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said, sounding as though she were insane.

The Ghealdanin’s mouth hung open, and the serving woman was staring at her, the

burning taper in her hand hanging dangerously near her skirts.

“I require it,” Galina said firmly. She would need every scrap of verisimilitude she could

find with Therava. “Do it!”

“I don’t believe he will,” Berelain said, gliding forward with her skirts gathered. “He has

very country ways. If you will permit me?”

Galina nodded impatiently. There was nothing for it, though the woman likely would not

leave a very convincing…. Her vision went dark, and when she could see again, she was

swaying slightly. She could taste blood. Her hand went to her cheek, and she winced.

“Too hard?” Berelain inquired anxiously.

“No,” Galina mumbled, fighting to keep her face smooth. Had she been able to channel,

she would have torn the woman’s head off! Of course, if she could have channeled, none

of this would be necessary. “Now, the other cheek. And have someone fetch my horse.”

She rode into the forest with the Murandian, to a place where several of the huge trees lay

toppled and oddly slashed, sure it would be difficult for her to use his hole in the air, but

when the man produced a vertical silver-blue slash that widened into a view of steeply

climbing land, she did not think of tainted saidin at all as she heeled Swift through the

opening. Never a thought except of Therava.

She almost howled when she realized she was on the opposite side of the ridge from the

encampment. Frantically she raced the sinking sun. And lost.

She had been right, unfortunately. Therava did not accept excuses. She was particularly

upset over the bruises. She herself never marred Galina’s face. What followed easily

equaled her nightmares. And it lasted much longer. At times, when she was screaming

her loudest, she almost forgot her desperate need to get the rod. But she clung to that.

Obtain the rod, kill Faile and her friends, and she would be free.

Egwene regained awareness slowly, and muzzy as she was, barely had the presence of

mind to keep her eyes closed. Pretending still to be unconscious was all too easy. Her

head lay slumped on a woman’s shoulder, and she could not have lifted it had she tried.

An Aes Sedai’s shoulder; she could sense the woman’s ability. Her brain felt stuffed with

wool, her thoughts were slow and veering, her limbs all but numb. Her wool riding dress

and cloak were dry, she realized, despite the soaking she had received in the river. Well,

that was easily managed with the Power. Small chance they had channeled the water

from her garments for her comfort, though. She was seated, wedged in between two

sisters, one of whom wore a flowery perfume, each using a hand to keep her more or less

upright. They were in a coach by the way they all swayed and the clatter of a trotting

team’s horseshoes on paving stones. Carefully, she opened her eyes to narrow slits.

The coach’s side curtains were tied back, though the stink of rotting garbage made her

think it would have been better to pull them shut. Garbage, rotting! How could Tar Valon

have come to that? Such neglect of the city was reason enough by itself for Elaida to be

removed. The windows let in enough moonlight for her to dimly make out three Aes

Sedai seated facing her, in the rear of the coach. Even had she not known they could

channel, their fringed shawls would have made it certain. In Tar Valon, wearing a shawl

with fringe could result in unpleasantness for a woman who was not Aes Sedai. Oddly,

the sister on the left appeared to be huddling against the side of the coach, away from the

other two, and if they were not exactly huddling, at least they were sitting very close

together, as though avoiding contact with the third Aes Sedai. Very odd.

Abruptly it came to her that she was not shielded. Muddled she might be, but that made

no sense at all. They could feel her strength, as she could theirs, and while none was

weak, she thought she could overcome all five if she were quick enough. The True

Source was a vast sun just beyond the edge of sight, calling to her. The first question was,

did she dare try yet? In the state her head was, thought wading through knee-deep mud,

whether she could actually embrace saidar was uncertain, and succeed or fail, they would

know once she tried. Best to try recovering a little beforehand. The second question was,

how long did she dare wait? They would not let her go unshielded forever.

Experimentally, she tried wiggling her toes inside her stout leather shoes, and was

delighted when they moved obediently. Life seemed to be returning slowly to her arms

and legs. She thought she might be able to raise her head now, if unsteadily. Whatever

they had given her was wearing off. How long?

Events were taken out of her hands by the dark-haired sister sitting in the middle of the

rear seat, who leaned forward and slapped her so hard that she toppled onto the lap of the

woman she had been leaning against. Her hand went to her stinging cheek on its own

volition. So much for pretending unconsciousness.

“There was no need for that, Katerine,” a raspy voice said above her as its owner lifted

her upright again. She could hold her head up, just, it turned out. Katerine. That would be

Katerine Alruddin, a Red. It seemed important to identify her captors for some reason,

though she knew nothing of Katerine beyond her name and Ajah. The sister she had

fallen onto was yellow-haired, but her moon-shadowed face belonged to a stranger. “I

think you gave her too much of the forkroot,” the woman went on.

A chill flashed through her. So that was what she had been fed! She racked her brain for

everything Nynaeve had told her about that vile tea, but her thoughts were still slow.

Better, though, it seemed. She was sure Nynaeve had said the effects took some time to

go away completely.

“I gave her the exact dose, Felaana,” the sister who had slapped her replied dryly, “and as

you can see, it is leaving her precisely as it should. I want her able to walk by the time we

reach the Tower. I certainly don’t intend to help carry her again,” she finished with a

glare for the sister seated to Egwene’s left, who shook her head, beaded braids clicking

faintly. That was Pritalle Nerbaijan, a Yellow who had done her best to avoid teaching

novices or Accepted and made little secret of her dislike for the task when forced to it.

“To have my Harril carry her, it would have been improper, yes?” she said coldly. In fact,

icily. “Myself, I will be glad if she can walk, but if not, so be it. In any case, I look

forward to handing her over to others. If you do not want to carry her again, Katerine, I

do not want to stand guard over her half the night in the cells.” Katerine gave a

dismissive toss of her head.

The cells. Of course; she was bound for one of those small, dark rooms on the first level

of the Tower’s basement. Elaida would charge her with falsely claiming to be the

Amyrlin Seat. The penalty for that was death. Strangely, that brought no fear. Perhaps it

was the herb working on her. Would Romanda or Lelaine give way, agreeing to raise

Amyrlin after she was dead? Or would they continue to struggle with one another until

the entire rebellion faltered and failed, and the sisters straggled back to Elaida? A sad

thought, that. Bone-deep sad. But if she could feel sorrow, the forkroot was not

quenching her emotions, so why was she not afraid? She thumbed her Great Serpent ring.

At least, she tried to, and discovered it gone. Anger flared, white-hot. They might kill her,

but they would not deny she was Aes Sedai.

“Who betrayed me?” she asked, pleased that her tone was even and cool. “It can’t hurt to

tell me, since I’m your prisoner.” The sisters stared at her as though surprised she had a

voice.

Katerine leaned forward casually, raising her hand. The Red’s eyes tightened when pale-

haired Felaana lunged to catch the slap before it could land on Egwene.

“She will no doubt be executed,” the raspy-voiced woman said firmly, “but she is an

initiate of the Tower, and none of us has the right to beat her.”

“Take your hand off me, Brown,” Katerine snarled, and shockingly, the light of saidar

enveloped her.

In an instant the glow surrounded every woman in the coach except Egwene. They eyed

one another like strange cats on the brink of hissing, on the brink of lashing out with

claws. No, not everyone; Katerine and the taller sister seated against her flank never

glanced at one another. But they had glares aplenty for the rest. What under the Light was

going on? The mutual hostility was so thick in the air, she could have sliced it like bread.

After a moment, Felaana released Katerine’s wrist and leaned back, yet no one released

the Source. Egwene suddenly suspected that no one was willing to be the first. Their

faces were all serene in the pale moonlight, but the Brown’s hands were knotted in her

shawl, and the sister leaning away from Katerine was smoothing her skirts repeatedly.

“About time for this, I think,” Katerine said, weaving a shield. “We wouldn’t want you to

try anything…futile.” Her smile was vicious. Egwene merely sighed as the weave settled

on her; she doubted she could have embraced saidar yet in any case, and against five

already full of the Power, success would have lasted moments at most. Her mild reaction

appeared to disappoint the Red. “This may be your last night in the world,” she went on.

“It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if Elaida had you stilled and beheaded

tomorrow.”

“Or even tonight,” her lanky companion added, nodding. “I think Elaida may be that

eager to see the end of you.” Unlike Katerine, she was merely stating a fact, but she was

surely another Red. And watching the other sisters, as though she suspected one of them

might try something. This was very strange!

Egwene held on to her composure, denying them the response they wanted. The response

Katerine wanted, at least. She was determined to maintain her dignity right to the

headsman’s block. Whether or not she had managed to do well as Amyrlin, she would die

in a manner fitting for the Amyrlin Seat.

The woman huddling away from the two Reds spoke, and her voice, full of Arafel,

allowed Egwene to put a name to the hard, narrow face, dimly seen by moonlight.

Berisha Terakuni, a Gray with a reputation for the strictest, and often harshest,

interpretation of the law. Always to the letter, of course, but never with any sense of

mercy. “Not tonight or tomorrow, Barasine, not unless Elaida is willing to summon the

Sitters in the middle of the night, and they’re willing to answer. This requires a High

Court, no thing of minutes or even hours, and the Hall seems less eager to please Elaida

than she might wish, small wonder. The girl will be tried, but the Hall will sit in the

matter when they choose, I think.”

“The Hall will come when Elaida calls or she’ll hand them all penances that will make

them wish they had,” Katerine sneered. “The way Jala and Merym galloped off when we

saw who we’d caught, she knows by now, and I’ll wager that for this one, Elaida will

drag Sitters from their beds with her own hands if she must.” Her voice grew smug, and

cutting at the same time. “Perhaps she will name you to the Chair of Pardon. Would you

enjoy that?”

Berisha drew herself up indignantly, shifting her shawl on her arms. In some instances,

the Chair of Pardon faced the same penalty as the one she defended. Perhaps this charge

required it; despite Siuan’s best efforts to complete her education, Egwene did not know.

“What I want to hear,” the Gray said after a moment, ostentatiously ignoring the women

on the seat with her, “is what did you do to the harbor chain? How can it be undone?”

“It can’t be undone,” Egwene replied. “You must know that it’s cuendillar, now. Even the

Power won’t break it, only strengthen it. I suppose you could sell it if you tear down

enough of the harbor wall to remove it. If anyone can afford a piece of cuendillar that big.

Or would want such a thing.”

This time, no one tried to stop Katerine from slapping her, and very hard, too. “Hold your

tongue!” the Red snapped.

That seemed good advice unless she wanted to be slapped silly. She could taste blood in

her mouth already. So Egwene held her tongue, and silence descended on the rolling

coach, the others all glowing with saidar and watching each other suspiciously. It was

incredible! Why had Elaida ever chosen women who clearly detested one another for

tonight’s task? As a demonstration of her power, just because she could? No matter. If