The Path of Daggers (The Wheel of Time #8)

The Path of Daggers (The Wheel of Time #8) Page 40

For once Nynaeve was not peering at the surrounding countryside trying to find Lan. He and Birgitte would not be gone long anyway, not here. Instead she strode briskly among the horses, ordering people to mount in a loud, commanding voice, chivvying the servants with the pack animals, curtly telling some of the Kinswomen who had no horses that any child could walk five miles, shouting at a slender Altaran noblewoman with a scar on her cheek and carrying a bundle nearly as big as herself that if she had been fool enough to bring all of her dresses then she could carry them. Alise had gathered the Atha’an Miere around her and was instructing them on how to mount a horse. For a wonder, they actually appeared to be paying attention. Nynaeve glanced her way and seemed pleased to see Alise standing in one spot. Until Alise smiled encouragingly and motioned her to go on with what she was doing.

For an instant Nynaeve stood stockstill, staring at the woman. Then she came striding through the grass to Elayne. Reaching up to her hat with both hands, she hesitated, glowering up at it her through her lashes before giving it a twitch straight. “I’ll just let her take care of everything this time,” she said in a suspiciously reasonable tone. “We’ll just see how well she does with those... Sea Folk. Yes, we will.” Too reasonable a tone by half. Abruptly she frowned at the stillopen gateway. “Why are you holding it? Let go.” Aviendha was frowning, too.

Elayne drew a deep breath. She had thought about this, and there was no other way, but Nynaeve would try to argue her out of it, and there no time for arguing. Through the gateway, the farmyard stood empty, even the chickens finally frightened away by the hubbub, yet how long before it filled up again? She studied her weave, melded together so snugly that only a few threads remained distinct. She could see every flow, of course, but except for those few, they appeared inseparably combined. “Take everyone to the manor house, Nynaeve,” she said. The sun did not have very much farther to fall; perhaps two hours of light remained. “Master Hornwell will be surprised at so many visitors arriving at dark, but tell him you’re guests of the girl who cried over the redbird with the broken wing; he’ll remember that. I will be along as soon as I can.”

“Elayne,” Aviendha began in a surprisingly anxious voice, and at the same time, Nynaeve said sharply, “Just what do you think you’re — ”

There was only one way to stop it. Elayne plucked one of the discernible threads free of the weave; it wavered and flailed like a living tentacle; it fuzzed and spluttered, tiny fluffs of saidar breaking off and fading away. She had not noticed that when Aviendha unmade her weave, but she had only seen the tail of that, really. “Go on,” she told Nynaeve. “I’ll wait for the rest until you are all out of sight.” Nynaeve stared out, her jaw hanging. “It has to be done,” Elayne sighed. “The Seanchan will be at the farm in hours, for sure. Even if they wait until tomorrow, what if one of the damane has the Talent to read residues? Nynaeve, I won’t give Traveling to the Seanchan. I won’t!”

Nynaeve growled something under her breath about the Seanchan that must have been particularly pithy, judging by her tone. “Well, I won’t let you burn yourself out!” she said aloud. “Now, put that back! Before the whole thing explodes the way Vandene said. You could kill all of us!”

“It cannot be put back,” Aviendha said, laying a hand on Nynaeve’s arm. “She has begun, and now she must finish. You must do as she says, Nynaeve.”

Nynaeve’s brows drew down. “Must” was a word she did not like hearing one bit, not applied to her. She was not a fool, though, so after a bit of glaring — at Elayne, at the gateway, at Aviendha, at the world in general — she flung her arms around Elayne in a hug that made her ribs creak.

“You be careful, you hear me,” she whispered. “If you get yourself killed, I swear I’ll skin you alive!” In spite of everything, Elayne burst out laughing. Nynaeve snorted, pushing her out to arm’s length by her shoulders. “You know what I mean,” she grumbled. “And don’t think I don’t mean it, because I do! I do,” she added in a softer voice. “You take care.”

It took Nynaeve a moment to gather herself, blinking and pulling her blue riding gloves tight. There seemed to be a hint of moisture in her eyes, though that could not have been; Nynaeve made other people cry, she did not cry herself. “Well, then,” she said loudly. “Alise, if you don’t have everyone ready yet — ” Turning, she cut off with a strangled croak.

Those who were supposed to be mounted were, even the Atha’an Miere. The Warders were all gathered around the other sisters; Lan and Birgitte had returned, and Birgitte watched Elayne worriedly. The servants had the pack animals in a line, and the Kinswomen were waiting patiently, most afoot except for the Knitting Circle. A number of horses that could have been used for riding were loaded with sacks of food and bundles of belongings. Women who had brought more than Alise allowed — none of them Kin — carried their bundles on their own backs. The slender noble with the scar was bent at an awkward angle beneath hers, and glaring at anyone but Alise. Every woman who could channel was staring at the gateway. And every woman who had been there to hear Vandene tell of the dangers watched that one whipping filament as she would have a red adder.

It was Alise herself who brought Nynaeve her horse. And straightened the blueplumed hat as Nynaeve put a foot in the stirrup. Nynaeve turned the plump mare north with Lan riding Mandarb at her side and a look of utter mortification on her face. Why she did not just set Alise down, Elayne did not understand. To hear Nynaeve tell it, she had been putting women older than herself in their place since she was little more than a girl. And she was Aes Sedai, now, after all; that should carry mountains of weight with any Kinswoman.

As the column began to wend its way toward the hills, Elayne looked at Aviendha and Birgitte. Aviendha simply stood there with her arms folded beneath her breasts; she had the womanwrappedinherownhair angreal clutched in one hand. Birgitte took Lioness’s reins from Elayne, adding them to those of her own horse and Aviendha’s, then walked over to a small boulder twenty paces away and sat down.

“You two must,” Elayne began, then coughed when Aviendha’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Sending Aviendha out of danger was impossible without shaming her. Perhaps impossible altogether. “I want you to go with the others,” she told Birgitte. “And take Lioness. Aviendha and I can take turns riding her gelding. I’d like a w