. We will deal with them as they deserve.”

Meira laughed, a dry sound as narrow as her face. “I think you almost begin to believe they did kill Desaine.”

“Watch your tongue!” Rhiale snarled.

“Yes,” Someryn murmured anxiously. “Careless words might be heard by the wrong ears.”

Tion’s laugh was short and unpleasant. “The lot of you has less courage than one wetlander.” Which made Someryn snap back, of course, and Modarra too, and Meira spoke words that would have brought a challenge had they not been Wise Ones, and Alarys spoke harsher, and Belinde . . .

Their squabbling irritated Sevanna, though it guaranteed they would not conspire against her. But that was not why she raised a hand for silence. Rhiale frowned at her, opening her mouth, and in that moment they heard what she did. Something rustled in the dead leaves among the trees. No Aiel would make so much noise, even if any would approach Wise Ones unbidden, and no animal would come so near people. This time, she rose to her feet with the others.

Two shapes appeared, a man and a woman, breaking enough branches underfoot to wake a stone. Just short of the clearing, they stopped, and the man bent his head slightly to speak to the woman. It was Caddar, in a nearly black coat with lace at his neck and wrists. At least he did not wear a sword. They seemed to be arguing. Sevanna should have been able to hear something of their words, yet the silence was complete. Caddar stood nearly a hand taller than Modarra—tall for a wetlander, or even for an Aiel—and the woman’s head reached no higher than his chest. As dark of face and hair as he, and beautiful enough to tighten Sevanna’s mouth, she wore bright red silk, cut to expose even more of her bosom than Someryn showed.

As if thinking of the woman called her, Someryn drew close to Sevanna. “The woman has the gift,” she whispered without taking her eyes from the pair. “She weaves a barrier.” Pursing her lips, she added, reluctantly, “She is strong. Very strong.” From her, that meant something indeed. Sevanna had never been able to understand why strength in the Power did not count among Wise Ones—while being thankful that it did not, for her own sake—but Someryn prided herself that she had never encountered a woman near as strong as she. By her tone, Sevanna suspected this woman was stronger.

Right then, she did not care whether the woman could move mountains or barely light a candle. She must be Aes Sedai. She did not have the face, yet some Sevanna had seen did not. That must be how Caddar could put his hand on ter’angreal. That was how he could find them and come. So soon; so quickly. Possibilities unfolded, and hope grew. But between him and her, who commanded?

“Stop channeling into that,” she ordered. He might still be able to hear through it.

Rhiale gave her a look that did not stop short of pity. “Someryn already did, Sevanna.”

Nothing could spoil her mood. She smiled and said, “Very well. Remember what I said. Let me do all of the talking.” Most of the others nodded; Rhiale sniffed. Sevanna kept her smile. A Wise One could not be made gai’shain, but so many worn-out customs had been set aside already that others might follow.

Caddar and the woman started forward, and Someryn whispered again. “She still holds the Power.”

“Sit next to me,” Sevanna told her hastily. “Touch my leg if she channels.” How that galled. But she must know.

She sat, folding her legs under, and the others joined her, leaving a space for Caddar and the woman. Someryn sat close enough that their knees touched. Sevanna wished she had a chair.

“I see you, Caddar,” she said formally, in spite of his insult. “Sit, you and your woman.”

She wanted to see how the Aes Sedai reacted, but all she did was arch an eyebrow and smile lazily. Her eyes were as black as his, as black as a raven’s. The other Wise Ones let a little coldness show. Had the Aes Sedai at the wells not allowed Rand al’Thor to break free, they surely would have killed or captured every one. This Aes Sedai must be aware of that, since Caddar plainly knew what had happened, yet she looked anything but afraid.

“This is Maisia,” Caddar said, lowering himself to the ground, a little short of the space left for him. For some reason, he did not like to come within arm’s reach. Perhaps he feared knives. “I told you to use a single Wise One, Sevanna, not seven. Some men might be suspicious.” For some reason, he seemed amused.

The woman, Maisia, paused in the act of smoothing her skirts under when he gave her name, glaring at him with a fury that should have stripped his hide away. Perhaps she had thought to keep her identity hidden. She said nothing, though. After a moment she sat beside him, her smile returning so suddenly it might never have gone. Not for the first time, Sevanna was thankful that wetlanders wore their emotions on their faces.

“You have brought the thing that can control Rand al’Thor?” She did not even glance at the pitcher of water. When he was so rude, why should she continue the forms? She did not remember him being so when they met before. Perhaps the Aes Sedai emboldened him.

Caddar gave her a quizzical look. “Why, when you do not have him?”

“I will,” she said levelly, and he smiled. So did Maisia.

“When you do, then.” His smile shouted of doubt and disbelief. The woman’s mocked. A black robe could be found for her, too. “What I have will control him once he is taken, but it cannot overcome him. I won’t risk him finding out about me until you have him secure.” He did not appear shamed in the slightest by the admission.

Sevanna forced down a stab of disappointment. One hope gone, but others remained. Rhiale and Tion folded their hands and stared straight ahead, beyond the circle, beyond him; he was no longer worth listening to. Of course, they did not know everything.

“What of Aes Sedai? Can this thing control them?” Rhiale and Tion stopped peering beyond the trees. Belinde’s eyebrows twitched, and Meira actually looked at her. Sevanna could have cursed their lack of self-control.

Caddar was as blind as all wetlanders, though. He threw back his head and laughed. “Do you mean to say you missed al’Thor but captured Aes Sedai? You grabbed at the eagle and caught a few larks!”

“Can you provide the same for Aes Sedai?” She wanted to grind her teeth. Surely he had been properly courteous before.

He shrugged. “Perhaps. If the price is right.” It was dust to him, of no moment. For that matter, Maisia showed no concern either. Strange, if she was Aes Sedai. But she must be.

“Your tongue tosses bright colors on the wind, wetlander,” Tion said in a flat voice. “What proof of them have you?” For once, Sevanna did not mind that she had spoken out of turn.

Caddar’s face tightened for all the world as if he were a clan chief, as if he had heard the insult, but in an instant he was all smiles once more. “As you wish. Maisia, play with the callbox for them.”

Someryn shifted her skirts, pressing her knuckles against Sevanna’s thigh as the gray cube rose a pace into the air. It bounced back and forth as though tossed from hand to hand, then tilted and spun on one corner like a top, faster and faster, until it blurred.

“Would you like to see her balance it on her nose?” Caddar asked with a toothy grin.

Tight-eyed, the dark woman stared straight ahead, her smile clearly forced now. “I think I have demonstrated quite enough, Caddar,” she said coldly. But the cube—the callbox?—continued whirling.

Sevanna waited a slow count of twenty before saying, “That is sufficient.”

“You may stop now, Maisia,” Caddar said. “Put it back where it was.” Only then did the cube slowly descend, nestling gently on its original spot. Dark as she was, the woman looked pale. And furious.

Had she been alone, Sevanna would have laughed, and danced. As it was, she had difficulty maintaining a smooth face. Rhiale and the others were too busy staring disdainfully at Maisia to notice. What worked on one woman with the gift would work on another. No need with Someryn and Modarra, perhaps, but Rhiale, and Therava . . . She could not appear too eager, not when the others knew there were no Aes Sedai captives.

“Of course,” Caddar went on, “it will take a little time to provide you with what you wish.” He took on a sly look, trying to hide it; perhaps another wetlander would not have seen. “I warn you, the price will not be small.”

In spite of herself, Sevanna leaned forward. “And the way you traveled here so quickly? How much to make her teach us that?” She managed to keep eagerness from her voice, but she was afraid the contempt she felt came through. Wetlanders would do anything for gold.

Perhaps the man heard it; his eyes certainly widened in surprise before he could regain control. Such as it was. He studied his hands, and his mouth curled faintly. Why should his smile seem pleased? “That is not something she does,” he said in a voice as smooth as his palms, “not by herself. It is like the callbox. I can provide you with several, but the price of those is even higher. I doubt what you’ve gleaned from Cairhien will be enough. Fortunately, you can use the . . . traveling boxes to take your people to richer lands.”

Even Meira was hard-pressed to keep her expression from becoming too avid. Richer lands, and no need to make a way through those fools following Rand al’Thor.

“Tell me more,” Sevanna said coolly. “Richer lands might be of some interest.” Not enough to make her forget the Car’a’carn, though. Caddar would give her everything he had promised before she declared him da’tsang. As well that he seemed to like wearing black. There would be no need to give him any gold then.

The watcher ghosted through the trees, making no sound. It was wonderful what you could learn with a callbox, especially in a world where there seemed to be only two others. That red dress was easy to follow, and they never looked back even to see whether some of those so-called Aiel were trailing them. Graendal maintained the Mask of Mirrors that hid her true form, but Sammael had dropped his, golden-bearded again and just head and shoulders taller than she. He had let the link between them dissolve, too. The watcher wondered whether that was wise, under the circumstances. He had always wondered how much of Sammael’s vaunted bravery was really stupidity and blindness. But the man did hold saidin; perhaps he was not completely unaware of his danger.

The watcher followed and listened. They had no idea. The True Power, drawn directly from the Great Lord, could neither be seen nor detected except by who wielded it. Black flecks floated across his vision. There was a price, to be sure, one that grew with each use, but he had always been willing to pay the price when it was necessary. Being filled with the True Power was almost like kneeling beneath Shayol Ghul, basking in the Great Lord’s glory. The glory was worth the pain.

“Of course I had to have you with me,” Sammael growled, stumbling over a dead vine. He had never really been at home away from the cities. “You answered a hundred questions for them just being there. I can hardly believe that silly girl herself actually suggested what I wanted.” He barked a laugh. “Perhaps I’m ta’veren myself.”

A branch that partially blocked Graendal’s path flexed away until it snapped with a sharp crack. For a moment it hung in the air as if she intended to strike her companion. “That silly girl will cut out your heart and eat it, given half a chance.” The branch flew aside. “I have a few questions of my own. I never thought you would keep your truce with al’Thor any longer than you must, but this . . . ?”

The watcher’s eyebrows rose. A truce? A claim as risky as it was false, by all evidence.

“I didn’t arrange his kidnapping.” Sammael gave her what he probably thought was a wry look; his scar made it more a snarl. “Mesaana had a hand in it, though. Maybe Demandred and Semirhage as well, despite how it ended, but Mesaana certainly. Perhaps you ought to reconsider what you think the Great Lord means about leaving al’Thor unharmed.”

Graendal considered that, so much so that she tripped. Sammael caught her by the arm, keeping her on her feet, but as soon as she regained her balance, she jerked free. Interesting, even given what had happened back in that clearing. Graendal’s real interest was always the most beautiful plucked from among the most powerful, but she would have flirted, just to pass an hour, with a man she intended to kill or one who wanted to kill her. The only men she never flirted with were those of the Chosen who stood above her for a time. She never accepted being the lesser of any pair.

“Then why continue with them?” Her voice dripped molten lava, although normally she had exquisite control over her emotions. “Al’Thor in Mesaana’s hands is one thing; al’Thor in this savage’s is something else. Not that she’ll have much chance at him if you really intend sending them off to loot. Traveling boxes? What is your game there? Do they hold captives? If you think I will teach them Compulsion, erase it from your mind. One of those women was not negligible. I will not risk strength and skill residing together, in her, or in someone she teaches. Or do you have a binder hidden away with your other toys? For that matter, where were you earlier? I do not like having to wait!”

Sammael stopped, glancing behind them. The watcher stood very still. Swathed in fancloth except for his eyes, he had no worry that he would be seen. Over the years he had learned expertise in many areas Sammael scorned. In some he favored, too.

The gateway opening suddenly, slicing away half of a tree, made Graendal jump. The split trunk leaned drunkenly. Now she also knew Sammael held to the Source.

“Did you think I was telling them the truth?” Sammael said mockingly. “Small increases in chaos are as important as large. They will go where I send them, do as I wish, and learn to be satisfied with what I give them. As will you, Maisia.”

Graendal let her Illusion fade and stood golden-haired as he, as fair as she had been dark. “If you call me that again, I will kill you.” Her voice held even less expression than her face. She meant it. The watcher tensed. If she tried, one of the two would die. Should he interfere? Black flecks sped across his eyes, faster, faster.

Sammael met her stare with one just as hard. “Remember who will be Nae’blis, Graendal,” he said, and stepped through his gateway.

For a moment she stood looking at the opening. A vertical silver slash appeared off to one side, but before her gateway began to align, she let go the weave, slowly, the streak shrinking to a point before winking out. The prickling vanished from the watcher’s skin as she released saidar as well. With a fixed face, she followed Sammael, and his gateway closed behind her.

The watcher smiled crookedly behind his fancloth skulker’s mask. Nae’blis. That explained what had brought Graendal to heel, what had stayed her from killing Sammael. Even she would be blinded by that. An even greater risk for Sammael than claiming truce with Lews Therin, though. Unless, of course, it was true. The Great Lord delighted in setting his servants one against another, to see who was stronger. Only the strongest could stand near his glory. But today’s truth need not be tomorrow’s. The watcher had seen truth change a hundred times between a single sunrise and sunset. More than once he had changed it himself. He considered going back and killing the seven women in the clearing. They would die easily; he doubted they knew how to form a true circle. The black flecks filled his eyes, a horizontal blizzard. No, he would let that run its course. For now.

To his ears, the world screamed as he used the True Power to rip a small hole and step outside the Pattern. Sammael did not know how truly he spoke. Small increases in chaos could be every bit as important as large.