The Gathering Storm (The Wheel of Time #12)

The Gathering Storm (The Wheel of Time #12) Page 58

"I wouldn't turn against that oath," Gawyn said harshly. "How could you think that I would?"

"I've had experience with unexpected renunciations of oaths lately," Bryne said. "I said I believe you, lad. And I do. But you still haven't explained why you didn't return to Caemlyn."

"Egwene was with the Aes Sedai," Gawyn said. "As far as I knew, Elayne was as well. This seemed a good place to be, although I wasn't certain I liked Elaida's authority."

"And what is Egwene to you?" Bryne asked softly.

Gawyn met his eyes. "I don't know," he admitted. "I wish I did."

Strangely, Bryne chuckled. "I see. And I understand. Come, let's find this Aes Sedai you think you saw."

"I did see her, Gareth," Gawyn said, nodding to the guards as they passed out the gates. The men saluted Bryne, but watched Gawyn as they would a blacklance. As well they should.

"We shall see what we find," Bryne said. "Regardless, once I get you a meeting with the Aes Sedai leaders, I want your word that you'll go back to Caemlyn. Leave Egwene to us. You need to help Elayne. It's your place to be in Andor."

"I could say the same of you." Gawyn surveyed the teeming followers' camp. Where had the woman been?

"You could," Bryne said gruffly. "But it wouldn't be true. Your mother saw to that."

Gawyn glanced at him.

"She put me out to pasture, Gawyn. Banished me and threatened me with death."

"Impossible!"

Bryne looked grim. "I felt the same way. But it is true nonetheless. The things she said . . . they stung, Gawyn. That they did indeed."

That was all Bryne said, but from him, it spoke volumes. Gawyn had never heard the man offer a word of discontent about his station or his orders. He had been loyal to Morgase—loyal with the kind of steadfastness a ruler could only hope for. Gawyn had never known a man more sure, or a man less likely to complain.

"It must have been part of some scheme," Gawyn said. "You know Mother. If she hurt you, there was a reason."

Bryne shook his head. "No reason other than foolish love for that fop Gaebril. She nearly let her clouded head ruin Andor."

"She'd never!" Gawyn snapped. "Gareth, you of all people should know that!"

"I should," Bryne said, lowering his voice. "And I wish I did."

"She had another motive," Gawyn said stubbornly. He felt the heat of anger rise within him again. Around them, peddlers glanced at the two, but said nothing. They probably knew not to approach Bryne. "But now we'll never know it. Not now that she's dead. Curse al'Thor! The day can't come soon enough when I can run him through."

Bryne looked at Gawyn sharply. "Al'Thor saved Andor, son. Or as near to it as a man could."

"How could you say that?" Gawyn said, pulling his hand away. "How could you speak well of that monstet? He killed my mother!"

"I don't know if I believe those rumors or not," Bryne said, rubbing his chin. "But if I do, lad, then perhaps he did Andor a favor. You don't know how bad it got, there at the end."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," Gawyn said, lowering his hand to his sword. "I won't hear her name soiled like that, Bryne. I mean it."

Bryne looked him directly in the eyes. His gaze was so solid. Like eyes carved of granite. "I'll always speak truth, Gawyn. No matter who challenges me on it. It's hard to hear? Well, it was harder to live. No good comes of spreading complaints. But her son needs to know. In the end, Gawyn, your mother turned against Andor by embracing Gaebril. She needed to be removed. If al'Thor did that for us, then we have need to thank him."

Gawyn shook his head, rage and shock fighting one another. This was Gareth Bryne?

"These aren't the words of a spurned lover," Bryne said, face set, as if shoving aside emotions. He spoke softly as he and Gawyn walked, camp followers giving them a wide berth. "I can accept that a woman could lose affection for a man and bestow it on another. Yes, Morgase the woman I can forgive. But Morgase the Queen? She gave the kingdom to that snake. She sent her allies to be beaten and imprisoned. She wasn't right in her mind. Sometimes, when a soldier's arm festers, it needs to be cut free to save the man's life. I'm pleased at Elayne's success, and it is a wound to speak these words. But you have to bury that hatred of al'Thor. He wasn't the problem. Your mother was."

Gawyn kept his teeth clenched. Never, he thought. / will nevet forgive al'Thor. Not for this.

"I can see the intent behind that look," Bryne said. "All the more reason to get you back to Andor. You'll see. If you don't trust me, ask your sister. See what she says of it."

Gawyn nodded sharply. Enough of that. Ahead, he noted the place where he'd seen the woman. He glanced toward the distant lines of washwomen, then turned and strode toward them, edging between two merchants with pungent pens full of chickens, selling eggs. "This way," he said, perhaps too sharply.

He didn't look to see if Bryne followed. Soon the general caught up to him, looking displeased, but he kept his peace. They walked down a crowded, twisting pathway among people in browns and dull grays, and soon reached the line of women kneeling before two long wooden troughs of slowly flowing water. Men stood at the far end, pouring water down the troughs, and the line of women washed clothing in the sudsy one, then rinsed them off in the cleaner trough. No wonder the ground was so wet! At least here it smelled of suds and cleanliness.

The women had their sleeves rolled up to their upper arms, and most of them chatted idly as they worked, rubbing clothing against boards in the troughs. They were all dressed in those same brown skirts he had seen on the Aes Sedai. Gawyn rested his hand idly on his pommel, inspecting the women from behind.

"Which one?" Bryne asked.

"Just a moment," Gawyn said. There were dozens of women. Had he really seen what he'd thought? Why would an Aes Sedai be in this camp, of all places? Surely Elaida wouldn't send an Aes Sedai out to spy; their faces made them too easy to recognize.

Of course, if they were that easy to recognize, why couldn't he spot her now?

And then he saw her. She was one of the only women who wasn't chatting with those around her. She knelt with her head bowed, the yellow kerchief tied around her head, shading her face, a few locks of light hair sticking out from under the cloth. Her posture was so subservient that he almost missed her, but the shape of her body stood out. She was plump, and that kerchief was the only yellow one in the line.

Gawyn strode down the line of working women, several of whom stood up, hands on h*ps as they explained in no uncertain terms that "Soldiers with their big feet and awkward elbows" should stay out of the way of women at work. Gawyn ignored them, pressing on until he stood beside the yellow kerchief.

This is insane, Gawyn thought. There's never in all of history been an Aes Sedai who could force herself to adopt that kind of posture.

Bryne stepped up beside him. Gawyn stooped down, trying to get a look at the woman's face. She bowed down further, scrubbing more furiously at the shirt in the trough before her.

"Woman," Gawyn said. "May I see your face?"

She didn't respond. Gawyn looked up at Bryne. Hesitantly, the general reached down and pushed back the plump woman's kerchief. The face underneath was distinctly Aes Sedai, with that unmistakable ageless quality. She didn't look up. She just kept working.

"I said it wouldn't work," said a hefty woman nearby. The woman rose and waddled down the line, wearing a tentlike dress of green and brown. " 'My Lady,' I told her, 'you can do as you wish, I ain't one to refuse such as you, but someone's going to notice you.' "

"You're in charge of the washwomen," Bryne said.

The large woman nodded firmly, her red curls bouncing. "Indeed I am, General." She turned to the Aes Sedai, curtsying. "Lady Tagren, I did warn you. Light burn me, but I did. I'm right sorry."

The woman called Tagren bowed her head. Were those tears on her cheeks? Was that even possible? What was going on?

"My Lady," Bryne said, squatting down beside her. "Are you Aes Sedai? If you are, and you command me to leave, I will do so without question."

A good way to approach it. If she really was Aes Sedai, she couldn't lie.

"I'm not Aes Sedai," the woman whispered.

Bryne looked up at Gawyn, frowning. What did it mean if she said that? An Aes Sedai couldn't lie. So. ...

The woman softly said, "My name is Shemerin. I was Aes Sedai, once. But no more. Not since. . . ." She looked down again. "Please. Just leave me to work in my shame."

"I will," Bryne said. Then he hesitated. "But I'll need you to talk to some sisters from the camp first. They'd have my ears if I don't bring you in to speak with them."

The woman, Shemerin, sighed but stood up.

"Come on," Bryne said to Gawyn. "I have no doubt that they'll also want to talk to you. Best to get this over with quickly."

CHAPTER 25

In Darkness

Sheriam peeked into her dark tent, hesitant, but saw nothing inside. Allowing herself a smile of satisfaction, she stepped in and drew the flaps closed. Things were going quite well, for once.

Of course, she still checked her tent before she entered, searching for the one who had sometimes lurked inside. The one whom she'd never been able to sense, yet always felt as though she should. Yes, Sheriam still checked, and probably would for months yet—but there was no need, now. No phantom waited to punish her.

The square little tent was large enough to stand up in, with a cot along one side and a trunk along the other. There was just room for a desk, but it would so crowd the space that she'd barely be able to move. Besides, there was a perfectly acceptable desk nearby, in Egwene's unused tent.

There had been talk of giving that tent to someone else—most sisters had to share, though more tents were being brought in each week. However, the Amyrlin's tent was a symbol. As long as there was hope of Egwene's return, her tent should wait for her. It was kept neat by the inconsolable Chesa, whom Sheriam still caught crying about her mistress's captivity. Well, so long as Egwene was away, that tent was functionally Sheriam's for all but sleeping. After all, an Amyrlin's Keeper was expected to look after her affairs.

Sheriam smiled again, sitting down on her cot. Not long ago, her life had been a perpetual cycle of frustration and pain. Now that was over. Bless Romanda. Whatever else Sheriam thought of the fool woman, Ro-manda had been the one to chase Halima—and Sheriam's punishments— out of the camp.

Pain would come again. There was always agony and punishment involved in the service she gave. But she had learned to take the times of peace and cherish them.

At times, she wished she'd kept her mouth closed, not asked questions. But she had, and here she was. Her allegiances had brought her power, as promised. But nobody had warned her of the pain. Not infrequently she wished she'd chosen the Brown and hidden herself away in a library somewhere, never to see others. But now she was where she was. There was no use wondering about what could have happened.

She sighed, then removed her dress and changed her shift. She did so in the dark; candles and oil were both rationed, and with the rebels' funds drying up, she'd need to hide away what she had for later use.

She climbed onto the cot, pulling up the blanket. She wasn't so naive as to feel guilty about the things she'd done. Every sister in the White Tower tried to get ahead; that's what life was about! There wasn't an Aes Sedai who wouldn't stab her sisters in the back if she thought it would give her advantage. Sheriam's friends were just a little more . . . practiced at it.

But why had the end of days had to come now of all times? Others in her association spoke of the glory and great honor of being alive at this time, but Sheriam didn't agree. She'd joined to rise in White Tower politics, to have the power to punish those who spited her. She'd never wanted to participate in some final reckoning with the Dragon Reborn, and she'd certainly never desired to have anything to do with the Chosen!

But nothing could be done now. Best to enjoy the peace of being free of both the beatings and Egwene's self-righteous pratings. Yes indeed. . . .

There was a woman with great strength in the Power standing outside her tent.

Sheriam snapped her eyes open. She could sense other women who could channel, just like any other sister. Bloody ashes! she thought nervously, squeezing her eyes shut. Not again!

The tent flaps rippled. Sheriam opened her eyes to find a jet-black figure standing above her cot; slivers of moonlight passing through the fluttering tent flaps were just enough to outline of the figure's form. It was clothed in an unnatural darkness, ribbons of black cloth fluttering behind it, the face obscured by a deep blackness. Sheriam gasped and threw herself from the cot, making obeisance on the canvas tent bottom. There was barely room enough for her to kneel. She cringed, expecting the pain to come upon her again.

"Ah ..." a rasping voice said. "Very good. You are obedient. I am pleased."

It wasn't Halima. Sheriam had never been able to sense Halima, who it appeared had been channeling saidin all along. Also, Halima had never come in such a ... dramatic way.

Such strength! It seemed likely that this was one of the Chosen. Either that, or at least a very powerful servant of the Great Lord, far above Sheriam. That worried her to the bone, and she trembled as she bowed. "I live to serve, Great Mistress," Sheriam said quickly. "I, who am blessed to bow before you, to live during the