Knife of Dreams (The Wheel of Time #11)

Knife of Dreams (The Wheel of Time #11) Page 167

Leaving the hall with the novices after returning her tray to the kitchen, she found another pair of Reds waiting for her. One was Katerine Alruddin, vulpine in copiously red-slashed gray, a mass of raven hair falling in waves to her waist and her shawl looped over her elbows.

“Drink this,” Katerine said imperiously, extending a pewter cup in one slim hand. “All of it, mind.” The other Red, dark and square-faced, adjusted her shawl impatiently and grimaced. Apparently she disliked acting as a serving woman even by association. Or perhaps it was dislike for what was in the cup.

Suppressing a sigh, Egwene drank. The weak forkroot tea looked and tasted like water tinged a faint brown, with just a hint of mint. Almost a memory of mint rather than the taste itself. Her first cup had been soon after waking, the Red sisters on duty eager to be done with shielding and about their own business. Katerine had let the hour slip a little, yet even without this cup, she doubted she would have been able to channel very strongly for some time yet. Certainly not with enough strength to be useful.

“I don’t want to be late for my first class,” she said, handing the cup back. Katerine took it, though she seemed surprised to realize that she had. Egwene glided on after the novices before the sister could object. Or remember to call her down for failing to curtsy.

That first class, in a plain, windowless room where ten novices occupied benches for thirty or more, was every bit the disaster she expected. Not a disaster for her, however, no matter the outcome. The instructor was Idrelle Menford, a lanky, hard-eyed woman who had already been Accepted when Egwene first came to the Tower. She still wore the white dress with the seven bands of color at hem and cuffs. Egwene took a seat at the end of a bench, once again without consideration for her tenderness. That had lessened, though not very far. Drink in the pain.

Standing on a small dais at the front of the room, Idrelle looked down her long nose with more than a spark of satisfaction at seeing Egwene in white once more. It almost softened her frown, a fixture with Idrelle. “You have all gone beyond making simple balls of fire,” she told the class, “but let’s see what our new girl is capable of. She used to think a great deal of herself, you know.” Several of the novices tittered. “Make a ball of fire, Egwene. Go on, child.” A ball of fire? That was one of the earliest things novices learned. What was she about?

Opening herself to the Source, Egwene embraced saidar, let it rush into her. The forkroot allowed only a trickle, a thread where she was accustomed to torrents, yet it was the Power, and trickle or no, it brought all of the life and joy of saidar, all the heightened awareness of herself and the room around her. Awareness of herself meant her smarting bottom suddenly felt freshly slippered again, but she did not shift. Breathe in the pain. She could smell the faint aroma of soap from the novices’ morning wash, see a tiny vein pulsing on Idrelle’s forehead. Part of her wanted to clout the woman’s ear with a flow of Air, but given the amount of the Power she commanded now, Idrelle would barely feel it. Instead, she channeled Fire and Air to produce a small ball of green fire that floated in front of her. A pale, pitiful thing it was, actually transparent.

“Very good,” Idrelle said sarcastically. Ah, yes. She had just wanted to begin by showing the novices how weak Egwene’s channeling was. “Release saidar. Now, class—“

Egwene added a blue ball, then a brown, and a gray, making them spin around one another. “Release the Source!” Idrelle said brusquely.

A yellow ball joined the others, a white, and finally, a red ball. Quickly she added rings of fire one inside the other around the whirling balls. Red came first this time, because she wanted it smallest, green last and largest. Had she been able to choose an Ajah, it would have been the Green. Seven rings of fire rotated, no two in the same direction, around seven balls of fire that carried out an intricate dance at the heart. Pale and thin they might be, yet it was an impressive display beyond dividing her flows fourteen ways. Juggling with the Power was not all that much easier than juggling with your hands.

“Stop that!” Idrelle shouted. “Stop it!” The glow of saidar enveloped the teacher, and a switch of Air struck Egwene hard across the back. “I said stop it!” The switch struck again, then again.

Egwene calmly kept the rings spinning, the balls dancing. After Silviana’s hard-swung slipper, it was easy to drink in the pain of Idrelle’s blows. If not to welcome it. Would she ever be able to smile while she was being beaten?

Katerine and the other Red appeared in the doorway. “What is going on in here?” the raven-haired sister demanded. Her companion’s eyes widened when she saw what Egwene was doing. It was very unlikely that either of them could divide their flows so far.

The novices all popped to their feet and curtsied when the Aes Sedai entered, of course. Egwene remained seated.

Idrelle spread her banded skirts looking flustered. “She won’t stop,” she wailed. “I told her to, but she won’t!”

“Stop that, Egwene,” Katerine ordered firmly.

Egwene maintained her weaves until the woman opened her mouth again. Only then did she release saidar and stand.

Katerine’s mouth snapped shut, and she took a deep breath. Her face retained its Aes Sedai serenity, but her eyes glittered. “You will run to Silviana’s study and tell her that you disobeyed your instructor and disrupted a class. Go!”

Pausing long enough to straighten her skirts—when she obeyed, she must not do so with any appearance of eagerness or haste—Egwene squeezed past the two Aes Sedai and glided up the hallway.

“I told you to run,” Katerine said sharply behind her.

A flow of Air struck her still sensitive bottom. Accept the pain. Another blow. Drink in the pain like breath. A third, hard enough to stagger her. Welcome the pain.

“Unhand me, Jezrail,” Katerine snarled.

“I’ll do no such thing,” the other sister said with a strong Tairen accent. “You go too far, Katerine. A swat or two is permitted, but punishing her further belongs to the Mistress of Novices. Light, at this rate, you’ll leave her unable to walk before she reaches Silviana.”

Katerine breathed heavily. “Very well,” she said at last. “But she can add disobeying a sister to her list of offenses. I will inquire, Egwene, so don’t think you can let it slip your mind.”

When she stepped into the Mistress of Novices’ study, Silviana’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Again so soon? Fetch the slipper from the cabinet, child, and tell me what you