“You think you’re going to Shayol Ghul?” Rubinde asked, incredulous.
“I’m going to be there,” Nynaeve said softly. “It is not a question. Rand has asked it of me, though I would have gone if he hadn’t.”
They shared a look, seeming troubled.
“If you’re going to raise me,” Nynaeve said, “then you’ll just have to trust my judgment on balefire. If you don’t trust me to know when to use a very dangerous weave and when not to, then I’d rather you not raise me.”
“I would be careful,” Egwene said to the women. “Refusing the shawl to the woman who helped cleanse the taint from saidin—the woman who defeated Moghedien herself in battle, the woman married to the King of Malkier—would set a very dangerous precedent.”
Saerin looked at the others. Three nods. Yukiri, Seaine and—surprisingly—Romanda. Three shakes of the head. Rubinde, Barasine, Lelaine. That left only Saerin. The deciding vote.
The Brown turned back to her. “Nynaeve al’Meara, I declare that you have passed this test. Narrowly.”
To the side, Egwene let out a soft—almost inaudible—sigh of relief. Nynaeve realized she’d been holding her own breath.
“It is done!” Rosil said, clapping her hands together. “Let no one ever speak of what has passed here. It is for us to share in silence with she who experienced it. It is done.”
The women nodded in agreement, even those who had voted against Nynaeve. Nobody would know that Nynaeve had nearly failed. They had probably confronted her about the balefire directly—rather than seeking formal punishment—because of the tradition of not speaking of what happened in the ter’angreal.
Rosil clapped again. “Nynaeve al’Meara, you will spend the night in prayer and contemplation of the burdens you will take up on the morrow, when you don the shawl of an Aes Sedai. It is done.” She clapped a third and final time.
“Thank you,” Nynaeve said. “But I already have my shawl and—”
She cut off as Egwene gave her a glare. A serene glare, but a glare nonetheless. Perhaps Nynaeve had pushed things far enough tonight already.
“—I will be happy to follow tradition,” Nynaeve continued, discarding her objection. “So long as I am allowed to do one very important thing first. Then I will return and fulfill tradition.”
Nynaeve needed a gateway to get where she was going. She hadn’t specifically told the others she’d be leaving the Tower to see to her task. But she hadn’t said she wouldn’t, either.
She hustled through the dark camp of tents which sat just outside a partially built wall. The night sky was dim, with those clouds covering it, and fires burned at the perimeter of the camp. Perhaps too many fires. Those here were being extremely cautious. Fortunately, the guards had allowed her into the camp without comment; the Great Serpent ring worked wonders, when applied in the right locations. They’d even told her where to find the woman she sought.
In truth, Nynaeve had been surprised to find these tents outside, rather than inside, the walls of the Black Tower. These women had been sent to bond Asha’man, as Rand had offered. But according to the guards, Egwene’s envoy had been made to wait. The Asha’man had said that “others had the first choice,” whatever that meant. Egwene probably knew more; she’d sent messengers back and forth with the women here, particularly to warn them about Black sisters who might be among them. Those they’d known of had vanished before the first messengers arrived.
Nynaeve hadn’t the mind to ask more details at the moment. She had another task. She stepped up to the proper tent, feeling so tired from the testing that she felt she would soon tumble to the ground in a flurry of yellow cloth. A few Warders passed through the camp nearby, watching her with calm expressions.
The tent before her was a simple gray thing. It was lit with a faint glow, and shadows moved inside. “Myrelle,” Nynaeve said loudly. “I would speak with you.” She was surprised at how strong her voice sounded. She didn’t feel that she had much strength remaining.
The shadows paused, and then moved again. The tent flaps rustled, and a confused face peered out. Myrelle wore a blue nightgown that was almost translucent, and one of her Warders—a bear of a man with a thick black beard after the Illianer fashion—sat shirtless on the tent floor inside.
“Child?” Myrelle said, sounding surprised. “What are you doing here?” She was an olive-skinned beauty, with long black hair and rounded curves. Nynaeve had to stop herself from reaching for her braid. It was too short now to tug. That was going to take a lot of getting used to.
“You have something that belongs to me,” Nynaeve said.
“Hmm…That depends on opinion, child.” Myrelle frowned.
“I was raised today,” Nynaeve said. “Formally. I passed the testing. We are equals now, Myrelle.” She left the second part unsaid—that Nynaeve was the stronger of the two. Not truly equals, then.
“Return tomorrow,” Myrelle said. “I am occupied.” She moved to turn back into the tent.
Nynaeve caught the woman’s arm. “I have never thanked you,” she said, though she had to grit her teeth to get the words out. “I do so now. He lives because of you. I realize that. However, Myrelle, this is not a time to push me. Today, I have seen people I love slaughtered, I have been forced to consign children to living torment. I have been burned, scourged and harrowed.
“I swear to you, woman, if you do not pass me Lan’s bond this very moment, I will step into that tent and teach you the meaning of obedience. Do not press me. In the morning, I swear the Three Oaths. I’m free of them for one more night.”
Myrelle froze. Then she sighed and stepped back out of the tent. “So be it.” She closed her eyes, weaving Spirit and sending the weaves into Nynaeve.
It felt like an object being shoved physically into her mind. Nynaeve gasped, her surroundings spinning.
Myrelle turned and slipped back into her tent. Nynaeve slid down until she was sitting on the ground. Something was blossoming inside her mind. An awareness. Beautiful, wonderful.
It was him. And he was still alive.
Blessed Light, she thought, eyes closed. Thank you.
Chapter 21
An Open Gate
“We thought it best,” Seonid said, “to let one of us give the full report. I have gathered information from the others for presentation.”
Perrin nodded absently. He sat on cushions in the meeting pavilion, Faile at his side. It was crammed full of people again.
“Cairhien is still in a mess, of course,” Seonid began. The businesslike Green was a curt woman. Not mean or disagreeable, but even her interactions with her Warders seemed like those of a prosperous farmer with his workers. “The Sun Throne has remained unoccupied for far too long. All know that the Lord Dragon has promised the throne to Elayne Trakand, but she has been struggling to secure her own throne. She has finally done so, by reports.”
She looked to Perrin for comment, smelling satisfied. He scratched at his beard. This was important, and he needed to pay attention. But thoughts of his training in the wolf dream kept drawing his mind. “So Elayne is Queen. That must make Rand happy.”
“The Lord Dragon’s reaction is unknown,” Seonid continued, as if checking off another item on a list. The Wise Ones made no comments and asked no questions; they sat on their cushions in a little cluster, like rivets on a hinge. Likely, the Maidens had already told them all of this.
“I am reasonably certain that the Lord Dragon is in Arad Doman,” Seonid continued. “Several rumors speak of this—though, of course, there are rumors placing him in many places. But Arad Doman makes sense for him as a tactical conquest, and the unrest there threatens to destabilize the Borderlands. I’m not certain if it’s true that he sent the Aiel there or not.”
“He did,” Edarra said simply. She offered no further explanation.
“Yes,” Seonid said. “Well, many of the rumors say that he is planning to meet the Seanchan in Arad Doman. I suspect he would want the clans there to aid him.”
That brought up thoughts of Malden. Perrin imagined damane and Wise Ones at war, the One Power ripping through ranks of soldiers, blood, earth and fire spinning in the air. It would be like Dumai’s Wells, only worse. He shivered. Anyway, from the visions—and they appeared as Seonid spoke—he knew that Rand was where she said.
Seonid continued, speaking of trade and food resources in Cairhien. Perrin found himself thinking about that strange violet wall he’d seen in the wolf dream. Idiot, he told himself sternly. Keep listening. Light! He really was a bad ruler. He’d had no trouble running at the front of the wolves when they’d let him hunt. Why couldn’t he do the same for his own people?
“Tear is rallying troops,” Seonid said. “Rumors say the Lord Dragon commanded King Darlin to gather men for war. There is apparently a king in Tear now, by the way. A curious event. Some say that Darlin will march for Arad Doman, though others say it must be for the Last Battle. Still others insist that al’Thor intends to defeat the Seanchan first. All three options seem plausible, and I can’t give more without a trip to Tear myself.” She eyed Perrin, smelling hopeful.
“No,” Perrin said. “Not yet. Rand isn’t in Cairhien, but Andor seems stable. It makes the most sense for me to head there and talk to Elayne. She’ll have information for us.”
Faile smelled worried.
“Lord Aybara,” Seonid said, “do you think the Queen will welcome you? With the flag of Manetheren, and your self-endowed title of Lord…”
Perrin scowled. “Both of those fool banners are down now, and Elayne will see things right, once I explain them to her.”
“And my soldiers?” Alliandre said. “You will probably want to ask before moving foreign troops onto Andoran soil.”
“You won’t be coming,” Perrin said. “I’ve said it before, Alliandre. You’ll be in Jehannah. We’ll get you there as soon as we deal with the Whitecloaks.”
“Has a decision been made about them, then?” Arganda asked, leaning forward, eager and excited.
“They’ve demanded a battle,” Perrin said. “And they ignore my requests for further parley. I’ve a mind to give them a fight.”
They began talking of that, though it soon became a discussion of what it meant to have a king in Tear. Eventually, Seonid cleared her throat and steered the conversation back to her report.
“The Seanchan are a matter of great discussion in Cairhien,” Seonid said. “The invaders seem to be focusing on securing their lands, including Altara. They are still expanding in the west, however, and there are pitched battles on Almoth Plain.”
“Expanding toward Arad Doman,” Arganda said. “There is a battle brewing there.”
“Most likely,” Seonid said.
“If the Last Battle comes,” Annoura said, “then it would be advantageous to have an alliance with the Seanchan.” She seemed thoughtful, legs crossed as she sat on her embroidered blue and yellow silk pillow.