Lord of Chaos

## Chapter 13

#### Under the Dust

Wondering whether to undo her braid, Nynaeve glowered out from under a frayed red-striped towel at her dress and shift, hanging over chairbacks and dripping on the clean-swept floorboards. Another raveled towel, striped green and white and considerably larger, served her as a substitute garment. “Now we know shock doesn’t work,” she growled at Theodrin, and winced. Her jaw hurt, and her cheek still stung. Theodrin had quick reflexes and a strong arm. “I could channel now, but for a moment there, saidar was the furthest thing from my mind.” In that drenched moment of gasping for breath, when thought had fled and instinct had taken over.

“Well, channel your things dry,” Theodrin muttered.

It made Nynaeve’s jaw feel better, watching Theodrin peer into a broken triangle of mirror and finger her eye. The flesh looked a little puffy already, and Nynaeve suspected that left alone the bruise would be spectacular. Her own arm was not so weak. A bruise was the least Theodrin deserved!

Perhaps the Domani thought the same, because she sighed, “I won’t try that again. But one way or another, I will teach you to surrender to saidar without first being angry enough to bite it.”

Frowning at the soaked garments, Nynaeve considered a moment. She had never done anything like this before. The prohibition against doing chores with the Power was strong, and with good reason. Saidar was seductive. The more you channeled, the more you wanted to channel, and the more you wanted to channel, the greater the risk that eventually you would draw too much and still or kill yourself. The sweetness of the True Source filled her easily now. Theodrin’s bucket of water had seen to that, if the rest of the morning had not. A simple weave of Water drew all the moisture from her clothes to fall on the floor in a puddle that quickly spread to join what the bucket had put there.

“I am not very good at surrendering,” she said. Unless there was no point in fighting, anyway. Only a fool went on where there was no chance at all. She could not breathe under water, she could not fly by flapping her arms—and she could not channel except when angry.

Theodrin shifted her frown from the puddle to Nynaeve and planted fists on slim hips. “I am well aware of that,” she said in a too level tone. “By all I’ve been taught, you should not be able to channel at all. I was taught you must be calm to channel, cool and serene inside, open and utterly yielding.” The glow of saidar surrounded her, and flows of Water gathered the puddle into a ball sitting incongruously on the floor. “You must surrender before you can guide. But you, Nynaeve . . . however hard you try to surrender—and I’ve seen you try—you hang on with your fingernails unless you’re furious enough to forget to.” Flows of Air lifted the wobbling ball. For a moment, Nynaeve thought the other woman meant to toss it at her, but the watery sphere floated across the room and out one of the open windows. It made a great splash falling, and a cat screamed in startled fury. Perhaps the prohibition did not apply when you reached Theodrin’s level.

“Why not leave it at that?” Nynaeve tried to sound bright, but she thought she failed. She wanted to channel whenever she pleased. But as the old saying went, “If wishes were wings, pigs would fly.”

“No use wasting—”

“Leave that,” Theodrin said as Nynaeve started to use the weave of water on her hair. “Let go of saidar and allow it to dry naturally. And put on your clothes.”

Nynaeve’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have another surprise waiting, do you?”

“No. Now start preparing your mind. You are a flower bud feeling the warmth of the Source, ready to open to that warmth. Saidar is the river, you the bank. The river is more powerful than the bank, yet the bank contains and guides it. Empty your mind except for the bud. There is nothing in your thoughts but the bud. You are the bud . . . ”

Pulling her shift over her head, Nynaeve sighed as Theodrin’s voice droned on hypnotically. Novice exercises. If those worked with her, she would have been channeling whenever she wanted long ago. She should stop this and see to what she really could do, such as convincing Elayne to go to Caemlyn. But she wanted Theodrin to be successful, even if it entailed ten buckets of water. Accepted did not walk out; Accepted did not defy. She hated being told what she could not do even worse than being told what she must.

Hours passed, with them now seated facing one another across a table that looked to have come out of a ramshackle farmhouse, hours of repeating drills that the novices were probably doing right that moment. The flower bud, and the riverbank. The summer breeze, and the babbling brook. Nynaeve tried to be a dandelion seed floating on the wind, the earth drinking in spring rain, a root inching its way through the soil. All without result, or at least the result Theodrin wanted. She even suggested Nynaeve imagine herself in a lover’s arms, which turned out a disaster, since it made her think of Lan, and how dare he vanish like this! But every time frustration sparked anger like a hot coal in dry grass and put saidar in her grasp, Theodrin made her release it and start again, soothing, calming. The way the woman remained fixed on what she wanted was maddening. Nynaeve thought she could teach mules how to be stubborn. She never got frustrated; she had serenity down to an art. Nynaeve wanted to upend a bucket of cold water over her head and see how she liked it. Then again, considering the ache in her jaw, maybe that was not such a good idea.

Theodrin Healed that ache before Nynaeve left, which was about the extent of her abilities in that Talent. After a moment, Nynaeve gave Healing in return. Theodrin’s eye had turned a brilliant purple, and she really hated not leaving it to remind the woman to have a little care what she did in the future, but turnabout was fair, and Theodrin’s gasping shivers as the flows of Spirit, Air and Water ran through her were some recompense for Nynaeve’s own gasps when that bucket had emptied over her. Of course, she shivered too, at her own Healing, but you could not have everything.

Outside, the sun stood halfway down toward the western horizon. Down the street, a ripple of bows and curtsies moved through the crowd, and then the shifting throng opened to reveal Tarna Feir, gliding along like a queen walking through a pigsty, the red-fringed shawl looped over her arms like a blatant banner. Even at fifty paces her attitude was plain in the way she held her head, the way she kept her skirts out of the dust, the way she ignored even those making courtesy as she passed. The first day there had been many fewer courtesies and much more bluster, but an Aes Sedai was an Aes Sedai, to the sisters in Salidar anyway. To drive that home, two Accepted, five novices and near a dozen serving men and women were spending what would have been their free hours hauling kitchen garbage and chamber-pot emptyings out to the woods and burying them.

As Nynaeve slipped away, before Tarna could see her in turn, her stomach growled loudly enough for a fellow with a basket of turnips on his back to give her a startled look. Breakfast time had gone in Elayne’s attempt to pierce the ward, the midday meal in Theodrin’s exercises. And she was not finished with the woman today. Theodrin’s instructions had been not to sleep tonight. Perhaps exhaustion would work where shock had not. Any block can be broken, Theodrin had said, her voice all implacable confidence, and I will break yours. It only takes once. One time channeling without anger, and saidar will be yours.

At the moment all Nynaeve wanted to be hers was some food. The scullions were already cleaning up, of course, and almost done, but the smell of mutton stew and roast pig hanging around the kitchens made her nose twitch. She had to settle for two pitiful apples, a bit of goat cheese and a heel of bread. The day was not getting any better.

Back in their room she found Elayne sprawled atop her bed. The younger woman glanced at her without raising her head, then rolled her eyes back up to stare at the cracked ceiling. “I have had the most miserable day, Nynaeve,” she sighed. “Escaralde insists on learning to make ter’angreal when she isn’t strong enough, and Varilin did something—I don’t know what—and the stone she was working on turned into a ball of . . . well, it wasn’t quite flame . . . right in her hands. Except for Dagdara, I think she’d have died; no one else there could have Healed her, and I don’t think there was time to fetch someone who could. Then I was thinking about Marigan—if we can’t learn how to detect a man channeling, maybe we can learn to detect what he’s done; I seem to remember Moiraine implying that was possible. I think I do—anyway, I was thinking about her, and somebody touched me on the shoulder, and I screamed like I’d been stuck with a needle. It was just some poor carter wanting to ask me about a fool rumor, but I frightened him so, he nearly ran.”

She drew breath finally, and Nynaeve abandoned the notion of throwing her last apple core at her and darted into the momentary quiet. “Where is Marigan?”

“She was finished tidying—and took her time about it, too—so I sent her off to her own room. I am still wearing the bracelet. See?” She waved her arm in the air and let it fall back to the mattress, but the flow of words did not slow. “She was going on in that awful whining way about how we should run off to Caemlyn, and I just could not stand it another minute, not on top of everything else. My novice class was a disaster. That horrible Keatlin woman—the one with the nose?—kept muttering about how she’d never let a girl order her around back home, and Faolain came stalking up demanding to know why I had Nicola in the class—how was I supposed to know Nicola was meant to be running errands for her?—then Ibrella decided to see how big a flame she could make and nearly set the whole class on fire, and Faolain dressed me down right in front of everybody for not keeping my class under control, and Nicola said she—”

Nynaeve gave up trying to get a word in edgewise—maybe she should have thrown the apple core—and just shouted. “I think Moghedien’s right!”

That name shut the other woman’s mouth, and sat her up staring, too. Nynaeve could not help looking around to see if anyone had overheard, even if they were in their own room.

“That is foolish, Nynaeve.”

Nynaeve did not know whether Elayne meant the suggestion or speaking Moghedien’s name aloud, and she did not intend to inquire. Sitting on her own bed opposite Elayne, she adjusted her skirts. “No, it isn’t. Any day now Jaril and Seve will tell somebody Marigan isn’t their mother, if they haven’t already. Are you ready for the questions that will bring? I’m not. Any day some Aes Sedai is going to start digging into how I can discover anything without being in a fury from sunup to sundown. Every second Aes Sedai I speak to mentions it, and Dagdara has been looking at me in a funny way lately. Besides, they aren’t going to do anything here but sit. Unless they decide to go back to the Tower. I sneaked up and listened to Tarna talking with Sheriam—”

“You what?”

“I sneaked up and listened,” Nynaeve said levelly. “The message they’re sending to Elaida is that they need more time to consider. That means they’re at least considering forgetting about the Red Ajah and Logain. How they can, I don’t know, but they must be. If we stay here much longer, we may end up handed to Elaida as a present. At least if we go now we can tell Rand not to count on any Aes Sedai being behind him. We can tell him not to trust any Aes Sedai.”

Frowning prettily, Elayne folded her legs beneath her. “If they’re still considering, it means they haven’t decided. I think we should stay. Maybe we can help them decide the right way. Besides, unless you mean to talk Theodrin into coming along, you’ll never break through your block if we go.”

Nynaeve ignored that. A fine lot of good Theodrin had done so far. Buckets of water. No sleep tonight. What next? The woman had as good as said she meant to try anything and everything until she found what worked. Anything and everything took in too much to Nynaeve’s way of thinking. “Help them decide? They won’t listen to us. Siuan hardly listens to us, and if she has us by the scruff of the neck, we at least have her by the toe.”

“I still think we should stay. At least until the Hall does decide. Then, if worse comes to worst, we can at least tell Rand a fact and not a maybe.”

“How are we supposed to find out? We can’t count on me finding the right window to listen at twice. If we wait until they announce it, we may be under guard. Me, at least. There isn’t an Aes Sedai doesn’t know Rand and I both come from Emond’s Field.”

“Siuan will tell us before anything is announced,” the fool girl said calmly. “You don’t think she and Leane will go meekly back to Elaida, do you?”

There was that. Elaida would have Siuan and Leane’s heads before they could curtsy. “That still doesn’t consider Jaril and Seve,” she persisted.

“We will think of something. In any case, they aren’t the first refugee children cared for by somebody not related to them.” Elayne probably thought her dimpled smile was reassuring. “All we need do is put our heads to it. At the very least, we should wait for Thom to return from Amadicia. I cannot leave him behind.”

Nynaeve threw up her hands. If looks reflected character, Elayne should have looked like a mule carved in stone. The girl had made Thom Merrilin a replacement for the father who died when she was little. She also sometimes seemed to think he could not find his way to the dinner table unless she held his hand.

The only warning Nynaeve had was the feel of saidar being embraced close by, then the door swung open on a flow of Air, and Tarna Feir stepped into the room. Nynaeve and Elayne popped to their feet. An Aes Sedai was an Aes Sedai, and some of those burying refuse were there on Tarna’s word alone.

The yellow-haired Red sister scrutinized them, her face arrogant winter marble. “So. The Queen of Andor and the crippled wilder.”

“Not yet, Aes Sedai,” Elayne replied with a cool politeness. “Not until I am crowned in the Great Hall. And only if my mother is dead,” she added.

Tarna’s smile could have frozen a snowstorm. “Of course. They tried to keep you a secret, but whispers do get about.” Her gaze took in the narrow beds and the rickety stool, the clothes on their wall pegs and the cracked plaster. “I should think you would have better quarters, considering all the miraculous things you’ve done. Were you in the White Tower where you belong, I would not be surprised to see you both tested for the shawl by now.”

“Thank you,” Nynaeve said, to show she could be as civil as Elayne. Tarna looked at her. Those blue eyes made the rest of that face seem warm. “Aes Sedai,” Nynaeve added hastily.

Tarna turned back to Elayne. “The Amyrlin has a special place in her heart for you, and for Andor. She has such a search being made for you as you would not believe. I know it would please her greatly if you returned with me to Tar Valon.”

“My place is here, Aes Sedai.” Elayne’s voice was still pleasant, but her chin came up in a good match to Tarna’s haughtiness. “I will return to the Tower when the rest do.”

“I see,” the Red said flatly. “Very well. Leave us now. I wish to speak to the wilder alone.”

Nynaeve and Elayne exchanged glances, but there was nothing for Elayne to do but curtsy and go.

When the door closed, a startling change came over Tarna. She sat on Elayne’s bed and swung her legs up, crossing her ankles, leaning back against the chipped headboard and folding her hands on her stomach. Her face thawed, and she even smiled. “You look uneasy. Do not be. I will not bite you.”

Nynaeve could have believed that better if the other woman’s eyes had changed too. The smile never touched them; in contrast, they seemed ten times as hard, a hundred times as cold. The combination made her skin crawl. “I am not uneasy,” she said stiffly, planting her feet to keep them from shifting.

“Ah. Offended, is it? Why? Because I called you ‘wilder’? I’m a wilder too, you know. Galina Casban beat my block out of me herself. She knew my Ajah long before I did, and took a personal interest in me. She always does in those she thinks will choose Red.” She shook her head, laughing, eyes like frozen knives. “The hours I spent howling and weeping before I could find saidar without my eyes shut tight; you cannot weave if you cannot see the flows. I understand Theodrin is using gentler methods with you.”

Nynaeve’s feet moved in spite of herself. Surely Theodrin would not try that! Surely not. Stiffening her knees did nothing for the flutter in her stomach. So she was not supposed to be offended, was she? Was she to dismiss “crippled,” too? “What did you wish to speak to me about, Aes Sedai?”

“The Amyrlin wants to see Elayne safe, but in many ways you are every bit as important. Perhaps more. What you have in your head of Rand al’Thor could be beyond price. And what Egwene al’Vere has in hers. Do you know where she is?”

Nynaeve wanted to wipe the sweat from her face, but she kept her hands by her sides. “I have not seen her in a long time, Aes Sedai.” Months, since their last meeting in Tel’aran’rhiod. “May I ask, what does . . . ” No one in Salidar called Elaida Amyrlin, but she was supposed to be respectful to this woman. “ . . . the Amyrlin intend about Rand?”

“Intend, child? He’s the Dragon Reborn. The Amyrlin knows that, and she intends to give him every honor he deserves.” A touch of intensity entered Tarna’s voice. “Think, child. This lot will return to the fold once it dawns on them fully what they do, but every day could be vital. Three thousand years the White Tower has guided rulers; there would have been more wars and worse without the Tower. The world faces disaster if al’Thor lacks that guidance. But you cannot guide what you do not know, any more than I could channel with my eyes closed. The best thing for him is for you to return with me and give your knowledge of him to the Amyrlin now, instead of in weeks or months. Best for you, as well. You can never be made Aes Sedai here. The Oath Rod is in the Tower. The testing can only be done in the Tower.”

Sweat stung Nynaeve’s eyes, but she refused to blink. Did the woman think she could be bribed? “The truth of it is, I never spent much time around him. I lived in the village, you see, and he on a farm off in the Westwood. Mainly all I remember is a boy who never listened to reason. He had to be pushed into doing what he should, or dragged into it. Of course, that was when he was a boy. He may have changed, for all I know. Most men are just the boy grown tall, but he could have.”

For a long moment Tarna merely looked at her. A very long moment, under that frigid stare. “Well,” she said at last, and flowed onto her feet so quickly Nynaeve almost stepped back, though there was nowhere in the tiny room to step back to. That unsettling smile remained in place. “Such an odd group gathered here. I haven’t seen either, but I understand Siuan Sanche and Leane Sharif grace Salidar. Not the sort a wise woman would consort with. And perhaps other odd folk, too? You would do much better to come with me. I leave in the morning. Let me know tonight whether I should expect to meet you on the road.”

“I’m afraid not—”

“Think on it, child. This could be the most important decision you ever make. Think very hard.” The amiable mask vanished, and Tarna swept out of the room.

Nynaeve’s knees gave way, depositing her on the bed. The woman set such a gamut of emotions running through her, she did not know what to make of them. Uneasiness and anger roiled about with exhilaration. She wished the Red had some way to communicate with the Tower Aes Sedai seeking Rand. Oh, to be a fly on the wall when they tried using her assessment of him. Trying to bribe her. Trying to frighten her. And doing a fair job of the latter. Tarna was so sure the Aes Sedai here would kneel to Elaida; it was a foregone conclusion, only the timing in doubt. And had that been a hint about Logain? Nynaeve suspected Tarna knew more of Salidar than the Hall or Sheriam suspected. Perhaps Elaida did have supporters here.

Nynaeve kept expecting Elayne to return, and when a good half hour passed without her, she went out hunting, first loping up and down dusty streets, then trotting, pausing here to climb up on a cart tongue, there to mount an upended barrel or a stone stoop, and peer across the heads of the crowd. The sun descended to less than its own height above the tree line before she stalked back to the room, muttering to herself. And found Elayne, plainly just arrived herself.

“Where have you been? I thought Tarna might have you tied up somewhere!”

“I was getting these from Siuan.” Elayne opened her hand. Two of the twisted stone rings lay on her palm.

“Is one of those the real one? It’s a good idea to take them, but you should have tried to get the real one.”

“Nothing has changed my mind, Nynaeve. I still think we should stay.”

“Tarna—”

“Only convinced me. If we go, Sheriam and the Hall will choose the Tower whole over Rand. I just know it.” She put her hands on Nynaeve’s shoulders, and Nynaeve let herself be sat down on her bed. Elayne took the other opposite her and leaned forward intently. “You remember what you told me about using need to find something in Tel’aran’rhiod? What we need is a way to convince the Hall not to go to Elaida.”

“How? What? If Logain isn’t enough . . . ”

“We will know what when we find it,” Elayne said firmly.

Nynaeve fingered her wrist-thick braid absently. “Will you agree to go if we don’t find anything? I don’t much like the thought of sitting here until they decide to put us under guard.”

“I’ll agree to go provided you agree to stay if we do find something useful. Nynaeve, as much as I want to see him, we can do more good here.”

Nynaeve hesitated before finally muttering, “Agreed.” It seemed safe enough. Without some idea of what they were looking for, she could not imagine they would find anything at all.

If the day had seemed to pass slowly before, it began to crawl now. They lined up at one of the kitchens for plates of sliced ham, turnips and peas. The sun sat on the treetops for hours, it seamed. Most in Salidar went to bed with the sun, but a few lights appeared in windows, especially the Little Tower. The Hall was feasting Tarna tonight. Bits of harp music occasionally drifted from the former inn; the Aes Sedai had found a harper of sorts among the soldiers and had him shaved and stuffed into something like livery. People passing by in the street darted quick glances at it before hurrying on or ignored it so hard they practically shook with the effort. Once again Gareth Bryne was the exception. He ate his meal seated on a wooden box in the middle of the street; any of the Hall looking out a window would have to see him. Slowly, ever so slowly, the sun slid down behind the trees. Dark came abruptly, with no twilight to speak of, and the streets emptied. The harper’s melody began again. Gareth Bryne still sat on his box on the edge of a pool of light from the Hall’s banquet. Nynaeve shook her head; she did not know whether he was being admirable or foolish. Some of each, she suspected.

It was not until she was in her bed with the flecked stone ter’angreal on the cord around her neck with Lan’s heavy gold signet and the candle snuffed that she remembered Theodrin’s instructions. Well, too late for that now. Theodrin would never know whether she slept anyway. Where was Lan?

The sound of Elayne’s breathing slowed, Nynaeve snuggled into her small pillow with a tiny sigh, and . . .

. . . she stood at the foot of her empty bed, looking at a misty Elayne in the not quite light of night in Tel’aran’rhiod. No one to see them here. Sheriam or one of her circle might be about, or Siuan or Leane. True, the pair of them had a right to visit the World of Dreams, but on tonight’s quest neither wanted to answer questions. Elayne apparently saw it as a hunt; consciously or not, she had togged herself out like Birgitte, in green coat and white trousers. She blinked at the silver bow in her hand, and it vanished along with the quiver.

Nynaeve checked her own garments and sighed. A blue silk ball gown, embroidered with golden flowers around the low neckline and in twined lines down the full skirt. She could feel velvet dancing slippers on her feet. What you wore in Tel’aran’rhiod did not really matter, but whatever had possessed her mind to choose this? “You realize this might not work,” she said, changing to good plain Two Rivers woolens and stout shoes. Elayne had no right to smile that way. A silver bow. Ha! “We’re supposed to have some idea at least of what we’re looking for, something about it.”

“It will have to do, Nynaeve. According to you, the Wise Ones said the stronger the need the better, and we surely need something, or the help we promised Rand is going to vanish except for whatever Elaida is willing to give. I won’t let that happen, Nynaeve. I will not.”

“Put your chin down. Neither will I, if there’s anything we can do about it. We might as well get on with this.” Linking hands with Elayne, Nynaeve closed her eyes. Need. She hoped some part of her had some notion what it was they needed. Maybe nothing would happen. Need. Suddenly everything seemed to slide around her; she felt Tel’aran’rhiod tilt and swoop.

Her eyes sprang open immediately. Each step using need was taken blind, of necessity, and while each took you closer to what you sought, any one could drop you down in a pit of vipers, or a lion disturbed at its kill could bite your leg off.

There were no lions, yet what there was was disturbing. It was bright midday, but that did not bother her; time flowed differently here. She and Elayne were holding hands in a cobblestone street, surrounded by buildings of brick and stone. Elaborate cornices and friezes decorated houses and shops alike. Ornate cupolas decorated tile rooftops, and bridges of stone or wood arched across the street, sometimes three or four stories up. Heaps of garbage, old clothes and broken furniture stood piled on street corners, and rats scurried about by the score, sometimes pausing to chitter fearless challenges at them. People dreaming themselves to the brink of Tel’aran’rhiod flickered in and out of existence. A man fell shrieking from one of the bridges and vanished before he hit the cobblestones. A howling woman in a torn dress ran a dozen paces toward them before she too winked out. Truncated screams and shouts echoed through the streets, and sometimes coarse laughter with a maniacal edge.

“I don’t like this,” Elayne said in a worried tone.

In the distance, a great bone-white shaft reared above the city, far overtopping other towers, many of them linked by bridges that made those where they were seem low. They were in Tar Valon, in the part where Nynaeve had caught a glimpse of Leane last time. Leane had not been very forthcoming about what she had been doing; increasing the awe and legend of the mysterious Aes Sedai, she had claimed with a smile.

“It doesn’t matter,” Nynaeve said stoutly. “Nobody in Tar Valon even knows about the World of Dreams. We won’t run into anybody.” Her stomach turned over as a bloody-faced man suddenly appeared, staggering toward them. He had no hands, only spurting stumps.

“That was not what I meant,” Elayne muttered.

“Let’s be on about it.” Nynaeve closed her eyes. Need.

Shift.

They were in the Tower, in one of the tapestry-hung curving hallways. A plump novice-clad girl popped into existence not three paces away, her big eyes going wider when she saw them. “Please,” she whimpered. “Please?” And was gone.

Suddenly Elayne gasped, “Egwene!”

Nynaeve whirled around but the passage was empty.

“I saw her,” Elayne insisted. “I know I did.”

“I suppose she can touch Tel’aran’rhiod in an ordinary dream like anyone else,” Nynaeve told her. “Let’s just get on with what we’re here for.” She was beginning to feel more than uneasy. They linked hands again. Need.

Shift.

It was not an ordinary storeroom. Shelves lined the walls and made two short rows out in the floor, neatly lined with boxes of various sizes and shapes, some plain wood, some carved or lacquered, with things wrapped in cloth, with statuettes and figurines, and peculiar shapes seemingly of metal or glass, crystal or stone or glazed porcelain. Nynaeve needed no more to know they must be objects of the One Power, ter’angreal most likely, perhaps some angreal and sa’angreal. Such a disparate collection, stored away so tidily, could not be anything else in the Tower.

“I don’t think there is any point to going further here,” Elayne said dejectedly. “I don’t know how we could ever get anything out of here.”

Nynaeve gave her braid a short tug. If there really was something here they could use—there had to be, unless the Wise Ones had lied—then there had to be a way to reach it in the waking world. Angreal and the like were not heavily guarded; usually, when she had been in the Tower, only by a lock and a novice. The door here was made of heavy planks with a heavy black iron lock set in it. No doubt it was fastened, but she fixed it in her mind as undone and pushed.

The door swung open into a guardroom. Narrow beds stacked one atop another lined one wall, and racked halberds lined another. Beyond a heavy, battered table ringed by stools was another door, iron-strapped, with a small grille set in it.

As she turned back to Elayne she was suddenly, aware that the door was shut again. “If we can’t get to what we need here, maybe we can somewhere else. I mean, maybe something else will do. At least we have a hint now. I think these are ter’angreal nobody has found how to use yet. That’s the only reason they would be guarded like this. It could be dangerous even to channel close to them.”

Elayne gave her a wry look. “But if we try again, won’t it just bring us right back here? Unless . . . unless the Wise Ones told you how to exclude a place from the search.”

They had not—they had not been eager to tell her anything at all—but in a place where you open a lock by thinking it was open, anything should be possible. “That’s exactly what we do. We fix it in our heads that what we want isn’t in Tar Valon.” Frowning at the shelves, she added, “And I’ll wager it is a ter’angreal nobody knows how to use.” Though how that would convince the Hall to support Rand, she could not imagine.

“We need a ter’angreal that isn’t in Tar Valon,” Elayne said as if convincing herself. “Very well. We go on.”

She held out her hands, and after a moment Nynaeve took them. Nynaeve was not sure how she had become the one to insist on continuing. She wanted to leave Salidar, not find a reason to stay. But if it assured that the Salidar Aes Sedai would support Rand . . .

Need. A ter’angreal. Not in Tar Valon. Need.

Shift.

Wherever they were, the dawn-lit city was certainly not Tar Valon. Not twenty paces away the broad paved street became a white stone bridge with statues at either end, arching over a stone-lined canal. Fifty paces the other way stood another. Slender, balcony-ringed towers stood everywhere, like spears driven through round slices of ornate confection. Every building was white, the doorways and windows large pointed arches, sometimes double or triple arches. On the grander buildings long balconies of white-painted wrought iron, with intricate wrought-iron screens to hide any occupants, looked down on the streets and canals, and white domes banded with scarlet or gold rose to points as sharp as the towers.

Need. Shift.

It might as well have been a different city. The street was narrow and unevenly paved, hemmed in on both sides by buildings five and six stories high, their white plaster flaked away in many places to expose the brick beneath. There were no balconies here. Flies buzzed about, and it was hard to say whether it was still dawn because of the shadows down on the ground.

They exchanged looks. It seemed unlikely they would find a ter’angreal here, but they had gone too far to stop now. Need.

Shift.

Nynaeve sneezed before she could open her eyes, and again as soon as they were open. Every shift of her feet kicked up swirls of dust. This storeroom was not at all like that in the Tower. Chests, crates and barrels crowded the small room, piled every which way atop one another, with barely an aisle left between, and all under a thick layer of dust. Nynaeve sneezed so hard she thought her shoes would come off—and the dust vanished. All of it. Elayne wore a small smug smile. Nynaeve said nothing, only fixed the room firmly in her mind without dust. She should have thought of that.

Looking over the jumble, she sighed. The room was no larger than the one where their bodies lay sleeping in Salidar, but searching through all that . . . “It will take weeks.”

“We could try again. It might at least show which things to look through.” Elayne sounded as doubtful as Nynaeve felt.

Still, it was as good a suggestion as any. Nynaeve closed her eyes, and once more came the shift.

When she looked again, she was standing at the end of the aisle away from the door, facing a square wooden chest taller than her waist. The iron straps seemed all rust, and the chest itself looked to have spent the last twenty years being beaten with hammers. A less likely repository for anything useful, especially a ter’angreal, Nynaeve could not imagine. But Elayne was standing right beside her, staring at the same chest.

Nynaeve put a hand on the lid—the hinges would open smoothly—and pushed it up. There was not even the hint of a squeal. Inside, two heavily rusted swords and an equally brown breastplate with a hole eaten through it lay atop a tangle of cloth-wrapped parcels and what seemed to be the refuse from somebody’s old clothespress and a couple of kitchens.

Elayne fingered a small kettle with a broken spout. “Not weeks, but the rest of the night, anyway.”

“Once more?” Nynaeve suggested. “It could not hurt.” Elayne shrugged. Eyes shut. Need.

Nynaeve reached out, and her hand came down on something hard and rounded, covered with crumbling cloth. When she opened her eyes, Elayne’s hand was right next to hers. The younger woman’s grin nearly split her face in two.

Getting it out was not easy. It was not small, and they had to shift tattered coats and dented pots and parcels that crumbled to reveal figurines and carved animals and all sorts of rubbish. Once they had it out, they had to hold it between them, a wide flattish disc wrapped in rotted cloth. With the cloth stripped away, it turned out to be a shallow bowl of thick crystal, more than two feet across and carved deeply inside with what appeared to be swirling clouds.

“Nynaeve,” Elayne said slowly, “I think this is . . . ”

Nynaeve gave a start and nearly dropped her side of the bowl as it suddenly turned a pale watery blue and the carved clouds shifted slowly. A heartbeat later, the crystal was clear again, the carved clouds still. Only she was certain the clouds were not the same as they had been.

“It is,” Elayne exclaimed. “It’s a ter’angreal. And I will bet anything it has something to do with weather. But I’m not quite strong enough to work it by myself.”

Gulping a breath, Nynaeve tried to make her heart stop pounding. “Don’t do that! Don’t you realize you could still yourself, meddling with a ter’angreal when you don’t know what it does?”

The fool girl had the nerve to give her a surprised stare. “That is what we came to look for, Nynaeve. And do you think there is anyone who knows more about ter’angreal than I do?”

Nynaeve sniffed. Just because the woman was right did not mean she should not have given a little warning. “I’m not saying it isn’t wonderful if this can do something about the weather—it is—but I don’t see how it can be what we need. This won’t shift the Hall one way or the other about Rand.”

“ ‘What you need isn’t always what you want,’ ” Elayne quoted. “Lini used to say that when she wouldn’t let me go riding, or climb trees, but maybe it holds here.”

Nynaeve sniffed again. Maybe it did, but right now she wanted what she wanted. Was that so much to ask?

The bowl faded out of their hands, and it was Elayne’s turn to give a start, muttering about never getting used to that. The chest was closed, too.

“Nynaeve, when I channeled into the bowl, I felt . . . Nynaeve, it isn’t the only ter’angreal in this room. I think there are angreal, too, maybe even sa’angreal.”

“Here?” Nynaeve said incredulously, staring around the cluttered little room. But if one, why not two? Or ten, or a hundred? “Light, don’t channel again! What if you make one of them do something by accident? You could still—”

“I do know what I am doing, Nynaeve. Really, I do. The next thing we have to do is find out exactly where this room is.”

That proved to be no easy task. Though the hinges seemed solid masses of rust, the door was no impediment, not in Tel’aran’rhiod. The problems began after that. The dim narrow corridor outside had only one small window at its end, and that showed nothing but a peeling white-plastered wall across the street. Climbing down cramped flights of stone-faced stairs did no good. The street outside could have been the first they had seen in this quarter of the city, wherever that was, all the buildings as near alike as made no difference. The tiny shops along the street had no signs, and the only thing marking inns were blue-painted doors. Red seemed to indicate a tavern.

Nynaeve strode off searching for some landmark, something to pinpoint their location. Something to say what the city was. Every street she came to seemed like the last, but she quickly found a bridge, plain stone, unlike the others she had seen, and lacking statues. The center of its arch showed her only the canal, meeting others in both directions, more bridges, more buildings with flaking white plaster.

Suddenly she realized she was alone. “Elayne.” Silence, except for the echo of her voice. “Elayne? Elayne!”

The golden-haired woman popped around a corner near the foot of the bridge. “There you are,” said Elayne. “This place makes a rabbit warren look well planned. I turned my head for an instant, and you were gone. Did you find anything?”

“Nothing.” Nynaeve glanced down the canal again before joining Elayne. “Nothing at all useful.”

“At least we can be sure where we are. Ebou Dar. It must be.” Elayne’s short coat and wide trousers became a green silk gown with spills of lace dangling over her hands, a high elaborately embroidered collar, and a narrow neckline deep enough to show considerable cleavage. “I can’t think of another city with so many canals except Illian, and this is certainly not Illian.”

“I should hope not,” Nynaeve said faintly. It had never even occurred to her that a blind search might take them into Sammael’s lair. Her own dress had changed, she realized, to a deep blue silk suitable for traveling, complete with a linen dustcloak. She made the cloak vanish, but left the rest.

“You would like Ebou Dar, Nynaeve. Ebou Dari Wise Women know more about herbs than anybody. They can cure anything. They have to, because Ebou Dari fight duels over a sneeze, noble or common, men or women.” Elayne giggled. “Thom says there used to be leopards here, but they left because they found Ebou Dari too touchy to live with.”

“That’s all very well,” Nynaeve told her, “but they can run each other through as much as they want for all I care. Elayne, we might as well have put the rings away and just slept. I couldn’t walk back to that room from here if I was to receive the shawl when I got there. If only there was some way to make a map . . . ” She grimaced. As well ask for wings in the waking world; if they could take a map out of Tel’aran’rhiod, they could take the bowl.

“Then we will just have to come to Ebou Dar and search,” Elayne said firmly. “In the real world. At least we know what part of the city to look in.”

Nynaeve brightened. Ebou Dar lay only a few hundred miles down the Eldar from Salidar. “That sounds a very good notion. And it will get us away before everything falls on our heads.”

“Really, Nynaeve. Is that still the most important thing to you?”

“It is one important thing. Can you think of anything else to do here?” Elayne shook her head. “Then we might as well go back. I’d like a little real sleep tonight.” There was no telling how much time had passed in the waking world while you were in Tel’aran’rhiod; sometimes an hour there was an hour here, sometimes a day, or more. Luckily, it did not seem to work the other way, or at least not as much anyway, or you might starve to death sleeping.

Nynaeve stepped out of the dream . . .

. . . and her eyes popped open, staring into her pillow, which was as sweat-damp as she. Not a breath of air stirred through the open window. Silence had fallen over Salidar, the loudest sound the thin cries of night herons. Sitting up, she untied the cord around her neck and unstrung the twisted stone ring, pausing for a moment to finger Lan’s thick gold ring. Elayne stirred, then sat up yawning and channeled a stub of candle alight.

“Do you think it will do any good?” Nynaeve asked quietly.

“I do not know.” Elayne stopped to muffle a yawn behind her hand. How could the woman manage to look pretty yawning, with her hair a mess and a red wrinkle from a pillow marring one cheek? That was a secret Aes Sedai ought to investigate. “What I do know is that bowl may be able to do something about the weather. I know a cache of ter’angreal and angreal has to be put in the right hands. It’s our duty to hand them over to the Hall. To Sheriam, anyway. I know if it doesn’t make them support Rand, I’ll keep hunting until I find something that does. And I know I want to sleep. Could we talk about this in the morning?” Without waiting for an answer, she doused the candle, curled up again and was breathing the deep, slow breaths of sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Nynaeve stretched out again, staring at the ceiling through the darkness. At least they would be on their way to Ebou Dar soon. Tomorrow, maybe. A day or two, at most, to ready themselves for the journey and stop a passing riverboat. At least . . .

Suddenly she remembered Theodrin. If it took two days to get ready, Theodrin would want her two sessions, sure as a duck had feathers. And she expected Nynaeve not to sleep tonight. There was no possible way she could know, but . . .

Sighing heavily, she climbed out of bed. There was not much room to pace, but she used it all, getting angrier by the minute. All she wanted was to get away. She had said she was not very good at surrendering, but maybe she was getting good at running away. It would be so wonderful to channel whenever she wanted. She never even noticed the tears that began leaking down her cheeks.