The Gathering Storm

41 A Fount of Power

“Well, tie a kerchief on my face and call me Aiel,” said one of Bryne’s soldiers, kneeling beside the general at the prow of their narrow boat. “It really is there.”

Gawyn squatted at the prow of his own boat, the dark waters rippling and lapping at the sides of the vessel. They’d needed thirteen boats to carry them all, and had set into the river quietly and easily—at least, they had once Siuan Sanche had finished her inspection of the boats and decided they were riverworthy. Barely.

Each vessel carried a single, shielded lantern. Gawyn could barely make out the other boats sliding over the ebony water, the soldiers rowing them in near silence as they pulled up beside the stonework embankment on Tar Valon’s southwestern side. The flashes of light in the sky were distracting, and Gawyn kept finding himself glancing up, to see serpentine beasts illuminated briefly by cold white lightning or blazing crimson fire.

The White Tower itself seemed to burn. It lit a daunting profile in the sky, all white and red, outlined by flames. Smoke boiled toward the midnight clouds above, fires blazed inside many Tower windows, and a glare at the base indicated that outlying buildings and trees were also alight.

The soldiers shipped oars as Gawyn’s boat gracefully slid up beside that of Bryne, passing under the lip of ancient stonework where rock overhung the river. That blocked Gawyn’s view of the furious battle—though he could still hear the rumblings and pops, and an occasional spray of broken stone falling to the cobbles, sounding like distant rain.

Gawyn raised his lantern, risking just a sliver of light from the shield. With that illumination, he could make out what Bryne’s soldier had seen. Tar Valon’s island was rimmed by Ogier-made bulwarks, part of the original city design; they kept the island from eroding. Like most Ogier work, the bulwarks were beautiful. Here, the stone delicately arched outward from the island five or six feet above the water, forming a lip that looked like the white tip of a crashing wave. In the soft light of Gawyn’s lantern, the undersides of those stones were so realistic, so delicate, that it was difficult to tell where stone ended and river began.

One of those stone ripples hid a cleft, almost impossible to spot even from this close at hand. Bryne’s soldiers were steering his boat into the narrow rift, which was enclosed on both sides and top by stone. Siuan’s boat went next, and Gawyn waved for his rowers to go after her. The rift turned into a very narrow tunnel, and Gawyn unshielded his lantern further, as Bryne and Siuan had done ahead. The lichen-covered stones were ribboned on the sides by dark watermarks. In many years, this passage would have been completely under water.

“It was probably designed for workers,” Bryne said from up ahead, his soft voice echoing in the damp tunnel. Even the movements of the oars in the water were amplified, as were distant drips and lappings of the river. “To go out and maintain the stonework.”

“I don’t care why they built it,” Siuan said. “I’m just glad it’s here. And mortified I didn’t know about it earlier. One of the strengths of Tar Valon has always been that the bridges make it secure. You can keep track of who goes in and who goes out.”

Bryne snorted softly, the sound echoing down the tunnel. “You can never control everything in a city this size, Siuan. Those bridges, in a way, they give you a false sense of control. Sure, for an invading army, this city is impenetrable—but a place like this, tighter than a tick, can still have a dozen holes big enough for fleas to slip through.”

Siuan fell silent. Gawyn calmed himself, breathing steadily. At least he was finally doing something to help Egwene. It had taken far longer than he’d wanted. Light send that he was coming soon enough!

The tunnel trembled from a distant explosion. Gawyn glanced over his shoulder at the other ten boats, packed with apprehensive soldiers. They were gliding directly into a war zone where both sides were stronger than they were, both sides had little reason to like them, and both sides were wielding the One Power. It took a special kind of man to stare those odds in the eyes.

“Here,” Bryne said, silhouetted against the light. He raised a hand and halted the line of boats. The tunnel had opened up to the right, where a ledge of stone—a landing with a set of stairs—waited. The watery tunnel itself continued on.

Bryne stood, bending over, and stepped out onto the ledge, mooring his boat to a cleat. The soldiers in his boat followed, each carrying a small brown package. What were they? Gawyn hadn’t noticed them loading the packages on the boats. When the final soldier in that boat stepped out, he pushed the vessel forward and handed its tow rope to a soldier in Siuan’s boat. As the line continued forward, they tied each boat to the one ahead of it. The last man would secure his boat to the docking pillar, and it would hold them all in place.

Gawyn stepped onto the stone ledge when his turn came and he trotted up the steps, which opened into the floor of a small alley. This entrance had probably long since been forgotten by all save the few beggars who used it for shelter. Several of the soldiers were tying up a small group of such men at the back of the alleyway. Gawyn grimaced, but said nothing. More often than not, beggars would sell secrets to any who cared to listen, and news of a hundred soldiers sneaking into the city would be worth good coin from the Tower Guard.

Bryne stood with Siuan at the mouth of the alleyway, checking the street outside. Gawyn joined them, hand on his sword. The streets were empty. The people no doubt hid in their homes, likely praying that the raid would soon pass.

The soldiers gathered in the alley. Bryne quietly ordered a squad of ten to guard the boats. Then the rest opened the soft-looking brown packages that Gawyn had noticed earlier and removed folded white tabards. They pulled these over their heads, tying them at the waist. Each was marked with the flame of Tar Valon.

Gawyn whistled softly, though Siuan stood with arms akimbo, looking indignant. “Where did you get those?”

“I had the women in the outer camp make them,” Bryne said. “It’s always a good idea to have a few copies of your enemy’s uniform.”

“It’s not proper,” Siuan said, folding her arms. “Serving on the Tower Guard is a sacred duty. They—”

“They’re your enemy, Siuan,” Bryne said sternly. “For now, at least. You’re not Amyrlin anymore.”

She eyed him, but held her tongue. Bryne looked over the soldiers, then nodded in approval. “This won’t fool anyone up close, but from a distance, it will serve. Out onto the streets and fall into ranks. Hustle toward the Tower, as if you’re rushing to help with the battle. Siuan, a globe of light or two would help with the disguise—if those who see us also see an Aes Sedai at our head, they’ll be more likely to assume what we want them to.”

She sniffed, but did as requested, creating two globes of light, then setting them to float in the air beside her head. Bryne gave the command, and the entire group spilled out of the alley and formed ranks. Gawyn, Siuan and Bryne took up positions at the front—Gawyn and the general walking just ahead of Siuan, as if they were Warders—and they double-timed forward down the street.

All in all, the illusion was very good. On first glance, Gawyn himself would have bought the disguise. What would be more natural to see than a squadron of Tower Guard marching to the scene of the attack, guided by an Aes Sedai and her Warders? It was certainly better than trying to sneak a hundred men through the city in alleyways, unseen.

As they approached the Tower grounds they entered the nightmare. The billowing smoke reflected red firelight, enveloping the Tower in a menacing crimson haze. Holes and gashes broke the walls of the once-majestic building; fires blazed within several of them. Raken commanded the air, swooping and spinning about the Tower like gulls circling a dead whale in the waves. Screams and shouts permeated the air, and the thick, acrid smoke made Gawyn’s throat itch.

Bryne’s soldiers slowed as they approached. There seemed to be two points of combat in the raid. The base of the Tower, with its two flanking wings, showed flashes of light. The grounds were littered with the dead and the wounded. And up above, near the middle of the Tower, several gashes were spewing fireballs and lightning back out at the invaders. The rest of the Tower seemed silent and dead, though surely fighting was going on in the corridors.

The group pulled to a halt outside the Tower grounds’ iron gates. Those gates were open and completely unguarded. That seemed ominous. “Now what?” Gawyn whispered.

“We find Egwene,” Siuan answered. “We start at the base, then head down to the basement floors. She was locked down there somewhere earlier today, and it’s probably the first place we should look.”

A spray of stone chips fell from the ceiling and rained down on the table as the White Tower shook from yet another blast. Saerin cursed to herself, wiping the chips away, then unrolled a wide piece of parchment, weighting the sides with some broken chunks of tile.

Around her, the room was in virtual chaos. They were on the ground floor, in the forward gathering room, a large square chamber situated where the eastern wing met the Tower proper. Members of the Tower Guard pulled tables out of the way to make room for the groups passing through. Aes Sedai warily glanced out the windows, watching the skies. Warders stalked like caged animals. What were they to do about flying beasts? Their best place was here, guarding the center of operations. Such as it was. Saerin had only just arrived.

A sister in green swept up to her. Moradri was a long-limbed Mayener with dark skin, and she was trailed by two handsome Warders, both also Mayener. Rumors said that they were her brothers, come to the White Tower to defend their sister, though Moradri didn’t speak of the matter.

Saerin demanded, “How many?”

“The ground floor has at least forty-seven sisters,” Moradri said. “Spread across the Ajahs. That’s the best count I could gather, as they’re fighting in small groups. I told them we were organizing a formal command center here. Most seemed to think that was a good idea, though many were too tired, too shocked or too dazed to respond with much else besides a nod.”

“Mark their locations on the map here,” Saerin said. “Did you find Elaida?”

Moradri shook her head.

“Blast,” Saerin muttered as the Tower shook again. “What of any Green Sitters?”

“I didn’t find any,” Moradri said, glancing over her shoulder, obviously eager to get back to the fighting.

“A pity,” Saerin said. “They like to call themselves the Battle Ajah, after all. Well, that leaves me to organize the fighting.”

Moradri shrugged. “I suppose.” She glanced over her shoulder again.

Saerin eyed the Green sister, then tapped the map. “Mark the locations, Moradri. You can be back to the fighting soon enough, but your knowledge is more important right now.”

The Green sister sighed, but quickly began to make notations on the map. As she worked, Saerin was pleased to note Captain Chubain entering. The man looked youthful for his forty-some winters, without a speck of gray in his black hair. Some men were inclined to disparage his abilities because of his too-pretty face; Saerin had heard of the humiliation those men had received by his sword in return for the insults.

“Ah, good,” she said. “Finally something is going well. Captain, over here if you will.”

He limped over, favoring his left leg. His white tabard, hanging over mail, was scorched; his face was smudged with soot. “Saerin Sedai,” he said, bowing.

“You are wounded.”

“An inconsequential wound, Aes Sedai, in the glory of a fight such as this.”

“See yourself Healed anyway,” she ordered. “It would be ridiculous for our captain of the guard to risk death because of an ‘inconsequential’ wound. If it makes you stumble for a moment we could lose you.”

The man stepped closer, speaking in a low voice. “Saerin Sedai, the Tower Guard is all but useless in this fight. With the Seanchan using those . . . monstrous women, we can barely reach them before being ripped to pieces or blasted to ashes.”

“You need to change your tactics, then, Captain,” Saerin said firmly. Light, what a mess! “Tell the men to switch to bows. Do not risk closing on the enemy’s channelers. Shoot from a distance. A single arrow could turn the battle to our side; we have their soldiers grossly outnumbered.”

“Yes, Aes Sedai.”

“As a White might say, it’s simple logic,” she said. “Captain, our most important task is to form a center of operations. Aes Sedai and soldiers alike are scrambling about independently, acting like rats faced by wolves. We need to stand together.”

What she didn’t mention was how embarrassed she was. The Aes Sedai had spent centuries guiding kings and influencing wars, but now—with their sanctuary assaulted—they had proven woefully inadequate in defending it. Egwene was right, she thought. Not just in predicting this attack, but in berating us for being divided. Saerin didn’t need reports from Moradri or scouts to know that the Ajahs were each fighting this battle independently.

“Captain,” she said. “Moradri Sedai is marking pockets of fighters on the map. Ask her which Ajah is represented in each group; she has an excellent memory, and will be able to tell you specifics. Send runners in my authority to any group of Yellow or Brown sisters. Tell them to report here, to this chamber.

“Next, send runners to the other groups and tell them that we are going to send one Brown or Yellow sister to them for Healing purposes. There will also be a group of sisters here providing Healing. Anyone wounded is to report here immediately.”

He saluted.

“Oh,” she added. “And send someone to the outer grounds to spot the main breaches above. We need to know where the invasion is deepest.”

“Aes Sedai, . . .” he said. “The outer grounds are dangerous. Those flying above fire on anyone they see moving.”

“Then send men who are good at concealing themselves,” she growled.

“Yes, Aes Sedai. We—”

“This is a disaster!” an angry voice shouted.

Saerin turned to find four Red sisters entering the room. Notasha was wearing a white dress bloodied up the left side, though if the blood was her own, she’d been Healed. Katerine’s mass of long black hair was frazzled and tangled with chips of stone. The other two women wore ripped dresses, faces soiled with ash.

“How dare they strike here!” Katerine continued, crossing the room. Soldiers ducked out of her way, and several less-influential sisters who had gathered at Saerin’s order suddenly found things to do at the corners of the room. Distant booms sounded, like the noises of an Illuminator’s display.

“They dare because they have the means and the desire, obviously,” Saerin replied, shoving down her annoyance and maintaining her calm. With difficulty. “So far, the strike has proven remarkably effective.”

“Well, I’m assuming command here,” Katerine growled. “We need to scour the Tower and eliminate each of them!”

“You will not take command,” Saerin said firmly. Insufferable woman! Calm, remain calm. “Nor will we go on the offensive.”

“And you will dare stop me?” Katerine snarled, the glow of saidar a burning light around her. “A Brown?”

Saerin raised an eyebrow. “Since when did the Mistress of Novices outrank a Sitter in the Hall, Katerine?”

“Egwene al’Vere predicted this,” Saerin said, grimacing. “We can assume, therefore, that the other things she told us about the Seanchan are true. The Seanchan seize women who can channel and use them as weapons. They have brought no ground force; it would be near impossible to march them this far through hostile territory anyway. That means this is a raid, intended to seize as many sisters as possible.

“The battle has already stretched long for a raid, perhaps because we’ve done such a poor job of resisting that they feel they can take their time. Either way, we need to form a unified front and hold our ground. Once the battle goes more roughly for them, they will withdraw. We are in no position whatsoever to ‘scour the Tower’ and force them out.”

Katerine hesitated, considering that. Another boom sounded outside.

“Where do those keep coming from?” Saerin asked in annoyance. “Haven’t they made enough holes?”

“That wasn’t directed at the Tower, Saerin Sedai!” called one of the soldiers at the room’s doorway, standing just outside in the garden.

He’s right, Saerin realized. The Tower didn’t shake. It didn’t the time before, either. “What are they firing on? People down below?”

“No, Aes Sedai!” the guard said. “I think it was a blast thrown from within the Tower, launched from one of the upper floors out at the flying creatures.”

“Well, at least someone else is fighting back,” Saerin said. “Where was it launched from?”

“I didn’t see,” the soldier said, still watching the skies. “Light, there it goes again! And again!” Red and yellow reflected from the smoke above, bathing the garden in light barely visible through the door and windows. Raken screamed in pain.

“Saerin Sedai!” Captain Chubain said, turning from a group of wounded soldiers. Saerin hadn’t seen them enter; she’d been too caught up with Katerine. “These men are down from the upper levels. It appears that there’s a second rallying point for the defense, and it’s doing very well. The Seanchan are breaking off their attack below to focus there.”

“Where?” Saerin asked eagerly. “Specifically?”

“The twenty-second, Aes Sedai. Northeastern quarter.”

“What?” Katerine asked. “The Brown Ajah sections?”

No. That was what had been there before. Now, with the swapping of the Tower’s corridors, that area of the Tower was . . . “The novices’ quarters?” Saerin said. That seemed even more ridiculous. “How in the world. . . .” She trailed off, eyes widening slightly. “Egwene.”

Each faceless Seanchan that Egwene struck down seemed to be Renna in her mind’s eye. Egwene stood at an open hole in the side of the White Tower, wind pulling at her white dress, tugging at her hair, howling as if in accompaniment to her rage.

Her anger was not out of control. It was cold and distilled. The Tower was burning. She had Foretold this, she had Dreamed it, but the reality was far worse than she had feared. If Elaida had prepared for the event, the damage would have been much less. But there was no point in longing for what had not been.

Instead, she directed her anger—the anger of justice, the wrath of the Amyrlin. She blasted to’raken after to’raken from the air. They were much less maneuverable than their smaller cousins. She must have felled a dozen by now, and her actions had drawn the attention of those outside. The attack below was breaking off, the entire raid focusing on Egwene. The novices fought Seanchan raiding parties on the stairs, forcing them back. To’raken winged about in the air, swooping around the Tower, trying to take Egwene with shields or blasts of fire. Smaller raken darted through the air, crossbowmen on their backs launching bolts at her.

But she was a fount of Power, drawn from deep within the fluted rod in her hands, channeled through a group of novices and Accepted hiding in the room behind, bound to her in circle. Egwene was part of the fires that burned in the Tower, bloodying the sky with their flames, painting the air with their smoke. She almost seemed not a being of flesh, but one of pure Power, sending judgment to those who had dared bring war to the Tower itself. Blasts of lightning stormed from the sky, the clouds churning above. Fire sprouted from her hands.

Perhaps she should have feared breaking the Three Oaths. But she did not. This was a fight that needed to be fought, and she did not lust for death—though, perhaps, her rage against the sul’dam approached it. The soldiers and damane were unfortunate casualties.

The White Tower, the sacred dwelling of the Aes Sedai, was under attack. They were all in danger, a danger greater than death. Those silvery collars were far worse. Egwene defended herself and each woman in the Tower.

She would make the Seanchan withdraw.

Shield after shield came to sever her from the source, but they were like the hands of children trying to stem the roaring flow of a waterfall. With this much power, she could not be stopped save by a full circle, and the Seanchan didn’t use circles; the a’dam prevented it.

The attackers prepared weaves to strike her down, but each time Egwene struck first, either deflecting the balls of fire with a blast of air or simply bringing down the to’raken who carried the women trying to kill her.

Some beasts had flown away into the night, bearing captives. Egwene had felled the ones she could, but there had been so many to’raken in this raid. Some would escape. Sisters would be captured.

She formed a ball of fire in each hand, blasting another beast from the sky as it swooped too close. Yes, some would escape. But they would pay dearly. That was another goal. She had to make certain they never attacked the Tower again.

This raid had to cost them.

“Bryne! Above you!”

Gareth dodged to the side, rolling with a grunt, breastplate digging into his sides and belly as he hit cobblestones. Something massive in the air passed just above him, and a thudding crash followed. He came up on one knee to see a burning raken tumbling across the ground where he had been standing, its rider—already dead from the fireblast that had killed his mount—tumbling free like a rag doll. The raken corpse, still smoldering, slumped to a rest beside the Tower wall. The rider lay where he had fallen, the helm bouncing away into the darkness. One of the corpse’s boots was missing.

Bryne heaved himself to his feet and pulled his belt knife free—he’d dropped his sword in the roll. He spun, scanning for danger. There was plenty of it to be found. Raken swooped—big ones and small ones—though most were fixated on the Tower above. The inner green at the front of the Tower was studded with chunks of stone and bodies twisted into horrific positions. Bryne’s men were fighting a squadron of Seanchan soldiers; the invaders in their insectile armor had piled out of the Tower moments ago. Were the Seanchan running away from something or just looking for a fight? There were a good thirty of them.

Had the soldiers come out to this courtyard to be lifted away? Well, either way, they had met an unexpected force in Bryne’s soldiers. Light be blessed, there were no channelers in the group.

With over two-to-one odds, Bryne’s men should have had an easy time of it. Unfortunately, there were some few of the bigger raken above dropping stones and fireballs on the courtyard’s occupants. And these Seanchan fought well. Very well.

Bryne called for his men to stand fast, glancing about for his sword. Gawyn—the one who had warned him earlier—stood near it, dueling two Seanchan at once. Had the boy no sense? Gawyn’s force had the upper hand. He should have a swordmate with him. He—Gawyn dispatched both Seanchan with one fluid motion. Was that Lotus Closes Its Blossom? Bryne had never seen it used so effectively against two men at once. Gawyn wiped his weapon as part of the traditional finishing flourish, then sheathed it and kicked Brynes fallen sword up into the air and snatched it. He fell into a guard position, holding the sword, wary. Bryne’s line of men was holding, despite the attacks from above. Gawyn nodded to Bryne, waving him forward with the sword.

Metal on metal rang across the courtyard, shadows thrown across the scarred grass, lit by the fires above. Bryne took his sword back and Gawyn unsheathed his own blade, on edge. “Look up there,” he said and pointed with his sword.

Bryne squinted. There was a great deal of activity near a hole in one of the upper floors. He pulled free his spyglass, focusing on the location, trusting in Gawyn to warn him if danger approached.

“By the Light . . .” Bryne whispered, focusing on the gap. A solitary figure wearing white stood in the Tower’s rent. It was too distant to make out her face, even with the spyglass, but whoever she was, she was certainly doing some damage to the Seanchan. Her arms were upraised with fire glowing between her hands, the burning light throwing shadows across the outer Tower wall around her. Blasts of fire flew in a steady stream, flinging raken from the sky.

He raised his spyglass higher, scanning the length of the Tower, searching for other signs of resistance. There was activity on the flat, circular roof. It was so distant he could barely make it out. It looked like poles being raised, followed by raken swooping down and . . . What? Each time a raken swooped by, it left dragging something.

Captives, Bryne realized with a chill. They’re taking captive Aes Sedai to the roof, tying ropes to them, then the raken are snatching those ropes and towing the women into the air. Light! He caught a glimpse of one of the captives being pulled away. It looked as if she had a sack tied over her head.

“We have to get into the Tower,” Gawyn said. “This fight is just a distraction.”

“Agreed,” Bryne said, lowering the spyglass. He glanced to the side of the courtyard, where Siuan had said she’d wait while the men fought. Time to collect her and—

She was gone. Byrne felt a spike of shock, followed by one of terror. Where was she? If that woman had gotten herself killed. . . .

But no. He could sense her inside the Tower. She wasn’t hurt. This bond was such a wondrous thing, but he was too unaccustomed to it. He should have noticed that she was gone! He scanned his line of soldiers. The Seanchan had fought well, but they were visibly routed now. Their line was breaking, scattering in all directions, and Bryne barked the order for his men not to follow.

“First and second squads, gather the wounded quickly,” he called. “Carry them to the side of the courtyard. Those who can walk should head directly for the boats.” He grimaced. “Those who can’t walk will need to wait for Aes Sedai to Heal them.” The soldiers nodded. The badly wounded would be abandoned into enemy hands, but they had been warned of that possibility before coming on this mission. Recovering the Amyrlin outweighed all other concerns.

Some men would die from their wounds while they waited. There was nothing he could do about that. Hopefully, most would be Healed by the White Tower Aes Sedai. That healing would be followed by imprisonment, but there was no other choice. The team of soldiers had to keep moving quickly, and there was no time for litters to carry the wounded.

“Third and fourth squads,” he began, urgent. He stopped as a familiar form in a blue dress strode out of the Tower, towing a girl in white. Of course, Siuan herself looked only faintly older than the girl, now. At times, he had difficulty connecting her to the stern woman he had met years ago.

Feeling a surge of relief, he confronted Siuan as she approached. “Who is that?” he demanded. “Where did you go?”

She clicked her tongue, telling the novice to wait, then pulling Bryne away to speak to him in a low voice. “Your soldiers were busy, and I decided it would be a good time to gather some information. And, I might note, we’re going to have to work on your attitude, Gareth Bryne. That’s not the proper way for a Warder to speak to his Aes Sedai.”

“I’ll start worrying about that when you start acting like you have two bits of sense in your head, woman. What if you’d run into Seanchan?”

“Then I would have been in danger,” she said, hands on hips. “It wouldn’t be the first time. I couldn’t risk being seen by other Aes Sedai with you or your soldiers. Such simple disguises won’t fool a sister.”

“And if you’d been recognized?” he demanded. “Siuan, these people tried to execute you!”

She sniffed. “Moiraine herself wouldn’t recognize me with this face. The women in the Tower will just see a young Aes Sedai who looks faintly familiar. Besides, I didn’t run into any of them. Just this child.”

She glanced at the novice; the girl had a short bob of black hair and stared, terrified, at the battle in the sky above. “Hashala, come here,” Siuan called.

The novice scurried over.

“Tell this man what you told me,” Siuan commanded.

“Yes, Aes Sedai,” the novice said with an anxious curtsy. Bryne’s soldiers made an honor guard around Siuan, and Gawyn stepped up beside Bryne. The young man’s eyes kept nicking toward the deadly sky.

“The Amyrlin, Egwene al’Vere,” the novice said in a quivering voice. “She was released from the cells earlier today and allowed to return to the novices’ quarters. I was down in the lower kitchens when the attack came, so I don’t know what has happened to her. But she’s probably up on the twenty-first or twenty-second level somewhere. That’s where the novices’ quarters are now.” She grimaced. “The inside of the Tower is a mess, these days. Nothing is where it should be.”

Siuan met Bryne’s eyes. “Egwene’s been given forkroot in heavy doses. She’ll barely be able to channel.”

“We’ve got to reach her!” Gawyn said.

“Obviously,” Bryne said, rubbing his chin. “That’s why we’re here. I guess we go up instead of down, then.”

“You’re here to rescue her, aren’t you?” The novice sounded eager.

Bryne eyed the girl. Child, I wish you hadn’t made that connection. He hated the thought of leaving a mere novice tied up in the middle of this mess. But they couldn’t have her running to give warning to the White Tower Aes Sedai.

“I want to go with you,” the novice said fervently. “I’m loyal to the Amyrlin. The real Amyrlin. Most of us are.”

Bryne raised an eyebrow, glancing at Siuan.

“Let her come,” the Aes Sedai said. “It’s the easier option anyway.” She moved over to begin asking the girl a few more questions.

Bryne glanced to the side as one of his captains, a man named Vestas, approached. “My Lord,” Vestas said urgently, his voice a deep whisper. “The wounded are sorted. We lost twelve men. Another fifteen are wounded but can walk and are heading for the boats. Six are wounded too badly to go with them.” Vestas hesitated. “Three men won’t last the hour, my Lord.”

Bryne gritted his teeth. “We move on.”

“I feel that pain, Bryne,” Siuan said, turning around and eyeing him. “What is it?”

“We don’t have time. The Amyrlin—”

“Can wait another moment. What is it?”

“Three men,” he said. “I have to leave three of my men to die.”

“Not if I Heal them,” Siuan said. “Show me.”

Bryne made no further objection, though he did glance at the sky. Several of the raken had landed elsewhere in the Tower grounds, vague black shapes, lit by the fires in flickering orange. The fleeing Seanchan were congregating at them.

Those were the ground assault troops, he thought. They really are pulling out. The raid is ending.

Which meant they were running out of time. As soon as the Seanchan left, the White Tower would start to reorganize. They needed to reach Egwene! Light send that she hadn’t been captured.

Still, if Siuan wanted to Heal the soldiers, then it was her decision. He just hoped that these three lives did not end up costing the life of the Amyrlin.

Vestas had set the three soldiers by themselves at the side of the green, beneath the boughs of a large shade tree. Bryne brought a squad of soldiers, leaving Gawyn to organize the rest of the men, and followed Siuan over to the wounded. She knelt beside the first man. Her skill in Healing was not the best; she’d warned Bryne of this ahead of time. But perhaps she could make these three well enough that they would survive to be discovered and taken by the White Tower.

She worked quickly, and Bryne noticed that she’d done herself an injustice. She seemed to do a creditable job with the Healing. Still, it took time. He scanned the courtyard, feeling his anxiety rise. Though blasts were still being exchanged on the upper floors, the lower floors and grounds were silent. The only sounds nearby were those of the groaning wounded and the crackling of flames.

Light, he thought, surveying the rubble, running his eyes over the Tower’s base. The east wing’s roof and far wall had been leveled, and flames flickered inside the structure. The courtyard was a mess of rubble and gouges. Smoke hung in the air, pungent and thick. Would the Ogier be willing to return and rebuild this magnificent structure? Would it ever be the same again, or had a seemingly eternal monument fallen this evening? Was he proud or grieved to have witnessed it?

A shadow moved in the darkness beside the tree.

Bryne moved without thought. Three things in him mixed: years of training with the sword, a lifetime of practiced battlefield reflexes and a new bond-enhanced awareness. All came together in one motion. His sword was out in a heartbeat, and he performed Blacklance’s Last Strike, slamming his sword straight into the neck of the dark figure.

All was still. Siuan, shocked, looked up from the man she was Healing. Bryne’s sword extended directly over her shoulder and into the neck of a Seanchan soldier in pure black armor. The man silently dropped a wickedly barbed shortsword slathered with a viscous liquid. Twitching, he reached for Bryne’s sword, as if to push it free. His fingers gripped Bryne’s arm for a moment.

Then the man slid backward off of Bryne’s blade and to the ground. He spasmed once, whispering something distinct despite the bubbling of his bleeding throat. “Marath . . . damane . . .”

“Light burn me!” Siuan breathed, raising a hand to her breast. “What was that?”

“He wasn’t dressed like the others,” Bryne said, shaking his head. “The armor is different. Assassin of some sort.”

“Light,” Siuan said. “I didn’t even see him! He almost seemed part of the darkness itself!”

Assassins. They always seemed to look the same, regardless of the culture. Bryne sheathed his sword. That was the first time he’d ever used Blacklance’s Last Strike in combat. It was a simple form, intended for only one thing: speed. Draw the sword and strike into the neck in one fluid motion. If you missed, you usually died.

“You saved my life,” Siuan said, looking up at Bryne. Her face was mostly shadowed. “By the seas at midnight,” she said, “the blasted girl was right.”

“Who?” Bryne asked, warily scanning the darkness for more assassins. He waved curtly, and his men sheepishly opened their lanterns further. The assassin’s attack had come so quickly that they had barely moved. If Bryne hadn’t had the speed of a Warder bond. . . .

“Min,” Siuan said, sounding tired. Those Healings seemed to have taken a lot out of her. “She said I had to stay near you.” She paused. “If you hadn’t come tonight, I would have died.”

“Well,” Bryne said, “I am your Warder. I suspect it won’t be the only time I save you.” Why had it grown so warm all of a sudden?

“Yes,” Siuan said, standing up. “But this is different. Min said I’d die, and . . . No, wait. That’s not what Min said exactly. She said that if I didn’t stay close to you, we’d both die.”

“What are you—” Bryne said, turning toward her.

“Hush!” Siuan said, taking his head in her hands. He felt a strange prickling sensation. Was she using the Power on him? What was going on? He recognized that shock, like ice in the veins! She was Healing him! But why? He wasn’t wounded.

Siuan took her hands off his face, then teetered slightly with a sudden look of exhaustion. He grabbed her, to help steady her, but she shook her head and righted herself. “Here,” she said, grabbing his sword arm, twisting it so that the wrist was visible. There, pressed into his skin, was a tiny black pin. She yanked it free. Bryne felt a chill totally unrelated to the Healing.

“Poisoned?” he asked, glancing at the dead man. “When he reached for my arm, it wasn’t a simple death spasm.”

“Probably had a numbing agent on it,” Siuan muttered angrily, letting him help her sit down. She tossed the pin aside and it suddenly burst into flames, the poison evaporating beneath the heat of her channeling.

Bryne ran a hand through his hair. His brow was damp. “Did you . . . Heal it?”

Siuan nodded. “It was surprisingly easy; there was only a little in your system. It would have killed you anyway. You’ll have to thank Min next time you see her, Bryne. She just saved both of our lives.”

“But I wouldn’t have been poisoned if I hadn’t come!”

“Don’t try to apply logic to a viewing or Foretelling like this,” Siuan said, grimacing. “You’re alive. I’m alive. I suggest we leave it at that. You feel good enough to keep going?”

“Does it matter?” Bryne said. “I’m not about to let you go on without me.”

“Let’s move, then,” Siuan said, taking a deep breath and climbing to her feet. That rest hadn’t been nearly long enough, but he didn’t challenge her. “These three soldiers of yours will survive the night. I’ve done what I can for them.”

Egwene sat, exhausted, on a pile of rubble, staring out of the hole in the White Tower, watching fires burning below. Figures moved about them, and one by one, the fires winked out. Whoever had been running the resistance was quick-minded enough to realize that the fires could prove as dangerous as the Seanchan. But a few sisters weaving Air or Water could make short work of the flames, preserving the Tower. What was left of it.

Egwene closed her eyes and lay back, resting against the fragments of a wall, feeling the fresh breeze blow across her. The Seanchan were gone, the last to’raken vanishing into the night. That moment, watching it flee, was the moment when Egwene realized how hard she’d taxed herself and the poor novices she’d been drawing through. She’d released them with orders to go directly to sleep. The other women she’d gathered were caring for wounded or working on the fires on the upper levels.

Egwene wanted to help. A part of her did, at least. A sliver. But Light, she was tired! She couldn’t channel another trickle, not even using the sa’angreal. She’d pushed the limits of what she could manage. But she was so worn out now that she wouldn’t be able to embrace the Source if she tried.

She’d fought. She’d been glorious and destructive, the Amyrlin of judgment and fury, Green Ajah to the core. And still, the Tower had burned. And still, more to’raken had escaped than had fallen. The count of wounded among those she’d gathered was somewhat encouraging. Only three novices and one Aes Sedai dead, while they’d gathered ten damane and killed dozens of soldiers. But what of the other floors? The White Tower would not come out ahead in this battle.

The White Tower was broken, physically now as well as spiritually. They’d need a strong leader to rebuild. The next few days would be pivotal. It made her more than exhausted to consider the work she’d need to do.

She had protected many. She had resisted and fought. But this day would still mark one of the greatest disasters in the history of the Aes Sedai.

Can’t think of that, she told herself. Have to focus on what to do to fix things. . . .

She would get up soon. She would lead the novices and Aes Sedai on these upper floors as they cleaned up and assessed the damage. She would be strong and capable. The others would be tempted to fall into despair, and she needed to be positive. For them.

But she could take a few minutes. She just needed to rest for a little while. . . .

She barely noticed when someone picked her up. She tiredly opened her eyes, and—though numb of mind—was astonished to find that she was being carried by Gawyn Trakand. His forehead was smeared with crusty dried blood, but his face was determined. “I’ve got you, Egwene,” he said, glancing down. “I’ll protect you.”

Oh, she thought, closing her eyes again. Good. Such a pleasant dream. She smiled.

Wait. No. That wasn’t right. She wasn’t supposed to be leaving the Tower. She tried to voice complaint, but she could barely mumble.

“Fish guts,” she heard Siuan Sanche say. “What did they do to her?”

“Is she wounded?” another voice. Gareth Bryne.

No, Egwene thought numbly. No, you have to let me go. 1 can’t leave. Not now. . . .

“They just left her there, Siuan,” Gawyn said. His voice was so nice to hear. “Defenseless in the hallway! Anyone could have come upon her like that. What if the Seanchan had discovered her?”

I destroyed them, she thought with a smile, thoughts slipping away from her. I was a burning warrior, a hero called by the Horn. They won’t dare face me again. She almost fell asleep, but being jostled by Gawyn’s steps kept her awake. Barely.

“Ho!” She distantly heard Siuan’s voice. “What’s this? Light, Egwene! Where did you get this? This is the most powerful one in the Tower!”

“What is it, Siuan?” Bryne’s voice asked.

“Our way out,” Siuan said distantly. Egwene sensed something. Channeling. Powerful channeling. “You asked about sneaking back out with all the activity in the courtyard? Well, with this, I’m strong enough for Traveling. Let’s go collect those soldiers with the boats and hop back to camp.”

No! Egwene thought, clawing through her drowsiness, forcing her eyes open. I’m winning, don’t you see? If I offer leadership now, when the rubble is being cleared, they’ll see me as Amyrlin for certain! I have to stay! I have to—

Gawyn carried her through the gateway, leaving the hallways of the White Tower behind.

Saerin finally let herself sit. The gathering room that was her center of operations had also become a room for separating and Healing the wounded. Yellow and Brown sisters moved down the lines of soldiers, servants, and other sisters, focusing on the worst cases first. There were a frightful number of dead, including over twenty Aes Sedai so far. But the Seanchan had withdrawn, as Saerin had predicted. Thank the light for that.

Saerin herself sat at the far northwestern corner of the room, beneath a fine painting of Tear in spring, perched on a short stool and accepting reports as they came. The wounded groaned and the room smelled of blood and of healall, which was used on those whose wounds didn’t demand immediate Healing. The room also smelled of smoke. That was ever-present tonight. More and more soldiers approached her, handing in reports of damage and casualties. Saerin didn’t want to read further, but it was better than listening to those groans. Where under the Light was Elaida?

Nobody had seen anything of the Amyrlin during the battle, but much of the upper Tower had been cut off from the lower portions. Hopefully, the Amyrlin and the Hall could be gathered soon to present a strong leadership in the crisis.

Saerin accepted another report, then raised her eyebrows at what it said. Only three novices in Egwene’s group of over sixty had died? And only one sister out of some forty she had gathered? Ten Seanchan channelers captured, over thirty raken blown from the air? Light! That made Saerin’s own efforts seem downright amateur by comparison. And this was the woman Elaida kept trying to insist was simply a novice’?

“Saerin Sedai?” a man’s voice asked.

“Hmm?” she asked, distracted.

“You should hear what this Accepted has to say.”

Saerin looked up, realizing that the voice belonged to Captain Chubain. He had his hand on the shoulder of a young Arafellin Accepted with blue eyes and a plump round face. What was her name? Mair, that was it. The poor child looked ragged. Her face sported a number of cuts and some scrapes that would likely bruise. Her Accepted dress was ripped on the sleeve and shoulder.

“Child?” Saerin asked, glancing at Chubain’s worried face. What was wrong?

“Saerin Sedai,” the girl whispered, curtsying, then wincing at the action. “I. . . .”

“Spit it out, child,” Saerin demanded. “This isn’t a night for dawdling.”

Mair looked down. “It’s the Amyrlin, Saerin Sedai. Elaida Sedai. I was attending her tonight, taking transcriptions for her. And. ...”

“And what?” Saerin said, feeling a growing chill.

The girl started crying. “The entire wall burst in, Saerin Sedai. The rubble covered me; I think they thought I was dead. I couldn’t do anything! I’m sorry!”

Light intercede! Saerin thought. She can’t be saying what I think she is. Can she?

Elaida awoke to a very odd sensation. Why was her bed moving? Rippling, undulating. So rhythmic. And that wind! Had Carlya left the window open? If so, the maid would be beaten. She’d been warned. She’d been—

This was not her bed. Elaida opened her eyes and found herself looking down at a dark landscape hundreds of feet below. She was tied to the back of some strange beast. She couldn’t move. Why couldn’t she move? She reached for the Source, then felt a sudden, sharp pain, as though she had suddenly been beaten on every inch of her body with a thousand rods.

She reached up, dazed, feeling the collar at her throat. There was a dark figure riding in the saddle next to her; no lanterns lit the woman’s face, but Elaida could feel her somehow. Elaida could just barely remember spending time dangling in the air, tied to a rope, as she fell in and out of consciousness. When had she been pulled up? What was happening?

A voice whispered from the night. “I shall forgive that little mistake. You have been marath’damane for very long, and bad habits are to be expected. But you will not reach for the Source again without permission. Do you understand?”

“Release me!” Elaida bellowed.

The pain returned tenfold, and Elaida retched at the intensity of it. Her bile and sick-up fell over the side of the beast and dropped far to the ground below.

“Now, now,” the voice said, patient, like a woman speaking to a very young child. “You must learn. Your name is Suffa. And Suffa will be a good damane. Yes she will. A very, very good damane.”

Elaida screamed again, and this time, she didn’t stop when the pain came. She just kept screaming out into the uncaring night.