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there is, how can be sure your dream means the Seanchan? Ravens would indicate the

Shadow, to me.”

“I’m a Dreamer, and when a Dreamer knows, she knows. Not the Shadow. The

Seanchan. As for who knows what I can do….” Egwene shrugged. “The only one you

can reach is Leane Sharif, who’s being held in the cells below.” She saw no way to bring

the Wise Ones into this, not without revealing entirely too much.

“That woman is a wilder, not B,” Katerine began angrily, but her mouth snapped shut

when Silviana raised a peremptory hand.

The Mistress of Novices studied Egwene carefully, her face still an unreadable mask of

calmness. “You truly believe you are what you say,” she said finally. “I do hope your

Dreaming won’t cause as many problems as young Nicola’s Foretelling. If you truly can

Dream. Well, I will pass along your warning. I can’t see how the Seanchan could strike at

us here in Tar Valon, but watchfulness never hurts. And I’ll question this woman being

held below. Carefully. And if she fails to back up your tale, then your visit to me in the

morning will be even more memorable for you.” She waved her hand at Katerine. “Take

her away before she hands me another nugget and keeps me from getting any sleep at all

tonight.”

This time, Katerine muttered as much as Barasine. But they both waited until they were

beyond earshot of Silviana. That woman was going to be a formidable opponent. Egwene

hoped embracing pain worked as well as the Wise Ones claimed. Otherwise…. Otherwise

did not bear thinking about.

A lean, gray-haired serving woman gave them directions to the room she had just

finished making up, on the third gallery of the novice quarters, and hurried on after brief

curtsies to the two Reds. She never so much as glanced at Egwene. What was another

novice to her? It tightened Egwene’s jaw. She was going to have to make people not see

her as just another novice.

“Look at her face,” Barasine said. “I think it’s finally settling in on her.”

“I am who I am,” Egwene replied calmly. Barasine pushed her toward the stairs that rose

through the hollow column of railed galleries, lit by the fat, waning moon. A breeze

sighed through, the only sound. It all seemed so peaceful. There was no light showing

around any door. The novices would be asleep by now, except for those who had late

chores or tasks. It was peaceful for them. Not for Egwene, though.

The tiny, windowless room might almost have been the one she had occupied when she

first came to the Tower, with its narrow bed built against the wall and a small fire burning

on the little brick hearth. The lamp on the small table was lit, but it lighted little more

than the tabletop, and the oil must have gone bad, because it gave off a faint, unpleasant

stink. A washstand completed the furnishings, except for a three-legged stool, onto which

Katerine promptly lowered herself, adjusting her skirts as through on a throne. Realizing

there was nowhere for her to sit, Barasine crossed her arms beneath her breasts and

frowned at Egwene.

The room was quite crowded with three women in it, but Egwene pretended the other two

did not exist as she readied herself for bed, hanging her cloak and belt and dress on three

of the pegs set along one rough-plastered white wall. She did not ask for help with her

buttons. By the time she laid her neatly rolled stockings atop her shoes, Barasine had

settled herself cross-legged on the floor and was immersed in a small, leatherbound book

that she must have carried in her belt pouch. Katerine kept her eyes on Egwene as though

she expected her to make a break for the door.

Crawling beneath the light woolen blanket in her shift, Egwene settled her head on the

small pillow—not a goose-down pillow, that was for sure!—and went through the

exercises, relaxing her body one part at a time, that would put her to sleep. She had done

that so often that it seemed no sooner had she begun, than she was asleep…

…and floating, formless, in a darkness that lay between the waking world and

Tel’aran’rhiod, the narrow gap between dream and reality, a vast void filled with a

myriad of twinkling specks of light that were all the dreams of all the sleepers in the

world. They floated around her, in this place with no up or down, as far as the eye could

see, flickering out as a dream ended, springing alight as one began. She could recognize

some at sight, put a name to the dreamer, but she did not see the one she sought.

It was to Siuan she needed to speak, Siuan who likely knew by now that disaster had

struck, who might be unable to sleep until exhaustion took her under. She settled herself

to wait. There was no sense of time here; she would not grow bored with waiting. But she

had to work out what to say. So much had changed since she wakened. She had learned

so much. Then, she had been sure she would die soon, sure the sisters inside the Tower

were a solid army behind Elaida. Now…. Elaida thought her safely imprisoned. No

matter this talk of making her a novice again; even if Elaida really believed it, Egwene

al’Vere did not. She did not consider herself a prisoner, either. She was carrying the

battle into the heart of the Tower itself. If she had had lips there, she would have smiled.

The hardcover edition of Knife of Dreams will be coming in October 2005 from Tor

Books.