Lord of Chaos

## Chapter 34

#### Journey to Salidar

Egwene washed her face. Twice. Then she found her saddlebags and filled them. Her ivory comb and brush and mirror went in, and her sewing box—a small, finely gilded casket that likely had held some lady’s jewels once—plus a white cake of rose-perfumed soap and clean stockings and shifts and handkerchiefs and a host of things, until the leather sides bulged and she could hardly buckle the flaps down. Several dresses and cloaks, an Aiel shawl, remained to make a bundle, which she tied neatly with a cord. That done, she looked around for anything else she might want to take. It was all hers. Even the tent had been given to her, but that was certainly too bulky, as were the carpets and cushions. Her crystal washbasin was beautiful, and far too heavy. The same for the chests, though several had beautiful work on the strapping and lovely carving.

Only then, thinking about the chests of all things, did she realize she was trying to put off the hardest bit of getting ready. “Courage,” she said dryly. “Heart of an Aiel.”

It turned out to be quite possible to put on stockings without sitting down, so long as you did not mind hopping around. Stout shoes followed, good if she had to walk far, and a silk shift, white and soft. Then the dark green riding dress, with its narrow divided skirts. Unfortunately that fit quite snugly over the hips, enough to remind her, unnecessarily, that she would not enjoy sitting for a while.

There was no point going outside. Bair and Amys were probably in their own tents, but she had no intention of risking the chance one of them might see her do this. It would be like slapping them. If it worked, that was. If not, she had a very long ride ahead of her.

Nervously rubbing her fingers over her palms, she embraced saidar, letting it fill her. And shifted her feet. Saidar made you more aware of everything, including your own body, which she would just as soon have missed right then. Trying something new, something no one had ever tried before that she knew, should have been done slowly and carefully, but for once she wanted to be rid of the Source. She channeled briskly, flows of Spirit, woven just so.

The air shimmered in the middle of the tent along her weave, cloaking the other side in mistiness. If she was right, she had just created a place where the interior of her tent was so similar to its reflection in Tel’aran’rhiod that there was no difference at all right there. One was the other. But there was only one way to be sure.

Tossing the saddlebags over her shoulder, she took the bundle under one arm and stepped through the weave, then let go of saidar.

She was in Tel’aran’rhiod. All it took to tell her was that the lamps that had been lit were no longer burning, yet there was a sort of light. Things moved slightly between one glance and the next, the washbasin, a chest. She was in Tel’aran’rhiod in the flesh. It felt no different than when she came in a dream.

She ducked outside. A three-quarter moon shone down on tents where no fire burned and no one moved, on a Cairhien that seemed oddly distant and clouded in shadow. All that remained was the problem of actually getting to Salidar. She had thought about that. A great deal depended on whether she had as much control in the flesh as when she was part of the World of Dreams.

Fixing in her mind what she would find, she walked around the tent—and smiled. There stood Bela, the short shaggy mare she had ridden out of the Two Rivers a lifetime ago. Only a dream-Bela, but the stout mare tossed her nose and whickered at sight of her.

Egwene dropped her burdens and flung her arms around the horse’s head. “I’m glad to see you again, too,” she whispered. That dark liquid eye looking at her was Bela’s, reflection or no.

Bela wore the high-cantled saddle she had imagined, too. Comfortable for long travel normally, but not soft. Egwene eyed the thing askance, wondering how it would look padded; then she had a thought. You could change anything in Tel’aran’rhiod if you knew how, even yourself. If she had enough control to make Bela while in the flesh . . . she concentrated on herself.

With a smile she fastened the saddlebags and bundle behind the saddle and climbed up herself, settling quite comfortably. “It isn’t cheating,” she told the mare. “They would not expect me to ride all the way to Salidar like that.” Well, come to think of it, maybe they would. Even so, Aiel heart or no Aiel heart there were limits. Turning Bela, she heeled the mare’s ribs gently. “I need to be as quick as I can, so you will need to run like the wind.”

Before she had time to chuckle at the image that came to mind of plump Bela running like the wind, the mare was doing so. The landscape blurred, streaking by. For a moment Egwene clung to the pommel of the saddle, her mouth hanging open. It was as if Bela’s every trotting step carried them miles. With the first she had an instant to realize they were on the riverbank below the city, with ships floating out on the dark waters amid streaks of moonlight, and even as she tried to jerk at the reins, to stop Bela running headlong into the river, another step took them into thicketed hills.

Egwene threw back her head and laughed. This was marvelous! Except for the blurring, there was little real sensation of speed; her hair hardly had time to stream back in the wind of that rush before it was gone, only to come again a moment later. Bela’s gait felt the same plodding trot she recalled, but the sudden leap of everything around her was exhilarating, one moment a village street, moon-dark and silent, the next a country road winding through hills, the next a meadow with hay standing almost to Bela’s shoulders. Egwene only paused now and again to orient herself—no trouble at all with that marvelous map in her head, the one the woman with Siuan’s name had made—and otherwise let Bela trot. Villages and towns appeared and vanished in a blur, great cities—one she thought sure was Caemlyn, walls silvery white in the night—and once, in forested hills, the head and shoulders of a huge statue rearing out of the earth, a remnant of some land lost in history, appearing so suddenly at Bela’s side with a weathered grimace that Egwene nearly screamed, only it was gone before she could. The moon did not move at all between leaps, and hardly any as they sped along. A day or two to reach Salidar? That was what Sheriam had said. The Wise Ones were right. Everyone had believed for so long that Aes Sedai knew everything that Aes Sedai believed it, too. She was going to prove them wrong tonight, but it was not likely they would take any real notice of her proof. They knew.

After a time, when she was sure she was somewhere well into Altara, she began letting Bela make smaller jumps, reining her in more often, even riding normally for a bit, especially if there was a village nearby. Sometimes a night-shrouded inn had a sign that named the village, the Marella Inn or the Ionin Spring Inn, and moonlight added to the odd sense of light in Tel’aran’rhiod made reading them easy. Bit by bit she became absolutely certain where she was in relation to Salidar and began to take still smaller leaps, then none at all, only letting Bela trot normally through forest where tall trees had killed most of the undergrowth and drought most of the rest.

Still, she was surprised when a considerable village appeared suddenly, silent and dark in the moonlight. It had to be the right place, though.

At the edge of the thatch-roofed stone houses, she dismounted and took down her belongings. It was late, but people might still be about in the waking world. No need to startle them by popping out of the air. If an Aes Sedai saw that and mistook what she was, she might have no chance to face the Hall.

“You did run like the wind,” she murmured, hugging Bela a last time. “I wish I could take you with me.” A useless fancy, of course. What was made in Tel’aran’rhiod could exist only there. This was not really Bela, after all. Even so, she felt a twinge of regret as she turned her back—she would not stop imagining Bela; let her exist as long as she could—and wove her shimmering curtain of Spirit. Head high, she stepped through, ready to face whatever came with her Aiel heart.

One step she took, and came up short with a sharp, wide-eyed, “Oh!” The changes she had made in Tel’aran’rhiod existed in the real world no more than Bela did. The flames returned with a rush, and with them, it was almost as though Sorilea spoke to her. If you take what you did to meet your toh and make it so it might as well never have happened, how have you met toh? Remember your Aiel heart, girl.

Yes. She would remember. She was here to do battle whether the Aes Sedai knew it or not, ready to fight for the right to be Aes Sedai, ready to face . . . light, what?

There were people in the streets, a few moving between houses where lighted windows made golden pools. Walking a little gingerly, Egwene approached a wiry woman with a white apron and a harried expression. “Excuse me. My name is Egwene al’Vere. I am Accepted”—the woman gave her riding dress a sharp look—“and I’ve just arrived. Can you direct me to Sheriam Sedai? I need to find her.” Very likely Sheriam was asleep already, but if she was, Egwene intended to wake her. She had been told to come as soon as possible, and Sheriam was going to know she was here.

“Everyone comes to me,” the woman muttered. “Does anybody do anything for themselves? No, they want Nildra to do it. You Accepted are the worst of the lot. Well, I don’t have all night. Follow me, if you’re coming. If not, you can find her for yourself.” Nildra strode off without so much as a backward glance.

Egwene followed silently. If she opened her mouth, she was afraid she would tell the woman what she thought, and that would hardly be the way to start her stay in Salidar. However short it might be. She wished her Aiel heart and her Two Rivers head could get together.

The distance was not long, up the hard-packed dirt street a little way and around the corner into another, narrower street. Sounds of laughter came from some of the houses. Nildra stopped at one that was silent, though light shone in the windows of the front room.

Pausing just long enough to knock on the door, she went in before there was any answer. Her curtsy was perfectly proper, if quick, and she spoke in a somewhat more respectful tone than before. “Aes Sedai, this girl says her name is Egwene, and she—” She got out no more.

They were all there, the seven from the Heart of the Stone, not a one looking ready for bed, though all but the young woman with Siuan’s name wore robes. From the way their chairs were pulled together, it seemed that Egwene had walked in on a discussion. Sheriam was the first to leap from her chair, waving Nildra out. “Light, child! Already?”

No one paid any mind at all to Nildra’s curtsy, or her put-upon sniff on going.

“We never expected,” Anaiya said, taking Egwene’s arms with a warm smile. “Not so soon. Welcome, child. Welcome.”

“Were there any ill effects?” Morvrin demanded. She had not risen, and neither had Carlinya or the young Aes Sedai, but Morvrin leaned forward intently. All the others’ robes were silk of various hues, sometimes brocaded or embroidered; hers was plain brown wool, though it did look soft and finely woven. “Do you feel any changes from the experience? We had precious little to go on. Frankly, I am surprised it worked.”

“We shall have to see it work to know how well it does.” Beonin paused for a sip of tea, then set cup and saucer down on a rickety-legged side table. The cup and saucer did not match, but then, none of the furniture matched, and most looked as lopsided as the small table. “If there are ill effects, she can be Healed, and they will be done with.”

Egwene stepped away from Anaiya quickly, setting her belongings beside the door. “No, I’m quite well. Really, I am.” She could have hesitated; Anaiya might well have Healed her without asking. That would have been cheating, though.

“She appears healthy enough,” Carlinya said coolly. Her hair really was short, dark curls barely covering her ears; it had not been just something she did in Tel’aran’rhiod. She wore white, of course; even the embroidery was white. “We can have one of the Yellows check her thoroughly later, to be sure, if need be.”

“Let her get her feet on the ground,” Myrelle said with a laugh. Lush flowers in yellow and red so covered her robe that hardly any green showed. “She’s just come a thousand leagues in a night. In hours.”

“You’ve no time to let her find her feet,” the young Aes Sedai put in firmly. She truly looked out of place in that gathering, in her yellow dress with the skirts slashed with blue and the deep round neckline blue-embroidered. That, and being the only one it was possible to put an age to. “Come morning, the Hall will swarm around her. If she’s not ready, Romanda will gut her like a fat carp.”

Egwene gaped. That voice registered more than the words. “You’re Siuan Sanche. No, it’s impossible!”

“Oh, it is possible, all right,” Anaiya said dryly, giving the young woman a long-suffering look.

“Siuan is Aes Sedai again.” Myrelle’s look was more exasperated than long-suffering.

It had to be true—they had said so—but Egwene could hardly credit it even when Sheriam explained. Nynaeve had Healed stilling! Being stilled was why Siuan looked no older than Nynaeve? Siuan had always been a leather-faced taskmistress, and leather-hearted as well, not this pretty, creamy-cheeked woman with an almost delicate mouth.

Egwene watched Siuan while Sheriam talked. Those blue eyes were the same, though. How could she have seen that gaze, strong enough to drive nails, and not known? Well, the face was answer enough there. But Siuan had always been strong in the Power, too. When a girl first began, it required testing to tell how strong she would be, but not once she had gained that strength. Egwene knew enough now to weigh another woman in moments. Sheriam was clearly the strongest woman in the room aside from Egwene herself, and Myrelle next, though it was hard to be certain; the rest all seemed close, except for Siuan. She was weakest by a fair margin.

“This truly is Nynaeve’s most remarkable discovery,” Myrelle said. “The Yellows are taking what she has done and making their own marvels, but she began it. Sit down, child. It is too long a story to hear standing.”

“I prefer to stand, thank you.” Egwene eyed the straight-backed chair with a wooden seat that Myrelle indicated, and barely repressed a shudder. “What about Elayne? Is she all right, too? I want to hear all about her and Nynaeve both.” Nynaeve’s most remarkable discovery? That implied more than one. It seemed she had fallen behind with the Wise Ones; she was going to have to run hard to catch up. At least she thought now that she would be allowed to. They would hardly have greeted her so warmly if she was going to be sent away in disgrace. She had not curtsied or called anyone Aes Sedai once—more because she had had no chance than for any other reason; defiance was no way to face Aes Sedai—yet no one had called her down. Maybe they did not know after all. But then, why?

“Except for a little trouble she and Nynaeve have with pots at the moment,” Sheriam began, but Siuan broke in harshly.

“Why are you all jabbering like brainless girls? It’s too late to be afraid of going on. It has begun; you began it. Either you finish, or Romanda will hang the lot of you in the sun to dry right alongside this girl, and Delana and Faiselle and the rest of the Hall will be there with her to stretch you out.”

Sheriam and Myrelle turned to face her almost together. All the Aes Sedai did, Morvrin and Carlinya twisting in their chairs. Cold Aes Sedai eyes stared from cold Aes Sedai faces.

At first Siuan met those stares with a challenging stare of her own, as Aes Sedai as they if seemingly much younger. Then her head fell a little, and spots of color entered her cheeks. She rose from her chair, eyes down. “I spoke in haste,” she muttered softly. Those eyes did not change—maybe the Aes Sedai failed to notice, but Egwene saw—yet that was still not like Siuan.

Egwene also saw that she did not know what was going on here at all. Not just Siuan Sanche meek as milk; if she was pushed to it, anyway. That least of all. What had they begun? Why would she be hung out to dry if they stopped?

The Aes Sedai exchanged looks as unreadable as Aes Sedai could make them. Morvrin was the first to nod.

“You have been summoned for a very special reason, Egwene,” Sheriam said solemnly.

Egwene’s heart began to beat faster. They did not know about her. They did not. But what?

“You,” Sheriam said, “are to be the next Amyrlin Seat.”