“Well I’ll…” Thom whispered, standing up.
The Aelfinn screamed with high-pitched anger. They entered the room, arms raised to shield their eyes, wicked swords gripped in opposing hands.
“Get her out!” Mat bellowed, spinning to face the creatures. He lifted the ashandarei, using the butt end to smash the face of the first Aelfinn. “Go!”
Thom grabbed Moiraine, then spared a glance at Mat.
“Go!” Mat repeated, smashing the arm of another Aelfinn.
Thom leaped into the doorway and vanished. Mat smiled, spinning among the Aelfinn with his ashandarei, laying into legs, arms, heads. There were a lot of them, but they seemed dazed by the light, frenzied to get to him. As he tripped the first few, the others stumbled. The creatures became a squirming mass of sinuous arms and legs, hissing and spitting in anger, several of those in back trying to crawl over the pile to reach him.
Mat stepped back and tipped his hat to the creatures. “Looks like the game can be won after all,” he said. “Tell the foxes I’m mighty pleased with this key they gave me. Also, you can all go rot in a flaming pit of fire and ashes, you unwashed lumps on a pig’s backside. Have a grand bloody day.”
He held his hat and leaped through the opening.
All flashed white.
Chapter 56
Something Wrong
A soft knock came at the post outside Egwene’s tent. “Come,” she said, shuffling through the papers on her desk.
Gawyn slipped in. He’d given up his fine clothing, choosing trousers of brown and a slightly lighter shirt. A Warder’s color-shifting cloak hung around his shoulders, making him blend into his surroundings. Egwene herself was wearing a regal dress of green and blue.
His cloak rustled as he took a seat beside her desk. “Elayne’s army is crossing. She sent word that she’s on her way to come visit our camp.”
“Excellent,” Egwene said.
Gawyn nodded, but he was troubled. Such a useful thing, that ball of emotions caused by the bond. If she’d known earlier the depth of his devotion to her, she’d have bonded him weeks ago.
“What?” Egwene asked, setting aside her papers.
“Aybara,” he said. “He hasn’t agreed to meet with you.”
“Elayne said he might be difficult.”
“I think he’s going to take al’Thor’s side,” Gawyn said. “You can see it in the way he set up camp, apart from everyone else. He sent messengers immediately to the Aiel and to the Tairens. He’s got a good army, Egwene. A huge one. With Whitecloaks in it.”
“That doesn’t sound likely to make him side with Rand,” Egwene said.
“Doesn’t seem like it makes him likely to side with us either,” Gawyn said. “Egwene…Galad leads the Whitecloaks.”
“Your brother?”
“Yes.” Gawyn shook his head. “This many armies, this many loyalties, all rubbing against one another. Aybara and his force could be a spark that sends us all up like a firework.”
“It will be better when Elayne settles in,” Egwene said.
“Egwene, what if al’Thor isn’t coming? What if he did this to distract everyone from whatever else he’s doing?”
“Why would he do that?” Egwene said. “He’s already proven that he can avoid being found, if he wants to.” She shook her head. “Gawyn, he knows he shouldn’t break those seals. A part of him does, at least. Perhaps that’s why he told me—so I could gather resistance, so I could talk him out of it.”
Gawyn nodded. No further complaint or argument. It was a wonder how he’d changed. He was as intense as ever, yet less abrasive. Ever since that night with the assassins, he had started doing as she asked. Not as a servant. As a partner dedicated to seeing her will done.
It was a wonderful thing. It was also important, since the Hall of the Tower seemed determined to overturn their agreement to let her take charge of dealings with Rand. She looked down at her stack of papers, not a few of which were letters of “advice” from Sitters.
But they came to her, rather than circumventing her. That was good, and she couldn’t ignore them. She had to make them continue to believe that working with her was for the best. At the same time, she couldn’t let them assume that she’d be blown over by a few good shouts.
Such a delicate balance. “Well, let’s go meet your sister, then.”
Gawyn rose, moving smoothly. The three rings he wore on a chain around his neck rattled as he moved; she’d have to ask him again where he’d gotten those. He had been oddly closemouthed about them. He held open the tent flaps for her, and she stepped out.
Outside, the late-afternoon sun was hidden by gray clouds. Bryne’s soldiers worked busily on a palisade. His army had swelled during the last few weeks, and they dominated the eastern side of the wide, forest-rimmed grassland that had once been known as Merrilor. The ruins of the tower fortress that had stood here were strewn across the northern side of the field, moss-covered, nearly hidden by chokevine.
Egwene’s tent was on a rise, and she could overlook the many armies encamped here. “Is that one new?” she asked, gesturing toward a smaller force that had taken up a position just below the ruins.
“They came on their own,” Gawyn said. “Farmers, mostly. Not really a true army; most don’t have swords. Pitchforks, wood axes, quarterstaffs. I assume al’Thor sent them. They started wandering in yesterday.”
“Curious,” Egwene said. They seemed a varied bunch, with mismatched tents and little understanding of how to set up an army camp. But there did seem to be some five or ten thousand of them. “Have some scouts keep an eye on them.”
Gawyn nodded.
Egwene turned and noted a procession moving through several gateways nearby, setting up camp. The Lion of Andor flew high above them, and the soldiers marched in orderly rows. A procession in red and white had left them and was marching toward Egwene’s camp, the banner of the Queen flying above them.
Gawyn accompanied Egwene across the yellowed grass to meet Elayne. The Andoran Queen had certainly taken her time. Only one day until the time specified by Rand. Still, she had come, as had others. Aiel had accompanied Darlin from Tear, and her persuasion had been enough to bring a large contingent of Illianers, who camped on the western side of the grass.
The Cairhienin were Elayne’s now, by reports, and were coming through with the Andorans and a large number of men from the Band of the Red Hand. Egwene had sent an offer, and a woman to offer Traveling, to King Roedran of Murandy, but she was uncertain if he would come. Even without him, however, a considerable number of the world’s nations were represented here, particularly since the flags of Ghealdan and Mayene could be seen among Perrin’s armies. She would have to contact their two rulers and see if she could sway them to her way of thinking. But even if not, surely what she had gathered would be enough to convince Rand to change his plans. Light send it was enough. She didn’t want to think of what would happen if he forced her hand.
She walked down the pathway, nodding back to sisters who nodded and Accepted who curtsied, soldiers who saluted and servants who bowed. Rand would—
“It can’t be,” Gawyn said suddenly, freezing in place.
“Gawyn?” she said, frowning. “Are you—”
He took off at a run across the weed-strewn hill. Egwene looked after him with dissatisfaction. He still had an impulsive streak. Why was he so upset, suddenly? It wasn’t worry; she could feel that. It was confusion. She hastened after him with as much speed as decorum would allow. Elayne’s envoy had stopped in the dead grass.
Gawyn was on his knees there, before someone. An older woman with red-gold hair, standing beside a smiling Elayne, who still sat her horse.
Ah, Egwene thought. Her spies had delivered word of this rumor just last night, but she’d wanted to confirm it before speaking to Gawyn.
Morgase Trakand lived.
Egwene stood back, for now. Once she stepped forward, Elayne would have to kiss her ring and the entire procession would bow; that would spoil Gawyn’s moment. As she waited, the clouds above grew thinner.
Suddenly they split, the dark thunderheads pulling back. The sky became an open field of blue, a deep, pure expanse. Elayne’s eyes opened wide, and she turned on her horse, looking at Perrin’s section of camp.
He’s come, then, Egwene thought. And the calm is here. The brief moment of peace before the storm that destroys.
“You give it a try, Emarin,” Androl said, standing with a small group inside a stand of trees near the border of the Black Tower grounds.
The stately nobleman concentrated, holding the One Power. Weaves sprang up around him. He was remarkably skillful, considering his short time practicing, and expertly crafted the weave for a gateway.
Instead of opening a hole in the air, the weave unraveled and vanished. Emarin turned to the rest of them, sweat streaming down his face. “Forming those weaves seemed harder than before,” he said.
“Why won’t they work?” Evin said. The young man’s youthful face flushed with anger—as if the problem with gateways was an insult.
Androl shook his head, arms folded. The trees rustled, leaves shivering, many falling to the ground. Brown, as if it were autumn. That unnerved him. He’d spent some time working the ground during his journeys in life, and had acquired a farmer’s sense for right and wrong regarding the land.
“You try it again, Androl,” Evin said. “You’re always so good with gateways.”
He glanced at the other three. Canler was the other one there; the aging Andoran farmer wore a deep frown. Of course, Canler often scowled at one thing or another.
Androl closed his eyes, emptying himself of all passions, embracing the void. Saidin shone in there, life and Power. He seized it, drinking it in. He opened his eyes to a world that was more vibrant. Could dead plants look both sickly and vibrant at the same time? A strange juxtaposition made possible by saidin.
He focused. Making gateways came so much easier to him than other weaves did; he’d never understood why. Though he couldn’t break even a small rock apart by channeling, he could make a gateway large enough for a wagon to drive through. Logain had called it impressive; Taim had called it impossible.
This time, Androl pushed all of the Power he had into his weave. He understood gateways. They made sense. Maybe it was the innate fondness he had for traveling, for discovering new places and new arts.
The weaves came together. He didn’t notice any of the difficulty that Emarin had mentioned. However, when the familiar slash of light should have come, the weave began to unravel instead. Androl tried to hold to it, pulling it together. For a moment, it looked like that would work. Then the threads slid from his grip, evaporating. The gateway never formed.
“The other weaves I’ve tried all work,” Evin said, making a globe of light. “Every one of them.”
“Only gateways,” Canler said with a grunt.
“It’s like…” Emarin said. “It’s as if something wants to keep us here. In the Black Tower.”