The Fires of Heaven (The Wheel of Time #5)

The Fires of Heaven (The Wheel of Time #5) Page 265

Nynaeve gave the leash a short tug, staggering her. “I know that. Tell me something new.” The woman was captive here, but the a'dam only existed so long as they were in Tel'aran'rhiod

“Do you know they are drawing Rand al'Thor to attack Sammael? But when he does, he will find the others as well, waiting to trap him between them. At least, he will find Graendal and Rahvin. I think Lanfear plays another game, one the others know nothing about.”

Nynaeve exchanged worried glances with Birgitte. Rand must learn of this. He would, as soon as she and Elayne could speak to Egwene tonight. If they could manage to put their hands on the ter'angreal long enough.

“That is,” Moghedien murmured, “if he lives long enough to find them.”

Nynaeve took hold of the silvery leash where it joined the collar and pulled the Forsaken's face close to hers. Dark eyes met her gaze flatly, but she could feel anger through the a'dam, and fear wriggling up and being stamped down. “You listen to me. Do you think I don't know why you are pretending to be so cooperative? You think if you keep talking long enough, I will make some slip, and you can escape. You think the longer we talk, the harder I'll find it to kill you.” That much was true enough. To kill somebody in cold blood, even one of the Forsaken, would be hard, maybe harder than she could manage. What was she going to do with the woman? “But you understand this. I won't allow hinting at things. If you try keeping anything back from me, I will do to you everything you ever thought of doing to me.” Dread, creeping through the leash, like bonechilling shrieks deep in Moghedien's mind. Maybe she did not know as much about a'dam as Nynaeve thought. Maybe she believed Nynaeve could read her thoughts if she tried. “Now if you know of some threat to Rand, something ahead of Sammael and the others, you tell me. Now!”

Words spilled from Moghedien's mouth, and her tongue flickered out to wet her lips continually. “Al'Thor means to go after Rahvin. Today. This morning. Because he thinks Rahvin killed Morgase. I don't know whether he did or not, but al'Thor believes it. But Rahvin never trusted Lanfear. He never trusted any of them. Why should he? He thought it all might be some trap set for him, so he has laid a trap of his own. He has set Wards through Caemlyn so if a man channels a spark he will know. Al'Thor will walk right into it. He almost certainly already has. I think he meant to leave Cairhien right after sunrise. I had no part of it. It was none of it my doing. I —”

Nynaeve wanted to shut her up; the fear sweat glistening on the woman's face made her sick, but if she had to listen to that pleading voice, too... She started to channel, wondering whether she would be strong enough to hold Moghedien's tongue, then smiled. She was linked to Moghedien, and in control. Moghedien's eyes bulged as she wove flows to stop her own mouth and tied them. Nynaeve added plugs for her ears too, before turning to Birgitte. “What do you think?”

“Elayne's heart will break. She loves her mother.”

“I know that!” Nynaeve took a breath. “I will cry with her and mean every tear, but right now I must worry about Rand. I think she was telling the truth. I could almost feel it.” She caught the silver leash just below her bracelet and shook it. “Maybe it's this, and maybe it was imagination. What do you believe?”

“That it's the truth. She was never very brave unless she clearly had the upper hand, or thought she could get it. And you certainly put the fear of the Light into her.”

Nynaeve grimaced. Birgitte's every word put another bubble of anger in her belly. She was never very brave except when she clearly had the upper hand. That could describe herself. She had put the fear of the Light into Moghedien. She had, and she had meant every word when she said it. Boxing somebody's ears when they needed it was one thing; threatening torture, wanting to torture, even Moghedien, was something else again. And here she was trying to avoid what she knew she had to do. Never very brave except when she clearly had the upper hand. This time the bubble of anger was seeded by herself. “We have to go to Caemlyn. I do, at least. With her. I may not be able to channel strongly enough to tear paper as I am, but with the a'dam I can use her strength.”

“You won't be able to affect anything in the waking world from Tel'aran'rhiod,” Birgitte said quietly.

“I know! I know, but I have to do something.”

Birgitte threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, Nynaeve, it is such an embarrassment being associated with such a coward as you.” Abruptly her eyes widened in surprise. “There wasn't much of your potion left. I think I am wak —” In midword, she was simply no longer there.

Taking a deep breath, Nynaeve untied the flows around Moghedien. Or made her do it; with the a'dam it was hard to tell which, really. She wished Birgitte was still there. Another pair of eyes. Someone who probably knew Tel'aran'rhiod better than she ever could. Someone who was brave. “We are taking a trip, Moghedien, and you are going to help me with every last scrap of you. If anything takes me by surprise... Suffice it to say, anything that happens to the one wearing this bracelet happens to the one wearing the collar. Only about tenfold.” The sickly look on Moghedien's face said she believed. Which was just as well, since it was true.

Another deep breath, and Nynaeve began forming the image of the one place in Caemlyn she knew well enough to remember. The Royal Palace, where Elayne had taken her. Rahvin must be there. But in the waking world, not the World of Dreams. Still, she had to do something. Tel'aran'rhiod changed around her.

Chapter 55

(Full Aes Sedai Symbol)

The Threads Burn

Rand stopped. A long scorch along the corridor wall marked where half a dozen costly tapestries had gone to ash. Flames licked upward on another; a number of inlaid chests and tables were only charred ruins. Not his work. Thirty paces further on, redcoated men in breastplates and helmets with barred faceguards lay contorted in death on the white floortiles, useless swords in hand. Not his work either. Rahvin had been wasteful of his own in attempting to reach Rand. He had been clever in his attacks, clever in his escapes, but from the moment he fled the throneroom he had not faced Rand for more than the instant it took to strike and flee. Rahvin was strong, perhaps as strong as Rand, and more knowledgeable, but Rand had the fatlittleman angreal in his pocket, and Rahvin had none.

The corridor was doubly familiar, once for having seen it before, once for havi