Lord of Chaos

## Chapter 27

#### Gifts

Walking back out to the great sprawl of tents, Egwene tried to get a grip on herself, but she was not sure her feet actually touched the ground. Well, she knew they did. They added their small portion to the waves of dust swept along by the hot gusting wind; coughing, she wished Wise Ones wore veils. A shawl wrapped around your head was not the same, and it was like wearing a sweat tent besides. Yet she felt as if her feet trod on air. Her brain seemed to be spinning, and not from the heat.

At first she had thought Gawyn was not going to meet her, but then he was suddenly just there as she walked through the crowds. They had spent the entire morning in the private dining room of The Long Man, holding hands and talking over tea. She was absolutely brazen, kissing him as soon as the door closed, before he so much as made a move to kiss her, even sitting on his knee once, though that had not lasted long. It made her start thinking of his dreams, about maybe slipping back into them again, about things no decent woman should be thinking at all! Not an unmarried woman, anyway. She had bounded up like a startled doe, startling him in turn.

Hastily she looked around. The tents were still half a mile off, and there was not a living soul closer. If there had been, they could not have seen her blushes. Realizing she was grinning idiotically behind the shawl, she wiped it away. Light, she had to keep a rein on herself. Forget the feel of Gawyn’s strong arms and remember why they had had so much time at The Long Man.

Threading through the crowd, she peered about, looking for Gawyn and trying with some difficulty to pretend casualness; she did not want him to think her eager, after all. Suddenly a man leaned toward her, whispering fiercely. “Follow me to The Long Man.”

She jumped; she could not help herself. It took her a moment to recognize Gawyn. He wore a plain brown coat, and a thin dustcloak hung down his back, the hood up and nearly hiding his face. He was not the only one cloaked—any but Aiel who went beyond the city walls wore one—but not many had their hoods raised in that oven heat.

She caught his sleeve firmly as he tried to slide away ahead of her. “What makes you think I’ll just go off to an inn with you, Gawyn Trakand?” she demanded, eyes narrowing. She did keep her voice down, though; no need to attract eyes to an argument. “We were going to walk. You are taking entirely too much for granted if you think for a moment—”

Grimacing, he whispered at her hurriedly. “The women I came with are looking for someone. Someone like you. They say little in front of me, but I’ve caught a word here and there. Now follow me.” Without a backward glance he strode off down the street, leaving her to follow with a lurching stomach.

The memory settled her feet firmly. The burned-over ground was nearly as hot as the city paving stones through the soles of her soft boots. She trudged through the dust, thinking furiously. Gawyn had not known much more than he told in that first exchange. He argued that it could not be her they were looking for, that she just had to be careful of her channeling and stay out of sight as much as possible. Only, he had not looked very convinced himself, not wearing a disguise. She refrained from mentioning his clothes; he was so worried that if these Aes Sedai found her she would be in all sorts of troubles, worried that he would lead them to her, so plainly unwilling to stop seeing her even if he did suggest it himself. And so convinced that what she needed was to sneak somehow back to Tar Valon and into the Tower. That, or to make her peace with Coiren and the others and return with them. Light, but she should have been angry at him, thinking he knew what was best for her better than she did, but for some reason it made her want to smile indulgently even now. For some reason she just could not think straight about him, and he seemed to creep into whatever thought she had.

Chewing her lip, she focused on the real problem. The Tower Aes Sedai. If only she could bring herself to question Gawyn; it would not be betraying him to ask just a few small questions, their Ajahs, where they went, or . . . no! She had made that promise to herself, but breaking it would dishonor him. No questions. Only what he volunteered.

Whatever he said, she had no reason to think they were looking for Egwene al’Vere. And, she admitted reluctantly, no real reason to think they were not, only a lot of suppositions and hopes. Just because a Tower agent would not recognize Egwene al’Vere in an Aiel woman did not say that the agent had not heard the name, even heard of Egwene Sedai of the Green Ajah. She winced. From now on, she would have to be very careful in the city. More than careful.

She had reached the edge of the tents. The encampment sprawled over miles, covering the hills east of the city whether treed or not. Aiel moved among the low tents, but only a handful of gai’shain nearby. None of the Wise Ones were in sight. She had broken a promise to them. To Amys, really, but to all of them. Necessity seemed an increasingly thin reed to support her deception.

“Join us, Egwene,” a woman’s voice called. Even with her head covered, Egwene was not hard to pick out unless surrounded by girls not yet full grown. Surandha, Sorilea’s apprentice, had poked her dark golden head out of a tent and was waving to her. “The Wise Ones are meeting back among the tents, all of them, and they’ve given us all the day for ourselves. The entire day.” That was a luxury seldom offered, and not one Egwene would pass up.

Inside, women lay sprawled on cushions reading by oil lamps—the tent was closed against dust, and thus against light as well—or sat sewing or knitting or doing embroidery. Two were playing cat’s cradle. A low murmur of conversation filled the tent, and several smiled greetings. They were not all apprentices—two mothers and several first-sisters had come to visit—and the older women wore as much jewelry as any Wise One. Everyone had their blouses half-unlaced and shawls wrapped around their waists, though the trapped heat did not seem to bother them.

A gai’shain moved about refilling teacups. Something in the way he moved said he was a craftsman, not algai’d’siswai; he was still hard of face, yet a trifle softer by comparison, and maintaining a meek manner seemed less of a struggle. He wore one of those headbands naming him siswai’aman. None of the women gave it a second glance, though gai’shain were not supposed to wear anything but white.

Egwene tied her shawl around her waist and gratefully accepted water to wash her face and hands, then undid a few of her blouse laces and took a tasseled red cushion between Surandha and Estair, Aeron’s red-haired apprentice. “What are the Wise Ones meeting about?” Her mind was not on the Wise Ones. She had no intention of avoiding the city entirely—she had agreed to look in at The Long Man every morning to see whether Gawyn was there, though the smirk on the stout innkeeper’s face made her cheeks grow warm; the Light only knew what that woman thought!—but there definitely would be no more attempts to listen in at Lady Arilyn’s mansion. After leaving Gawyn she had gone near enough to sense the channeling continuing inside, but left after one quick peek around the corner. Just standing that close produced the uneasy feeling that Nesune was going to pop up behind her. “Does anyone know?”

“Your sisters, of course,” Surandha laughed. She was a handsome woman, with large blue eyes, and laughter made her beautiful. Some five years older than Egwene, she could channel as strongly as many Aes Sedai and was eagerly awaiting the call to a hold of her own. In the meanwhile, of course, she jumped when Sorilea thought jump. “What else would make them leap as if they had sat on segade spines?”

“We should send Sorilea to talk with them,” Egwene said, taking a green-striped cup of tea from the gai’shain. While telling her how his Younglings were crowded into all the bedrooms not taken by the Aes Sedai, and some into the stables, Gawyn had let slip that there was no room for even another scullery maid, and that the Aes Sedai were not preparing any. It was good news. “Sorilea could make any number of Aes Sedai sit up straight.” Surandha’s head went back in gales of laughter.

Estair’s laugh was faint, and more than a touch scandalized. A slender young woman with serious gray eyes, she always behaved as if a Wise One was watching her. It never ceased to amaze Egwene that Sorilea should have an apprentice who was full of fun, while Aeron, pleasant and smiling, with never a cross word, had one who seemed to hunt for rules to obey. “I believe it is the Car’a’carn,” Estair said in the gravest of tones.

“Why?” Egwene asked absently. She was just going to have to avoid the city. Except for Gawyn, of course; embarrassing as it might be to admit, she would not forgo meeting him for anything less than the certainty of Nesune waiting in The Long Man. That meant back to walking around the city walls for exercise, in all that dust. This morning had been an exception, but she was not going to give the Wise Ones any excuse to put off her return to Tel’aran’rhiod. Tonight they would meet the Salidar Aes Sedai alone, but in seven nights, she would be with them. “What now?”

“You have not heard?” Surandha exclaimed.

In two or three days she could approach Nynaeve and Elayne, or speak to them in their dreams again. Try to speak to them, anyway; you could never be absolutely certain the other person knew you were more than a dream, not unless they were used to communicating that way, which Nynaeve and Elayne certainly were not. She had only spoken to them that way once before. In any case, the thought of approaching them at all still made her vaguely uneasy. She had had another hazy almost nightmare about it; every time one of them said a word, they tripped and fell on their faces or dropped a cup or plate or knocked over a vase, always something that shattered on impact. Since interpreting the dream about Gawyn becoming her Warder she had been making an effort at all of them. To no real effect so far, but she was sure that one had meaning. Maybe it was best to wait on the next meeting to speak to them. Besides, there was always the chance of running into Gawyn’s dreams again, being drawn in. Just the thought made her cheeks color.

“The Car’a’carn has returned,” Estair said. “He is to meet your sisters this afternoon.”

All thoughts of Gawyn and dreams gone, Egwene frowned into her teacup. Twice inside ten days. It was unusual for him to come back so soon. Why had he? Had he learned of the Tower Aes Sedai somehow? How? And as always, his trips themselves triggered their own question. How did he do it?

“How does he do what?” Estair asked, and Egwene blinked, startled that she had spoken aloud.

“How does he upset my stomach so easily?”

Surandha shook her head in commiseration, but she grinned too. “He is a man, Egwene.”

“He is the Car’a’carn,” Estair said with heavy emphasis, and more than a touch of reverence. Egwene would not be entirely surprised to see her wind that fool strip of cloth around her head.

Surandha immediately tackled Estair over how she was ever going to deal with a hold chief, much less a sept or clan chief, if she did not realize that a man did not stop being a man just because he led, while Estair maintained stoutly that the Car’a’carn was different. One of the older women, Mera, who had come to see her daughter, leaned toward them and said that the way to handle any chief—hold, sept, clan or the Car’a’carn—was the same as the way to handle a husband, which brought a laugh from Baerin, also there to visit a daughter, and a comment that that would be a good way to have a roofmistress lay her knife at your feet, a declaration of feud. Baerin had been a Maiden before she married, but anyone could declare a feud with anyone other than a Wise One or a blacksmith. Before the words were well out of Mera’s mouth everybody except the gai’shain joined in, overwhelming poor Estair—the Car’a’carn was a chief among chiefs, no more; that was certain—but arguing whether it was better to approach a chief directly or through his roofmistress.

Egwene paid little attention. Surely Rand would not do anything foolish. He had been properly doubtful concerning Elaida’s letter, yet he believed Alviarin’s, which was not only more cordial, but downright fawning. He thought he had friends, even followers, in the Tower. She did not. Three Oaths or no Three Oaths, she was convinced Elaida and Alviarin had worked up that second letter between them, with all its ridiculous talk of “kneeling in his radiance.” It was all a ploy to get him into the Tower.

Looking at her hands regretfully, she sighed and set down her cup. It was snatched up by the gai’shain before her hand was well away.

“I must go,” she told the two apprentices. “There’s something I realize I have to do.” Surandha and Estair made noises about going with her—well, more than noises; if Aiel said something, they meant it—but they were caught up in the discussion and did not argue when she insisted they stay. Wrapping her shawl around her head again and leaving the rising voices behind—Mera was telling Estair in no uncertain tones that she might be a Wise One eventually, but until she was she could listen to a woman who had managed a husband and raised three daughters and two sons without a sister-wife to help—Egwene ducked back into the windblown dust.

In the city, she tried to creep through the crowded streets without appearing to creep, tried to look every way while seeming to watch only where she was going. The chances of walking into Nesune were small, but . . . ahead of her two women in sober dresses and prim aprons sidestepped to go around one another, but both moved the same way, and they came nose to nose. Murmured apologies, and each woman stepped aside again. In the same direction. More apologies, and as if dancing, they moved together once more. As Egwene passed them, they were still stepping from side to side in perfect unison, faces beginning to redden, apologies swallowed behind compressed lips. How long it might go on she had no idea, but it was well to remember that Rand was in the city. Light, when he was around, it would not be beyond belief for her to walk right up on all six Aes Sedai just as a gust of wind ripped the shawl from around her head and three people shouted her name and called her Aes Sedai. With him around, it would not be entirely beyond belief to walk into Elaida.

She hurried on, increasingly uneasy about being caught in one of his ta’veren swirls, increasingly wild-eyed. Fortunately, the sight of a wild-eyed Aiel with her face hidden—what did they know of the difference between a shawl and a veil?—made people move out of her way, which allowed her to speed along at a near trot, but she did not draw a peaceful breath until she slipped into the Sun Palace by a small servant’s door in the rear.

A strong smell of cooking hung in the narrow hallway, and liveried men and women scurried back and forth. Others, taking their ease in their shirtsleeves or flapping aprons to make a little breeze, stared at her in astonishment. Likely no one except other servants came this close to the kitchens from one year to the next. Certainly not an Aiel. They looked as though they expected her to produce a spear from under her skirts.

She pointed a finger at a round little man who was wiping his neck with a kerchief. “Do you know where Rand al’Thor is?”

He gave a start, rolling his eyes toward his companions, who were quickly drifting away. His feet shifted, wanting very much to follow. “The Lord Dragon, uh . . . mistress? In his chambers? I suppose, anyway.” He began to shuffle sideways, bowing. “If Mistress . . . uh . . . if my Lady will forgive, I must get back to my—”

“You will take me there.” she said firmly. She was not going to wander about this time.

One last eye-rolling after his vanished friends, a sigh quickly suppressed, a hurried frightened look to see whether he had offended, and he scampered off to fetch his coat. He was very efficient in the warren of palace corridors, hurrying along and bowing her way at every turn, but when at last he pointed with yet another bow to tall doors worked with gilded rising suns and guarded by a Maiden and an Aielman, she felt a flash of contempt as she dismissed him. She could not understand why; he was simply doing what he was paid to do.

The Aielman stood as she approached, a very tall man in his middle years, with bull-like chest and shoulders and cold gray eyes. Egwene did not know him, and he plainly meant to turn her away. Luckily she did know the Maiden.

“Let her pass, Maric,” Somara said, grinning. “This is Amys’ apprentice, hers and Bair’s and Melaine’s, the only apprentice I know to serve three Wise Ones. And from the look of her, they have sent her running with strong words for Rand al’Thor.”

“Running?” Maric’s chuckle softened neither face nor eyes. “Crawling, it looks.” He went back to watching the corridor.

Egwene did not have to ask what he meant. Digging her handkerchief out of her belt pouch, she wiped hurriedly at her face; no one could take you seriously dirty, and Rand had to listen. “Important words anyway, Somara. He is alone, I hope. The Aes Sedai haven’t come yet?” The handkerchief came away gray and went back into her pouch with a sigh.

Somara shook her head. “It is some good time before they are due. Will you tell him to be careful? I mean no disrespect to your sisters, but he will not look where he leaps. He is headstrong.”

“I will tell him.” Egwene could not help a grin. She had heard Somara talk this way before—with the sort of exasperated pride a mother might have for an over-adventurous son of about ten—and a few other Maidens as well. It had to be some sort of Aiel joke, and even if she did not understand, she was in favor of anything that kept him from getting too big a head. “I’ll tell him to wash his ears, too.” Somara actually nodded before catching herself. Egwene drew a deep breath. “Somara, my sisters mustn’t find out I am here.” Maric glanced at her curiously, between studying every servant who entered the hallway. She had to be careful. “We are not close, Somara. In fact, you might say we are as far apart as sisters can be.”

“The worst bad blood is between first-sisters,” Somara said with a nod. “Go in. They will not hear your name from me, and if Maric’s tongue flaps, I will tie a knot in it.” Maric, head and shoulders taller and weighing at least twice as much, smiled slightly without looking at her.

The Maidens’ habit of sending her in without announcing her had led to embarrassments in the past, but this time Rand was not sitting in his bath. The apartments had obviously belonged to the king, and the anteroom was more a throne room in miniature. Miniature by comparison with the real throne room, anyway. The wavy rays of a golden sun a full span across, set in the polished stone floor, were the only curves in sight. Tall mirrors in severe gold frames lined the walls beneath broad straight bands of gilding, and the deep cornice was made of golden triangles overlapping like scales. Heavily gilded chairs to either side of the rising sun made two facing lines as stiff as their tall backs. Rand sat in another chair, with twice the gilding and a back twice as high, atop a small dais that was itself encrusted with gilt. In a red silk coat embroidered in gold and holding that piece of carved Seanchan spear in the crook of his arm, he wore a dark scowl. He looked a king, and one about to do murder.

She planted her fists on her hips. “Somara says you should wash your ears right this instant, young man,” she said, and his head jerked up.

Surprise, and a touch of outrage, lasted only a moment. With a grin he stepped down and tossed the spearhead onto the chair seat. “What under the Light have you been doing?” Striding the length of the chamber, he took her by the shoulders and turned her to face the nearest mirror.

She winced in spite of herself. She was a sight. The dust that had sifted through her shawl—no; mud, with the sweat added—made streaks across her cheeks and swirls across her forehead where she had tried to scrub it away.

“I’ll have Somara send for some water,” he said dryly. “Perhaps she’ll think it is for my ears.” That grin was insufferable!

“There is no need,” she told him with as much dignity as she could muster. She was not about to have him stand there watching her wash. Pulling out her already grimy handkerchief, she hurriedly tried to clean off the worst. “You’re meeting Coiren and the others soon. I don’t have to warn you they’re dangerous, do I?”

“I think you just did. They aren’t all coming. I said no more than three, so that is what they’re sending.” In the mirror his head tilted as if he were listening, and he nodded, voice dropping to a murmur. “Yes, I can handle three, if they aren’t too strong.” Abruptly he noticed her looking. “Of course, if one of them is Moghedien in a wig, or Semirhage, I may be in trouble.”

“Rand, you must take this seriously.” The handkerchief was not doing much good. With the greatest reluctance, she spat on it; there was simply no dignified way to spit on a handkerchief. “I know how strong you are, but they are Aes Sedai. You can’t behave like they’re women in from the country. Even if you think Alviarin will kneel at your feet, and all her friends with her, these were sent by Elaida. You can’t think she means anything but to try putting a leash on you. The short and simple of it is, you should send them away.”

“And trust your hidden friends?” he asked softly. Much too softly.

There was nothing to be done with her face; she should have let him send for the water. There was no asking for it now, though, not after refusing. “You know you cannot trust Elaida,” she said carefully, turning to him. Mindful of what had happened the last time, she did not even want to mention the Aes Sedai in Salidar. “You know that.”

“I don’t trust any Aes Sedai. They”—there was a hesitation in his voice, as if he had started to use another word, though she could not imagine what—“will try to use me, and I will try to use them. A pretty circle, don’t you think?” If she had ever considered the possibility that he could be allowed near the Salidar Aes Sedai, his eyes disabused her of it, so hard, so cold, that she shivered inside.

Maybe if he got angry enough, if he struck enough sparks with Coiren that the embassy went back to the Tower empty-handed, on their own . . . “If you think it is pretty, I suppose it is; you are the Dragon Reborn. Well, since you intend to go through with this, you might as well do it right. Just remember that they are Aes Sedai. Even a king listens to Aes Sedai with respect, even when he doesn’t agree, and he’d set out for Tar Valon on the hour if summoned. Even the Tairen High Lords would, or Pedron Niall.” The fool man grinned at her again, or at least showed his teeth; the rest of his face was as blank as river rock. “I hope you’re paying attention. I am trying to help you.” Just not the way he thought. “If you mean to use them, you can’t make them bristle like doused cats. The Dragon Reborn won’t impress them any more than he does me, with your fancy coats and your thrones and your fool scepter.” She shot a scornful look at the tasseled spearhead; Light, the thing made her skin crawl! “They aren’t going to fall on their knees when they see you, and it won’t kill you when they don’t. It will not kill you to be courteous, either. Bend your stubborn neck. It isn’t groveling to show a proper deference, a little humbleness.”

“Proper deference,” he said thoughtfully. With a sigh, he shook his head ruefully, scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I suppose I can’t talk to an Aes Sedai the same way I do to some lord who’s been plotting behind my back. It’s good advice, Egwene. I’ll try. I will be humble as a mouse.”

Trying not to look hurried, she rubbed at her face again with the handkerchief to hide her goggling. She was not really sure her eyes were popping, but she thought they must be. Her whole life, any time she pointed out that right was a better way, he stuck out his chin and insisted on left! Why did he have to choose now to listen?

Was there anything to the good as matters stood? At least it could not hurt him to display some respect. Even if they followed Elaida, the idea of anyone showing impertinence to any Aes Sedai really did upset her. Only she wanted him to be impertinent, to be as arrogant as he had ever been. There was no point in trying to undo it, not now; he was not slow-witted. Only exasperating.

“Was that all you came for?” he asked.

She could not go yet. There might be a chance to put things right, or at least make sure he was not wool-headed enough to go to Tar Valon. “Do you know there’s a Sea Folk Wavemistress on a ship in the river? The White Spray.” That was as good a change of topic as any. “She came to see you, and I hear she is growing impatient.” That was from Gawyn. Erian had had herself rowed out to discover what Sea Folk were doing so far inland, and was refused permission to board. She had come back in a mood that would have been called a tail-lashing fury in any woman not Aes Sedai. Egwene more than suspected why they were here, but she was not about to tell Rand; for once let him meet somebody without expecting them to bow down.

“The Atha’an Miere are everywhere, it seems.” Rand took a seat in one of the chairs; he looked amused for some reason, but she would swear it had nothing to do with the Sea Folk. “Berelain says I should meet this Harine din Togara Two Winds, but if her temper is anything like Berelain reports, she can wait. I have enough women angry with me for the moment.”

That was almost an opening, but not quite. “I cannot understand why. You always have such a winning way about you.” Immediately she wished she had the words back; they only reinforced what she did not want him to do.

Frowning, he seemed not to have heard her at all. “Egwene, I know you don’t like Berelain, but it hasn’t gone beyond that, has it? I mean, you make such a good job of playing at Aiel, I could imagine you offering to dance the spears with her. She was troubled about something, uneasy, but she wouldn’t say what.”

Probably the woman had found a man who told her no; that would be enough to shake Berelain’s world to its foundations. “I’ve not said a dozen words to her since the Stone of Tear, and not many more then. Rand, you don’t think—”

One of the doors opened just barely enough to admit Somara, who shut it again behind her quickly. “The Aes Sedai are here, Car’a’carn.”

Rand’s head swiveled toward the door, his face stone. “They weren’t to come for another—! Thinking to catch me off guard, were they? They have to learn who sets the rules here.”

Right then Egwene did not care if they were trying to catch him in his smallclothes. All thought of Berelain vanished. Somara made a small gesture that might have been commiseration. She did not care about that either. Rand could keep them from taking her, if she asked. All it meant was staying close to him from now on so they could not shield her and hustle her away the first time she put her nose into the street. All it meant was asking, putting herself under his protection. The choice between that and being hauled back to the Tower in a sack was so thin it made her stomach hurt. For one thing, she would never become Aes Sedai hiding behind him, and for another, the idea of hiding behind anyone set her teeth on edge. Only, they were here, right outside the door, and inside the hour she might be in that sack, or as good as. Deep slow breaths did nothing to steady her twitching nerves.

“Rand, is there another way out of here? If there isn’t, I will hide in one of the other rooms. They mustn’t know I am here. Rand? Rand! Are you listening to me?”

He spoke, but definitely not to her. “You are there,” he whispered hoarsely. “Too much coincidence for you to think of that now.” He was staring at nothing with a look of fury, and maybe fear. “Burn you, answer me! I know you’re there!”

Egwene licked her lips before she could stop herself. Somara might be gazing at him with what could be described as fond motherly concern—and him not even noticing her joke—but Egwene’s stomach was turning over slowly. He could not have gone mad as suddenly as that. He could not have. But he had seemed to listen to some hidden voice just a little while ago, and maybe spoken to it then too.

She did not remember crossing the intervening space, but abruptly her hand was pressed against his forehead. Nynaeve always said to check for fever first, though what good that would do now . . . if only she knew more than a scrap of Healing. But that would do no good, either. Not if he was . . . “Rand, are you . . . ? Are you feeling all right?”

He came to himself, shying back from her hand, peering at her suspiciously. The next moment he was on his feet, gripping her arm, all but hauling her down the chamber so quickly she nearly tripped over her skirts trying to keep up. “Stand right there,” he ordered briskly, planting her beside the dais, and backed away.

Rubbing her arm vigorously enough that he could not miss it, she started to follow. Men never realized how strong they were; even Gawyn did not always, though she did not really mind with him. “What do you think—?”

“Don’t move!” In a disgusted tone he added, “Burn him, it seems it ripples if you move. I’ll fasten it to the floor, but you still can’t jump about. I don’t know how big I can make it, and this is no time to find out.” Somara’s mouth had fallen open, though she snapped it shut quickly.

Fasten what to the floor? What was he talking—? It came to her so suddenly that she forgot to wonder who the “him” was. Rand had woven saidin around her. Her eyes widened; she was breathing too quickly, but she could not stop. How close was it? Every shred of reason told her the taint could not seep out of whatever he channeled; he had touched her with saidin before, but if anything, that thought only made it worse. Instinctively she narrowed her shoulders and held her skirts close in front of her.

“What—? What did you do?” She was very proud of her voice, a trifle unsteady maybe, but nothing like the wail she wanted to let out.

“Look in that mirror,” he laughed. Laughed!

Grumpily she obeyed—and gasped. There in the silvered glass was the gilded chair on its dais. Some of the rest of the room. But not her. “I’m . . . invisible,” she breathed. Once Moiraine had hidden them all behind a screen of saidar, but how had he learned it?

“Much better than hiding under my bed,” he said, speaking to air a good hand to the right of her head. As if that had ever entered her mind! “I want you to see how respectful I can be. Besides,” his tone became more serious, “maybe you’ll see something I miss. Maybe you’ll even be willing to tell me.” With a bark of a laugh he leaped onto the dais, scooped up the tasseled spearhead and took his seat. “Send them in, Somara. Let the embassy of the White Tower approach the Dragon Reborn.” His twisted smile made Egwene almost as uncomfortable as the nearness of woven saidin. How close was the bloody stuff?

Somara vanished, and in moments the doors opened wide.

A plump, stately woman who could only be Coiren led the way in a dark blue gown, flanked a pace to the rear by Nesune in plain brown wool and a raven-haired Aes Sedai in green silk, a pretty, round-faced woman with a plump, demanding mouth. Egwene wished Aes Sedai always wore the colors of their Ajah—Whites did at every chance—because whatever that woman was, she would not believe her Green, not with the hard stare she gave Rand from her first step into the room. Cold serenity barely masked her contempt, perhaps did mask it for anyone not used to Aes Sedai. Would Rand see? Maybe not; he seemed to be concentrating on Coiren, whose face was completely unreadable. Nesune, of course, took in everything, bird-like eyes darting this way and that.

Right then, Egwene was very glad of the cloak he had woven for her. She started to dab at her face with the handkerchief she still held, then froze. He said he would fix it to the floor. Had he? Light, she might be standing there naked for all she knew. Except that Nesune’s gaze swept past without pausing. Sweat rolled down Egwene’s face. It poured. Burn the man! She would have been perfectly happy hiding under his bed.

Behind the Aes Sedai came a full dozen more women, plainly dressed, with coarse linen dustcloaks hanging down their backs. Most were stocky, but they labored under the weight of two chests, not small, the polished brass strapping worked with the Flame of Tar Valon. The serving women set the chests down with audible sighs of relief, furtively working arms and knuckling backs as the doors swung shut, and Coiren and the other two sank into curtsies in perfect unison, though not very deeply.

Rand was down out of the chair before they straightened. The glow of saidar surrounded the Aes Sedai, all three together; they had linked. Egwene tried to remember what she had seen, how they did it; despite the glow, nothing ruffled their outward calm as Rand strode by them to the serving women and peered into each face in turn.

What was he—? Of course; making sure none had the ageless face of an Aes Sedai. Egwene shook her head, then froze again. He was a fool if he thought that enough. Most wore too much age—not all old by any means, but you could put an age to them—yet two were young enough to be Aes Sedai not long raised. They were not—Egwene could only sense the ability in the three Aes Sedai, and she was close enough—but he certainly could not tell by looking.

Tipping up one solid young woman’s chin, he smiled into her eyes. “Do not be afraid,” he said softly. She swayed as if she might faint. With a sigh, Rand spun on his heel. He did not look at the Aes Sedai as he passed them. “You will not channel around me,” he said firmly. “Let it go.” A brief look of speculation crossed Nesune’s face, but the other two serenely watched him take his seat. Rubbing his arm—Egwene had been there when he learned that tingle—he spoke in a harder tone. “I said you will not channel around me. Or even embrace saidar.”

A stretched-out moment, while Egwene prayed silently. What would he do if they held on to the Source? Try to cut them off? Cutting a woman off from saidar once she embraced it was far harder than shielding her beforehand. She was not certain even he could manage it with three women, and linked to boot. Worse, what would they do if he tried anything at all? The glow vanished, and she barely stopped a heavy sigh of relief. Whatever he had done made her invisible, but plainly it did not stop sound.

“Much better.” Rand’s smile took them all in, but it never reached his eyes. “Let us begin again from the beginning. You are honored guests, you only entered this very moment.”

They understood, of course. He had not been guessing. Coiren stiffened slightly, and the raven-haired woman’s eyes actually widened. Nesune merely nodded to herself, adding to her mental notes. Egwene hoped desperately that he would be careful. Nesune would not miss anything.

With a visible effort Coiren gathered herself, smoothing her dress and very nearly adjusting the shawl she was not wearing. “I have the honor,” she announced in ringing tones, “to be Coiren Saeldain Aes Sedai, Ambassador from the White Tower and emissary of Elaida do Avriny a’Roihan, the Watcher of the Seals, the Flame of Tar Valon, the Amyrlin Seat.” Somewhat less florid introductions, though with the full honorific Aes Sedai, named the other two; the hard-eyed woman was Galina Casban.

“I am Rand al’Thor.” The simplicity was a marked contrast. They had not mentioned the Dragon Reborn and neither had he, but somehow his leaving it out seemed to make the title whisper faintly in the room.

Coiren drew a deep breath, moved her head as if hearing that whisper. “We bring a gracious invitation to the Dragon Reborn. The Amyrlin Seat is fully cognizant that signs have been given and prophecies fulfilled, that . . . ” Those deep round tones took little time to reach the point, that Rand should accompany them, “in all honor as deserved,” to the White Tower, and that if he accepted this invitation, Elaida offered not only the protection of the Tower, but the full weight of its authority and influence behind him. Another goodly bit of flowery speech flowed before she finished with, “ . . . and in token of this, the Amyrlin Seat sends this trifling gift.”

She turned toward the chests, raising her hand, then hesitated with the faintest grimace. She had to gesture twice before the servants understood and lifted the brass-strapped lids; apparently she had planned to fling them open with saidar. Leather sacks filled the chests. At another, sharper, gesture, the serving women began untying them.

Egwene swallowed a gasp. No wonder those women had struggled! The opened sacks spilled gold coins of every size, sparkling rings and glittering necklaces and unset gems. Even if those below held dross, it was a fortune.

Leaning back in that thronelike chair, Rand looked at the chests with a near smile. The Aes Sedai studied him, faces masks of composure, yet Egwene thought she detected a hint of complacency in Coiren’s eyes, a faint increase of contempt on Galina’s full lips. Nesune . . . Nesune was the real danger.

Abruptly the lids snapped down without a hand touching them, and the serving women leaped back, not bothering to muffle their squeals. The Aes Sedai stiffened, and Egwene prayed as hard as she sweated. She wanted him arrogant and a touch insolent, but just enough to put their backs up, not to the point of making them decide to try gentling him on the spot.

Suddenly it occurred to her that so far he had shown nothing of that “humble as a mouse.” He had never intended to. The man had been toying with her! If she were not too frightened to be sure of her knees, she would go over and box his ears.

“A great deal of gold,” Rand said. He seemed relaxed, his smile taking in his whole face. “I can always find a use for gold.” Egwene blinked. He sounded almost greedy!

Coiren answered with a smile of her own, a definite picture of poised self-satisfaction now. “The Amyrlin Seat is, of course, most generous. When you reach the White Tower—”

“When I reach the Tower,” Rand cut in as though thinking aloud. “Yes, I look forward to the day I stand in the Tower.” He leaned forward, elbow on his knee and Dragon Scepter dangling. “It will take a little time, you understand. I have commitments to meet first, here, in Andor, elsewhere.”

Coiren’s mouth tightened for just an instant. Her voice remained as smooth and round as ever, though. “We surely have no objections to resting a few days before we begin the return journey to Tar Valon. In the meanwhile, may I suggest that one of us remain close at hand, to offer advice should you wish it? We have, of course, heard of Moiraine’s unfortunate demise. I cannot offer myself, but Nesune or Galina would be most willing.”

Rand studied the named pair with a frown, and Egwene held her breath. He seemed to be listening to something again, or listening for something. Nesune examined him in return as openly as he did her. Galina’s fingers stroked her skirts unconsciously.

“No,” he said at last, sitting back with his arms on the arms of the chair. He made it look even more a throne than before. “It might not be safe. I would not like one of you to take a spear through your ribs by accident.” Coiren opened her mouth, but he rode over her. “For your own safety, none of you should come closer to me than a mile without permission. Best if you stay that far from the Palace without permission, too. You will know when I’m ready to go with you. I promise that.” Abruptly he was on his feet. Atop the dais he stood tall enough that the Aes Sedai had to crane their necks, and it was plain none of them liked it any more than they liked his restrictions. Three faces carved in stone stared up at him. “I will let you go back to your resting now. The quicker I can see to certain things, the quicker I can go to the Tower. I will send word when I can see you again.”

They were not pleased at so sudden a dismissal, or likely at any dismissal—Aes Sedai were the ones who said when an audience was done—yet there was little they could do except make their minimal curtsies, disgruntlement nearly breaking through Aes Sedai calm.

As they turned to go, Rand spoke again, casually. “I forgot to ask. How is Alviarin?”

“She is well.” Galina’s mouth hung open for a moment, her eyes widening. She appeared startled to have spoken.

Coiren hesitated on the brink of using the opening to say more, but Rand stood impatiently, all but tapping his foot. When they were gone, he stepped down, hefting that spearhead and staring at the doors that had closed behind them.

Egwene wasted not a moment striding toward him. “What game are you playing at, Rand al’Thor?” She had taken half a dozen steps before a glimpse of her reflection in the mirrors made her realize she had walked right through his weave of saidin. At least she had not known when it touched her. “Well?”

“She’s one of Alviarin’s,” he said thoughtfully. “Galina. She is one of Alviarin’s friends. I’d bet on it.”

Planting herself in front of him, she sniffed. “You’d lose your coin and stick yourself in the foot with a pitchfork, too. Galina is a Red, or I never saw one.”

“Because she doesn’t like me?” He was looking at her now, and she almost wished he was not. “Because she’s afraid of me?” He was not grimacing or glaring, or even staring particularly hard, yet his eyes seemed to know things she did not. She hated that. His smile came so suddenly she blinked. “Egwene, do you expect me to believe you can tell a woman’s Ajah by her face?”

“No, but—”

“Anyway, even Reds might end following me. They know the Prophecies as well as anybody else. ‘The unstained tower breaks and bends knee to the forgotten sign’. Written before there was a White Tower, but what else could ‘the unstained tower’ be? And the forgotten sign? My banner, Egwene, with the ancient symbol of Aes Sedai.”

“Burn you, Rand al’Thor!” The curse came more awkwardly than she could have wished; she was not accustomed to saying such things. “The Light burn you! You can’t really be thinking of going with them. You can’t!”

He showed his teeth in amusement. Amusement! “Didn’t I do what you wanted? What you told me to do and what you wanted.”

Her lips compressed indignantly. Bad enough that he knew, but throwing it in her face was just rude. “Rand, please listen to me. Elaida—”

“The question now is how to get you back to the tents without them finding out you were here. I expect they have eyes-and-ears in the Palace.”

“Rand, you have to—!”

“How about riding in one of those big laundry baskets? I can have a couple of Maidens carry it.”

She very nearly threw up her hands. He was as eager to be rid of her as he had been of the Aes Sedai. “My own feet will do well enough, thank you.” A laundry basket, indeed! “I wouldn’t have to worry if you told me how you step from Caemlyn to here whenever you want.” She did not understand why asking should rasp so, yet it did. “I know you can’t teach me, but if you told me how, maybe I could work out how to do it with saidar.”

Instead of the joke at her expense she more than half-expected, he took the end of her shawl in both hands. “The Pattern,” he said. “Caemlyn,” one finger on his left hand tented the wool, “and Cairhien.” A finger on the other hand made a tent, and he brought the two tents together. “I bend the Pattern and bore a hole from one to the other. I don’t know what I bore through, but there’s no space between one end of the hole and the other.” He let the shawl drop. “Does that help?”

Chewing her lip, she frowned at the shawl sourly. It did not help at all. Just the thought of tearing a hole in the Pattern made her queasy. She had hoped it would be like something she had worked out concerning Tel’aran’rhiod. Not that she ever meant to use it, of course, but she had had all that time on her hands, and the Wise Ones kept grumbling about the Aes Sedai asking how to enter in the flesh. She thought the way would be to create—a similarity seemed the only way to describe it—a similarity between the real world and its reflection in the World of Dreams. That should make a place where it was possible to simply step from one to the other. If Rand’s method of travel had seemed even slightly the same, she would have been willing to try, but this . . . saidar did as you wanted as long as you remembered it was infinitely stronger than you and had to be guided gently; try to force the wrong thing, and you were dead or burned out before you could scream.

“Rand, are you sure there isn’t any sense of making things the same . . . or . . . ” She did not know how to put it, but in any case, he shook his head before she trailed off.

“That sounds like changing the weave of the Pattern. I think it would tear me apart if I so much as tried. I bore a hole.” He poked a finger at her to demonstrate.

Well, there was no point in pursuing that. She shifted her shawl irritably. “Rand, about those Sea Folk. I don’t know any more than I’ve read”—she did, but she still was not going to tell him—“but it must be something important to bring them this far to see you.”

“Light,” he muttered absently, “you jump around like a drop of water on a hot griddle. I’ll see them when I have time.” For a moment he rubbed at his forehead, and his eyes seemed to see nothing. With a blink he was seeing her again. “Do you intend to stay until they come back?” He really did want to be rid of her.

At the door she paused, but he was already stalking up the room, hands clasped behind his back, talking to himself. Softly, but she could make out some. “Where are you hiding, burn you? I know you’re there!”

Shivering, she let herself out. If he really was going mad already, there was no changing it. The Wheel weaved as the Wheel willed, and its weaving must be accepted.

Realizing that she was eyeing the servants passing up and down the hall, wondering which might be Aes Sedai agents, she made herself stop. The Wheel weaved as the Wheel willed. With a nod for Somara, she squared her shoulders and tried very hard not to scuttle on her way to the nearest servants’ entrance.

There was little talk as Arilyn’s best coach lurched away from the Sun Palace followed by the wagon that had borne the chests, burdened now only with the serving women and driver. Steepling her fingers in the coach, Nesune tapped them thoughtfully against her lips. A fascinating young man. A fascinating subject for study. Her foot touched one of the specimen boxes under the seat; she never went anywhere without proper specimen boxes. One would think that the world must have been catalogued long since, yet since leaving Tar Valon she had tucked away fifty plants, twice as many insects, and the skins and bones of a fox, three sorts of lark, and no fewer than five species of ground squirrel that she was sure were nowhere in the records.

“I did not realize you were friendly with Alviarin,” Coiren said after a time.

Galina sniffed. “It is not necessary to be friends to know she was well when we left.” Nesune wondered whether the woman knew that she pouted. Only the shape of her mouth perhaps, but one had to learn to live with one’s face. “Do you think he truly knew?” Galina went on. “That we had . . . it is impossible. He must have been guessing.”

Nesune’s ears perked, though she continued to tap her lips. That was clearly an effort to change the subject, and a sign that Galina was nervous besides. Silence had held as long as it did because no one wanted to mention al’Thor and there seemed no other topic possible. Why did Galina not want to speak of Alviarin? The two certainly were not friends; it was a rare Red who had a friend outside her Ajah. Nesune filed the question in its own mental cubbyhole.

“If he was guessing, he could make his fortune at the fairs.” Coiren was no fool. Bombastic beyond all reason, but never a fool. “However ridiculous it might seem, we must assume he can sense saidar in a woman.”

“That might be disastrous,” Galina muttered. “No. It cannot be. He must have guessed. Any man who can channel would assume we would embrace saidar.”

The woman’s pout irritated Nesune. This entire expedition irritated her. She would have been more than happy to join it if asked, but Jesse Bilal had not asked; Jesse had practically shoved her onto her horse physically. However it might be in other Ajahs, the head of the Browns’ council was not expected to behave so. Worst of all, though, Nesune’s companions were so focused on young al’Thor that they seemed to have gone blind to all else.

“Do you have any notions,” she mused aloud, “as to the sister who shared our interview?”

It might not have been a sister—three Aiel women seemed to turn up when she went into the Royal Library, and two could channel—but she wanted to see their reactions. She was not disappointed; or rather, she was. Coiren only sat up straight, but Galina stared. It was all Nesune could do not to sigh. They truly were blind. Only a few paces from a woman able to channel, and they had not sensed her because they could not see her.

“I don’t know how she was hidden,” Nesune went on, “but it will be interesting to discover.” It had to have been his work; they would have seen any weaving of saidar. They did not ask whether she was sure; they knew she always identified a guess.

“Confirmation that Moiraine is alive.” Galina settled back with a grim smile. “I suggest we set Beldeine to find her. Then we take her and bundle her into the basement. That takes her away from al’Thor, and we can carry her to Tar Valon along with him. I doubt he’ll even notice, so long as we let enough gold glitter under his nose.”

Coiren shook her head emphatically. “We have no more confirmation than we already had, not of Moiraine. It may be this mysterious Green. As far as finding whoever it is, I agree, but we must consider the rest carefully. I will not risk everything that has been so carefully planned. We must be aware that al’Thor is connected to this sister—whoever she may be—and that his plea for time may be only a strategy. Fortunately, we have time.” Galina nodded, however reluctantly; she would marry and settle on a farm before she risked their plans.

Nesune allowed herself a small sigh. Aside from pomposity, stating the obvious was Coiren’s only real fault. She did have a good mind, when she used it. And they did have time. Her foot touched one of the specimen boxes again. However events spun out, the paper she intended to write on al’Thor would be the culmination of her life.