Lord of Chaos (102 page)

Perhaps she had little better control of her clothing than the others—soft green silk became deep blue as she spoke, a high, embroidered neck became a lace ruff in the Tairen style, a cap of pearls appeared on her head—but she did know something of
Tel’aran’rhiod.
Suddenly a large map hung in the air to one side, with a glowing red dot at one end labeled “Cairhien” in large letters and another as “Salidar” at the other. The map began to expand and change; suddenly the mountains were not just lines, but raised up, the forests took on shades of green and brown, the rivers glittered like blue water in sunlight. It grew until it made a wall hiding the entire side of the Heart. It was like looking down on the world.

Even the Wise Ones were impressed enough to ignore their disapproval, at least, until the woman’s Tairen gown turned to yellow silk with a silver-embroidered neckline. The young woman was not interested in them, though. For some reason she stared challengingly at the other Aes Sedai.

“That is splendid, Siuan,” Sheriam said after a moment.

Egwene blinked. Siuan? It must be a woman of the same name. This younger Siuan gave a self-satisfied sniff and a sharp nod very reminiscent of Siuan Sanche, but that was impossible.
You’re just trying to put it off
, she told herself firmly. “It’s certainly enough for me to find Salidar, whether or not I can. . . .” She glanced at Amys and Bair, so full of silent disapproval they could have been carved of winter stone. “Whether or not I can come here in the flesh. One way or another, I promise I will be in Salidar as soon as I can.” The map vanished.
Light, what are they going to do to me?

Her mouth half-formed the question, and Carlinya cut her off sharply, deep in the ceremony again and even harder than before. “Ask not why you are summoned. It is yours to answer, not to question.”

“Delay not in your coming,” Anaiya said. “It is yours to obey in haste.”

The Aes Sedai exchanged glances and vanished so quickly she half-wondered whether they thought she would ask anyway.

That left her alone with Amys and Bair, but when she turned to them, uncertain whether to begin with an explanation or an apology or just a plea for understanding, they vanished too, leaving her there alone, surrounded
by the redstone columns, with
Callandor
glittering beside her. There were no excuses in
ji’e’toh.

Exhaling sadly, she stepped out of
Tel’aran’rhiod
back to her sleeping body.

She woke immediately; waking when you wished was as much a part of a dreamwalker’s training as going to sleep when you wished, and she had promised to go as quickly as she could. Channeling, she lit the lamps, all of them. She would need light. She made an effort to be brisk as she knelt beside one of the small chests that stood against the walls of the tent and began digging out clothes she had not worn since going to the Waste. A part of her life was over, but she would not cry over the loss. She would not.

As soon as Egwene disappeared, Rand stepped out from among the columns. He came here sometimes, to look at
Callandor.
The first visit had been after Asmodean taught him to invert his weaves. Then he had changed the traps laid around the
sa’angreal
so only he could see them. If the Prophecies could be believed, whoever drew it out would “follow after” him. He was not sure how much he did believe any longer, but there was no sense taking chances.

Lews Therin rumbled somewhere in the back of his head—he always did when Rand came close to
Callandor
—but tonight the gleaming crystal sword interested Rand not at all. He stared at where the huge map had hung. Not really a map, there at the end, but something more. What was this place? Was it simple chance that drew him here tonight instead of yesterday, or tomorrow? One of his
ta’veren
tugs on the Pattern? No matter. Egwene had accepted that summons meekly, and that she would never do if it came from the Tower and Elaida. This Salidar was where her mysterious friends were hiding. Where Elayne was. They had handed themselves to him.

Laughing, he opened a gateway to the reflection of the Palace in Caemlyn.

Kneeling in just her shift, Egwene frowned at the dark green silk riding dress she had worn into the Waste, what seemed a very long time ago. There was so much to do. She had given some time to writing a hasty note and rousing Cowinde from her blankets with instructions to leave it at The Long Man in the morning. It said little beyond the fact that she had to go away—she did not know much more—but she could not just disappear without telling Gawyn. A few of the phrases made her blush to remember—saying she loved him was one thing, but actually
asking
him to wait!—yet she had taken care of him as far as was possible. Now she had to ready herself, and she hardly knew for what.

The tent flap was thrown back, and Amys entered, then Bair and Sorilea. They stood in a line, looking down at her. Three faces stern with disapproval. It was very hard not to clutch the dress to her breast; in her shift, she felt very much at a disadvantage. In armor, she would have been at a disadvantage. A matter of knowing she was in the wrong. She was surprised it had taken them so long to come.

She took a deep breath. “If you’ve come to punish me, I don’t have time for carrying water or digging holes or any of it. I am sorry, but I said I would come as soon as I can, and I think they mean to count minutes.”

Amys’ pale eyebrows rose in surprise, and a puzzled look passed between Sorilea and Bair. “How should we punish you?” Amys asked. “You
stopped being a pupil the moment your sisters summoned you. You must go to them as Aes Sedai.”

Egwene covered a wince by examining the riding dress again. It had gathered remarkably few wrinkles for having been rolled up in a chest all these months. She made herself face them again. “I know you’re angry with me, and you have cause—”

“Angry?” Sorilea said. “We are not angry. I thought you knew us better.” It was true she did not sound angry, yet censure still painted all their faces, including hers.

Egwene stared from one to another, especially Amys and Bair. “But you told me how wrong you think what I’m going to do is; you said I must not even think about it. I said I wouldn’t, and then I went ahead and worked out how to do it.”

Startlingly, a smile bloomed on Sorilea’s leathery face. Her multitude of bracelets clattered as she shifted her shawl in a satisfied manner. “You see? I told you she would understand. She could be Aiel.”

Some of the tightness faded from Amys, a little more from Bair, and Egwene understood. They were not angry that she meant to try entering
Tel’aran’rhiod
in the flesh. That was wrong in their eyes, but you had to do what you felt you had to do, and even if this worked it incurred no obligation except to herself. Not angry at all really, not yet. What dug at them was her lie. Her stomach fluttered. The lie she had admitted. Maybe her smallest lie.

Another deep breath was required to prime her throat for the words. “I lied about other things, too. I entered
Tel’aran’rhiod
alone after I promised I would not.” Amys’ face darkened again. Sorilea, not a dreamwalker, only shook her head ruefully. “I promised to obey as a pupil, but when you said the World of Dreams was too dangerous after I was injured, I went anyway.” Bair folded her arms, expressionless. Sorilea muttered something about foolish girls, but it hardly sounded heated. A third long breath; this would be the hardest to say. Her middle was not fluttering anymore; it danced so hard she was surprised she was not shaking. “The worst of all is, I am not Aes Sedai. I’m only Accepted. You might call me an apprentice. I will not be raised to Aes Sedai for years, if I ever am, now.”

Sorilea’s head came up at that, thin lips compressed in a hard line, but still none of them said anything. It was up to Egwene to make matters right. They could never be exactly as before, but. . . .

You’ve admitted everything
, a small voice whispered.
Now you’d better get on with finding out how fast you can reach Salidar. You can still be raised Aes Sedai one day, but not if you make them madder than they already are.

Egwene lowered her eyes and stared at the colorful layered carpets, her mouth twisting with scorn. Scorn for that small voice. And shame that it could speak in her head, that she could think it. She was going away, but before she did, she had to put matters right. It was possible, under
ji’e’toh.
You did what you had to do, then paid the cost. Long months ago, in the Waste, Aviendha had showed her how a lie was paid for.

Gathering every scrap of courage she could find, hoping it was enough, Egwene put the silk dress aside and stood. Strangely, beginning seemed to make going on easier. She still had to look up to meet their, eyes, but she did it proudly, head high, and she did not have to force the words at all. “I have
toh.
” Her stomach was not fluttering any longer. “I ask the favor, that you will help me meet my
toh.
” Salidar was going to have to wait.

Leaning on his elbow, Mat examined the game of Snakes and Foxes laid out on the tent floor. Occasionally a drop of sweat fell from his chin, just missing the board. It was not a board at all, really, just a piece of red cloth with the web of lines drawn in black ink, and arrows showing which lines allowed movement only one way and which both. Ten pale wooden discs each with an inked triangle were the foxes, ten with a wavy line the snakes. Two lamps set to either side gave more than enough light.

“We will win this time, Mat,” Olver said excitedly. “I know we will.”

“Maybe,” Mat said. Their two black-stained discs were nearly back to the circle in the middle of the board, but the next roll of the dice would be for the snakes and foxes. Most of the time you did not make it as far as the outer edge. “Roll the dice.” He never touched the dice cup himself, not since the day he had given it to the boy; if they were going to play the game, it might as well be without his luck taking a hand.

With a grin, Olver rattled the leather cup and spilled out the wooden dice his father had made. He groaned as he counted the pips; this time three dice showed faces marked with a triangle, the other three wavy lines. On their turn you had to move the snakes and foxes toward your own pieces by the shortest path, and if one landed on the point you occupied. . . . A snake touched Olver, a fox Mat, and Mat could see if the rest of the pips had been played, two more snakes would have reached him.

Only a child’s game, and one you would not win so long as you followed the rules. Soon Olver would be old enough to realize that, and like other children, stop playing. Only a child’s game, but Mat did not like the
fox getting him, and even less the snakes. It brought back bad memories, even if one had nothing to do with the other.

“Well,” Olver muttered, “we almost won. Another game, Mat?” Not waiting for an answer, he made the sign that opened the game, a triangle and then a wavy line through it, then chanted the words. “ ‘Courage to strengthen, fire to blind, music to dazzle, iron to bind.’ Mat, why do we say that? There is no fire, no music and no iron.”

“I don’t know.” The line tickled something in the back of his head, but he could not bring it up. The old memories from the
ter’angreal
might as well have been chosen at random—they probably had been—and there were all those gaps in his own, all those fuzzy places. The boy was always asking questions he did not know the answer to, usually beginning with “why.”

Daerid ducked in out of the night and gave a start of surprise. Face shining with sweat, he still had his coat on, if hanging undone. His newest scar made a pink furrow across the white lines crisscrossing his face.

“I think it’s past your bedtime, Olver,” Mat said, pushing himself up. His wounds gave a few twinges, but only a few; they were healing just fine. “Put the board up.” He stepped close to Daerid and lowered his voice to a whisper. “If you ever tell about this, I’ll cut your throat.”

“Why?” Daerid asked dryly. “You are turning into a wonderful father. He shows a remarkable resemblance to you.” He seemed to be struggling with a grin, but a moment later it was gone. “The Lord Dragon is coming into camp,” he said, as serious as death.