Adjusting her stole, Egwene studied Mat. She expected him to look like a cornered bear, but he just looked poleaxed and sweaty. There were so many questions she wanted to ask—How did Rand know about Salidar? How could he possibly know she had worked out Traveling? What did Rand think he was doing?—but she was not going to ask them. Mat and his Band of the Red Hand had her head buzzing. Maybe Rand had handed her a gift from the sky.
“My chair?” she said quietly. She hoped he had noticed that she was not sweating, nor Elayne or Nynaeve; Nynaeve not very much anyway. Siuan had revealed the trick, nothing to do with the Power at all, just a matter of concentrating in a certain way. Nynaeve had been rather angry, small surprise, that Siuan had not taught it to them before, but Siuan just replied calmly that it was for Aes Sedai, not Accepted. So far Egwene had managed to hold her thoughts properly when there were sisters about, and a cool face instead of a sweaty did seem to help their attitudes a little. Some of them. It should do wonders for Mat. If he ever stopped staring and saw. “Mat? My chair?”
He gave a start, then rose and moved aside, wordlessly staring from her to Elayne to Nynaeve as though they were some sort of puzzle. Well, Nynaeve and Elayne were looking at him in much the same way, and they surely had better reason.
She dusted the cushions before replacing them in the chair with a fond thought for Chesa. After two days, she did not need them any longer, not really, but either she gave up bathing or accepted cushions until not a hint of a bruise showed. Chesa would remove the cushions if Egwene said to. Sweaty face or cool, Egwene was the Amyrlin Seat, before whom kings bowed and queens curtsied, even if none had yet, who would have Elaida tried and executed in short order and all put right with the White Tower, and thus with the world. Chesa would do it, and give Egwene such hurt, reproachful glances for not being allowed to take care of her that leaving the cushions there was much easier to bear.
Settling herself with her hands folded on the table, she said, “Mat—” He broke in immediately.
“This really is madness, you know,” he said quietly. Quietly, but quite firmly. “You will end with your head off, Egwene. All of you will. Your heads—cut—off.”
“Mat,” she said in a stronger tone, but he went right on.
“Listen, you can still get out of this. If they think you’re the Amyrlin, you can come out with me to . . . to inspect the Band. You make a gateway, and we’ll be gone before this bunch of goat-brained lunatics can blink.”
Nynaeve had seen saidar fail around him, but she had dealt with recalcitrant men long before she learned to channel. With a muttered growl of “Warm my bottom?” that Egwene did not think was intended to be heard, Nynaeve deftly hiked up her skirts and kicked Mat squarely in his, so hard that he staggered all the way to the wall before catching himself with a hand. Elayne burst into laughter, and suppressed it just as quickly, but she still quivered, and her eyes shone.
Egwene bit her lip to keep from laughing too. It really was comical. Mat turned his head slowly to stare at Nynaeve, all wide-eyed indignation and outrage. Then his brows lowered, and jerking his undone coat as if to straighten it, he began to stalk slowly toward her. Slowly because he was limping. Egwene covered her mouth. It really would not do to laugh.
Nynaeve drew herself up sternly, and then perhaps a few things occurred to her. She might be angry enough to channel, but saidar was apparently useless with him. Mat was tall for a Two Rivers man, considerably taller than she, considerably stronger, and there was a decidedly dangerous glint in his eye. She glanced at Egwene, and smoothed her dress, trying to maintain her stern face. Mat stalked nearer, face like thunder. Another hasty glance, worry beginning to show, was followed by a small step back.
“Mat,” Egwene said in a level tone. He did not stop. “Mat, stop cutting the fool. You are in quite a predicament, but I should be able to get you out of it, if you listen to reason.”
Finally he halted. With a glare and a warning shake of his finger at Nynaeve, he turned his back on her and planted his fists on the writing table. “I am in a predicament? Egwene, you’ve jumped out of a tree toward a bear pit, and you think everything is fine because you haven’t landed yet!”
She smiled at him calmly. “Mat, not many here in Salidar think very well of Dragonsworn. Lord Bryne certainly doesn’t, nor his soldiers. We have heard some very disturbing stories. And some sickening ones.”
“Dragonsworn!” he yelped. “What do they have to do with me? I’m no bloody Dragonsworn!”
“Of course you are, Mat.” She made it sound the most obvious thing in the world. Which it was, if you only thought. “You go where Rand sends you. What else are you but Dragonsworn? But if you listen to me, I can stop them from putting your head on a pike. Actually, I don’t think Lord Bryne would use a pike—he always complains he doesn’t have enough—but I am sure he would figure out something.”
Mat looked at the other two women, and Egwene compressed her lips for an instant. She had made herself plain, but he appeared to be hunting for a clue to what she was talking about. Elayne gave him back a tight smile and a decisively confirming nod. She might not see where Egwene was going, yet she knew she was not talking for the sound of her voice. Nynaeve, still struggling to keep a severe face and tugging at her braid, only glared at him, but maybe that was even better. Though she was beginning to sweat; Nynaeve lost concentration when she grew angry.
“Now, listen, Egwene,” Mat said. Then again, maybe neither response was really enough. He managed to combine a reasonable tone with indulgence in the most offensive way possible. “If you want to call yourself Amyrlin, you can call yourself Amyrlin. Rand would welcome you with open arms in Caemlyn even if you don’t bring all these Aes Sedai to him, but I know he will be overjoyed if you do. Whatever your problems are with Elaida, he can work them out. She knows he’s the Dragon Reborn. Light, you remember her letter. Why, you will have your White Tower all mended before you can say Jak o’ the Wisps. No battles. No bloodshed. You know you don’t want bloodshed, Egwene.”
That she did not. Once the first blood was shed between Salidar and Tar Valon, it would be difficult to make the Tower whole again. Once the first Aes Sedai blood was shed, it might be impossible. Still, Elaida had to be brought down, and Egwene would do what she had to do. She just did not like it. And she did not like Mat telling her what she knew, liked it the less so for being right. Definitely the less so in that tone. It was a real effort to keep her hands still on the table. She wanted to stand and box his ears.
“However I deal with Rand,” she said coolly, “you can be sure it will not be by leading Aes Sedai to swear fealty to him or any other man.” Cool, and not at all arguing; a calm statement of simple facts. “How I deal with Elaida is my concern, and none of yours. If you have any sense at all, Mat, you will keep your mouth shut as long as you are in Salidar and walk small. You start telling other Aes Sedai what Rand is going to do just as soon they kneel to him, and you might not like the answers you get. Talk about carrying me off, or Nynaeve or Elayne, and you will be very lucky not to get a sword through you.”
He jerked upright with a glare. “I’ll talk to you again when you’re ready to listen to reason, Egwene. Is Thom Merrilin around?” She gave a curt nod. What did he want with Thom? Probably to douse himself in wine. Well, good luck to him finding a tavern here. “When you’re ready to listen,” he repeated grimly, and stalked—limped—to the door.
“Mat,” Elayne said, “I would not try to leave were I you. Getting into Salidar is much easier than getting out.”
He grinned at her insolently, and the way he eyed her up and down, he was lucky Elayne did not slap him hard enough to loosen all his teeth. “You, my fine Lady, I am taking back to Caemlyn if I have to tie you up in a package to hand to Rand, burn me if I don’t. And I will bloody well leave when I choose.” His bow was mocking, to Elayne and to Egwene. Nynaeve got only a glower and another shake of his finger.
“How can Rand have such a low, insufferable lout for a friend?” Elayne asked no one in particular before the door was well closed behind him.
“His language has certainly slipped downhill,” Nynaeve grumbled darkly, tossing her head so her braid swung over her shoulder. Egwene thought she might be afraid she would pull it out by the roots if she did not put it out of reach.
“I should have let him do as he wanted, Nynaeve. You have to remember you’re Aes Sedai now. You can’t go around kicking people, or boxing their ears, or thumping them with sticks.” Nynaeve stared at her, mouth working, face growing redder and redder. Elayne began assiduously studying the carpet.
With a sigh, Egwene folded the striped stole and laid it on the table to one side. That was her way of making sure Elayne and Nynaeve remembered they were alone; sometimes the stole made them start talking to the Amyrlin Seat instead of Egwene al’Vere. As usual, it worked. Nynaeve took a very deep breath.
Before she could speak, though, Elayne said, “Do you mean to join him and this Band of the Red Hand to Gareth Bryne?”
Egwene shook her head. The Warders said there were six or seven thousand in Mat’s Band now, more than she remembered from Cairhien, and a considerable number, if not nearly so many as those two captured men claimed, but Bryne’s soldiers truly would not take kindly to Dragonsworn. Besides, she had her own scheme, which she explained while they drew the other chairs to the table. It was very like sitting in a kitchen talking. She moved the stole farther over.
“That is brilliant.” Elayne’s grin said she meant it. But then, Elayne always said what she meant. “I didn’t think the other would work either, but this really is brilliant.”
Nynaeve sniffed irritably. “What makes you think Mat will go along? He’ll stick a pole through the spokes just for the fun of it.”
“I think he made a promise,” Egwene said simply, and Nynaeve nodded. Slowly, reluctantly, but she nodded. Elayne looked lost, of course; she did not know him. “Elayne, Mat does exactly as he pleases; he always has.”
“No matter how many turnips he had to peel for it,” Nynaeve muttered, “or how often he was switched.”
“Yes, that is Mat,” Egwene sighed. He had been the most irresponsible boy in Emond’s Field, maybe in the Two Rivers. “But if he gives his word, he keeps it. And I think he promised Rand to see you back in Caemlyn, Elayne. You notice he retreated to asking me”—in a way he had—“but you he never changed a hair on. I think he’ll try to stay as close to you as your belt pouch. But we won’t let him even see you unless he does as we want.” She paused. “Elayne, if you want to go with him, you can. To Rand, I mean. As soon as we squeeze all of the good out of Mat and his Band.”
Elayne hardly hesitated before shaking her head, and she shook it firmly. “No, Ebou Dar is too important.” That had been one victory, surprisingly won with a mere suggestion. Elayne and Nynaeve were to join Merilille at Tylin’s court. “At least if he stays close, I’ll have a few days to try for a look at the ter’angreal he is carrying. It has to be that, Egwene. Nothing else could explain it.”
Egwene could only agree. She had simply meant to wrap him up in Air where he stood, just a gentle reminder of who he was trying to manhandle, but the flows touched him, and melted. That was the only way to explain it. They ceased to exist where they touched him. She still felt the shock of that moment, remembering, and she realized she was not the only one suddenly adjusting skirts that needed no adjusting.
“We could have some Warders turn out his pockets.” Nynaeve sounded more than satisfied with the image. “We’ll see how Master Mat Cauthon likes that.”
“If we take things away from him,” Egwene said patiently, “don’t you think he might balk when we start telling him what to do?” Mat had never taken orders very well, and his usual response to Aes Sedai and the One Power was to take the first chance to slip away. Maybe his promise to Rand would stop that—there had to be one; nothing else explained his behavior—but she was not going to risk it. Nynaeve nodded, rather grudgingly.
“Maybe . . . ” Tapping her fingers on the table, Elayne stared at nothing thoughtfully for a moment. “Maybe we could take him to Ebou Dar. That way, I might have a better chance at the ter’angreal. Though if it stops saidar, I can’t see how I’ll ever manage to study it.”
“Take that young ruffian along!” Nynaeve sat up straight. “You can’t mean it, Elayne. He would make every day a misery; he’s very good at that. He’ll never do what he’s told. Besides, he will never stand still for it. He’s so wrapped up in taking you to Caemlyn, you could not budge him from it with a prybar and a team of horses.”
“But if he means to keep an eye on me until I reach Caemlyn,” Elayne told her, “he’ll have no choice but to go. It is perfect.”
“It might not be a bad idea,” Egwene put in while Nynaeve was searching for another argument. Sending them after the bowl still seemed right, but the more she thought of where they would have to search, the more she worried. “A few soldiers might be a very good idea, unless you’ve picked out Warders without letting me know. Thom and Juilin are all very well, and Birgitte, but it is a rough place you’re going.”
“A few soldiers might be well enough,” Elayne said, coloring slightly. “So long as they know to follow orders.”
Nynaeve did not quite glance at Elayne, but there was a distinct pause before she shook her head irascibly. “We’re hardly going to be fighting duels, Egwene, however touchy these Ebou Dari are. Thom and Juilin will do quite well enough. Myself, I think all these stories we’ve been hearing are just meant to make us decide to give it over.” Everybody had heard tales of Ebou Dar since word had spread that they were going; Chesa had heard several, each more pitiful and horrific than the last, strangers killed for a wrong glance before they could blink, women widowed and children orphaned over a word, women fighting in the streets with knives. “No, if we could survive Tanchico with just Thom and Juilin, and Liandrin and some of her Black sisters around in the bargain, we will do very well in Ebou Dar without Mat Cauthon or any soldiers either. Mat commanding soldiers! He never even remembered to milk his father’s cows unless he was put on the stool and handed the bucket.”
Egwene gave a faint sigh. Any mention of Birgitte did that; they started as if goosed, then either stammered around her or else went on as if she had not been mentioned at all. One look had convinced Egwene that the woman following Elayne and Nynaeve about—especially Elayne, for some reason—was the woman she had seen in Tel’aran’rhiod. Birgitte of the legends, the archer who never missed, one of the dead heroes awaiting the call of the Horn of Valere. A dead hero, not a live woman walking the streets of Salidar, but the same woman nonetheless. Elayne still had provided no explanation, only a careful, embarrassed mumble about not being able to talk of what they had agreed not to talk of. Birgitte herself, the hero of legends, turned the other way or went down alleys if she saw Egwene coming. Ordering the woman to her study and demanding an explanation was out of the question; she had promised, after all, no matter how much a fool the situation made her feel. Anyway, there hardly seemed any harm. She just wished she knew the why of it. And the how.
Putting Birgitte out of her mind for the moment, she leaned across the table toward Nynaeve. “Perhaps we can’t make Mat take orders exactly, but wouldn’t it be fine to watch him smolder over having to be your bodyguard?”
“It would certainly be worthwhile,” Elayne said thoughtfully, “if Rand really has made him a general. Mother often said the best men were reluctant to take orders, and always worth teaching to. I can’t see Mat as one of the best—Lini says ‘Fools only listen to themselves’—but if we can teach him enough that he doesn’t make a complete fool of himself where there is nobody to rescue him, we will be doing Rand a large favor. Besides, I need time if I am to study that ter’angreal.”
Egwene tried not to smile; Elayne always caught on so quickly. Then again, she probably was going to try teaching Mat to sit up straight. That would be something to see. She liked Elayne, and admired her strength, but she would bet on Mat in that contest. By a whisker.
Nynaeve gave ground stubbornly. Mat was wrongheaded; he would say “down” if they said “up” just to spite them. He could make trouble nailed up inside a barrel. They constantly would have to be dragging him out of taverns and gambling dens. Toward the end she was reduced to claiming that Mat would probably pinch Elayne the first time her back was turned, and Egwene knew they were overcoming her objections. Mat certainly gave a lot of time to chasing after women, which Egwene could hardly approve, but Nynaeve surely knew as well as she that for all of looking when and how he should not, he seemed to have an uncanny knack for picking women who wanted to be chased, even the most unlikely. Unfortunately, just when she was sure that Nynaeve was about to give in, a knock at the door announced Sheriam.
Sheriam did not wait on permission to enter; she never did. Cool-eyed in her blue stole, she paused to gaze at Nynaeve and Elayne. Second to the Amyrlin or not, the Keeper had no real authority over Aes Sedai except what the Amyrlin chose to give her, and most assuredly none to dismiss anyone from the Amyrlin’s presence, yet that look was clearly a dismissal.
Elayne rose smoothly, making a deep formal curtsy to Egwene. “If you will excuse me, Mother, I should go find Aviendha.”
Nynaeve, on the other hand, locked eyes with Sheriam until Egwene cleared her throat and slipped the striped stole back into place on her shoulders.
Flushing, Nynaeve bobbed to her feet. “I should go, too. Janya said she would talk to me about lost Talents.”
The recovery of those Talents was not proving as easy as Egwene had hoped. The sisters were willing enough to talk; the problem was in making Moghedien understand what was meant by a vague description or sometimes only a name, then hoping she really knew something. All very well to know, for example, that Aligning the Matrix made metals stronger, but the woman knew less of metals than of Healing, and what under the Light was Spinning Earthfire, or for that matter, Milking Tears?
Moghedien seemed eager to help, desperate to, especially since Siuan taught the trick of ignoring heat. Apparently she had lied to Nynaeve and Elayne about that. Convinced Egwene would take that for her “one lie,” the woman had groveled on her knees, weeping and begging, teeth chattering, kissing the hems of their skirts. Eager to help or not, it had raised her fear to new heights. The constant sickening rain of sniveling terror was just too much. Despite her intentions, the a’dam bracelet lay in Egwene’s pouch now. She would have given it to Nynaeve now—and glad to be rid of it—but handing the thing back and forth in front of others would occasion comment sooner or later.
Instead, she said, “Nynaeve, it might be best for you to avoid Mat until his temper cools.” She was not sure that Mat would really carry out his threat, but if anyone could goad him to it, Nynaeve could, and there would be no convincing her after that. “Or at least make sure you only talk to him with a great many people around. Perhaps a few Warders.”
Nynaeve opened her mouth; then after a moment closed it again; her cheeks paled a little and she swallowed. “Yes. Yes, I think that might be best, Mother.”
Sheriam watched the door close with a small frown that she still wore when she turned to Egwene. “There were hard words, Mother?”
“Only what you expect when old friends meet after a long time. Nynaeve remembers Mat as a scamp, but he isn’t ten anymore, and he resents it.” Bound by the Oath against lying, Aes Sedai had carried the half-truth, the quarter-truth and the implication to arts. Useful arts, in Egwene’s opinion. Especially with Aes Sedai. The Three Oaths did no one any favors, least of all Aes Sedai.
“It’s hard sometimes to remember that people change.” Taking a chair without being asked, Sheriam arranged her blue silk skirts carefully. “I assume whoever commands the Dragonsworn sent young Mat with a message from Rand al’Thor? I hope you said nothing he might take as a promise, Mother. An army of Dragonsworn not ten miles distant faces us with a delicate situation. It will not help if their commander believes we are going back on pledges.”
Egwene studied the other woman a moment. Nothing fazed Sheriam. Not that she let anyone see, at least. Sheriam knew quite a lot about Mat; so did several other sisters in Salidar. Could that be used to press him in the right direction, or would it make him bolt? Mat for later, she thought firmly. Sheriam now. “Would you ask someone to bring tea, Sheriam? I feel a trifle thirsty.”
Sheriam’s face altered only slightly, just a tightening around those tilted eyes so small that it barely disturbed her apparent serenity. Egwene could almost see the question wanting to pop out, though. What had she said to Mat that she did not want to talk about? What promises had she made that Sheriam was going to have to rescue her from without losing ground to Romanda or Lelaine?
All Sheriam did was say a few words to someone outside, and when she regained her seat, Egwene gave her no opportunity to open her mouth. Instead, she hit her right between the eyes. So to speak. “It seems Mat is the commander, Sheriam, and in a way, the army is the message. Apparently, Rand would like us all to come to him in Caemlyn. There was some mention of oaths of fealty.”
Sheriam’s head came up, eyes widening. Only partly in outrage at such a suggestion, though. There was a definite tinge of . . . well, in anyone but an Aes Sedai, Egwene would have called it fear. Very understandable, if so. If she had promised that—and she was from the same village; one of her uses as Amyrlin was that she had grown up with Rand—it would be a bottomless mire to get out of. Word would spread no matter what Sheriam did; some of the Hall might well blame it on her, or use it as a pretext, anyway. Romanda and Lelaine were not the only Sitters to have cautioned Egwene about following Sheriam’s advice without consulting the Hall. In truth, Delana was the only one who really seemed to support Sheriam fully, but she counseled listening to Romanda and Lelaine as well, as if it were really possible to go in three directions at once. And even could the Hall be managed, once news of the promise reached Rand, and of its withdrawal, he would be ten times harder to handle. A hundred times.
Egwene only waited until Sheriam’s lips parted, then spoke first again. “Of course, I told him it was ridiculous.”
“Of course.” Sheriam’s voice was not quite as steady as it had been. Very good.
“But you are quite right. The situation is delicate. It’s such a pity. Your advice on how to deal with Romanda and Lelaine was good, but I don’t think increasing preparations to move will be enough now.”
Romanda had cornered her and grimly lectured her on haste leading to ruin; Gareth Bryne’s army must be made larger, large enough for news of its size to intimidate Elaida. And by the way, Romanda could not emphasize strongly enough once again that the embassies to rulers must be recalled; none but Aes Sedai should be allowed to learn any more of troubles in the Tower than could be avoided. Lelaine cared about neither Lord Bryne’s army nor rulers—both were irrelevant—though she did counsel caution and waiting. The proper approaches to Aes Sedai still in the Tower would surely yield dividends; Elaida could be removed from the Amyrlin Seat and Egwene installed in such a fashion that none but a very few sisters would ever be certain what had actually happened. In time, the fact that the White Tower had ever been broken would be taken for no more than a country tale. It might even have worked, if they had had enough time. If waiting did not give Elaida just as much chance to work on sisters here.
The other difference with Lelaine was she had said everything with a smile that would have done very well for a pet novice or Accepted she was very proud of. Egwene’s rediscovery of Traveling caused a lot of Aes Sedai to smile, though only a handful were strong enough to make a gateway larger than they could put an arm through and most not even that. Romanda wanted to use gateways to remove the Oath Rod and certain other items—Egwene was not told exactly what—from the Tower so they could make true Aes Sedai in Salidar while depriving Elaida of the ability; surely Egwene wanted to be truly Aes Sedai. Lelaine agreed about that last, but not about using gateways in the Tower; there was too much chance they might be detected, and if those in the Tower learned to Travel, too much advantage would be lost. Those points had carried considerable weight with the Hall, which did not please Romanda at all.
Sheriam had smiled too, over agreeing with Lelaine about something, but she was not smiling now. “Mother, I am not sure I understand,” she said, much too tolerantly. “Preparations are certainly enough to show the Hall you will not be bullied. Moving before everything is in place could be disastrous.”
Egwene managed to put on a disingenuous expression. “I understand, Sheriam. I don’t know what I would do without your advice.” How she looked forward to the day she could stop this. Sheriam would make a very good Keeper—she might even have made a good Amyrlin—but Egwene was going to enjoy the day she could teach the woman that she was Keeper, not Amyrlin. Sheriam and the Hall. “It’s just that now Mat has this army of Dragonsworn on our doorstep. What will Lord Bryne do? Or some of his soldiers, on their own? Everybody talks about how he wanted to send men to hunt these Dragonsworn who are supposed to be burning villages. I know he has been told to keep a tight rein on them, but . . . ”
“Lord Gareth will do exactly as we—as you—command, and no more.”
“Perhaps.” He was not so happy with that tight rein as Sheriam believed. Siuan spent a great deal of time with Gareth Bryne for all her grumbling about the man, and he told her things. Egwene could not afford to give away Siuan’s allegiance, though. “I hope the same can be said for every one of his soldiers. We cannot move west into Amadicia, but I thought perhaps we could go downriver, to Ebou Dar. Maybe by gateway. Surely Aes Sedai are welcome there. Lord Bryne could camp outside the city. Moving would emphasize that we aren’t going to accept Rand’s . . . offer, if it can be called that. And if we are going to make more preparations, I’m sure we would find everything much easier to accomplish in a large city, with roads and ships in and out of the harbor.”
Sheriam’s control slipped again, to the extent of a breathiness in her voice. “Ebou Dar is not so welcoming as that, Mother. A few sisters are quite different from a few hundred, with an army at their backs. Mother, even a hint of that might make Tylin think we meant to seize the city. Tylin, and a good many Altaran nobles who would like nothing better than an excuse to topple her and take the Throne of the Winds for themselves. A tangle of that kind would ruin us with every ruler. No, Mother, it is quite out of the question.”
“But do we dare remain here now? Mat won’t do anything, but all it needs is a handful of Lord Bryne’s soldiers deciding to take matters into their own hands.” Egwene frowned at her skirts, smoothed them as if thinking worriedly, then sighed. “The longer we sit and do nothing with an army of Dragonsworn staring at us, the worse it will be. I won’t be surprised to hear rumors they mean to attack us, and people saying we should do for them first.” If this did not work, there would be rumors. Nynaeve and Elayne and Siuan and Leane would see to that. It would be dangerous, but she could find some way to make Mat retreat before sparks flew if it came to that. “Why, the way rumors spread, I wouldn’t be surprised if half of Altara thinks we are Dragonsworn in under a month.” That was one rumor she would have stopped if she knew how. The Hall no longer brought nobles to see Logain since he was Healed, but Bryne’s recruiters still went out, and parties of Aes Sedai hunting new novices, and men to make the long trek to the nearest villages with their carts and wagons to buy food. A hundred paths for that rumor to take, and it only needed one. “Sheriam, I can’t help feeling we are in a box, and if we don’t get out of it, nothing good will come. Nothing at all good.”
“The answer is to send the Dragonsworn away,” Sheriam said, not so patiently as before. “I regret letting Mat out of our hands again, but I fear there’s no answer for it. You’ve told him the offer is refused; tell him to go.”
“I wish it were that simple. I don’t think he will for asking, Sheriam. He implied he was to wait right where he is until something happens. He could be expecting orders from Rand, or even Rand himself. There was a rumor in Cairhien that he’s taken to sometimes Traveling with some of those men he’s gathered. The ones he’s teaching to channel? I do not know what we will do if that happens.”
Sheriam stared at her, breathing quite heavily for someone with such calm features.
A scratching at the door was followed by Tabitha with a beaten silver tray. Not catching the mood, she fussed about setting the green porcelain teapot and cups just so, the silver honeypot and small pitcher of cream and lace-edged linen napkins, until Sheriam finally snapped at her so fiercely to be about her work that Tabitha squeaked and dropped a wide-eyed curtsy that nearly put her head on the floor and ran.
For a moment Sheriam busied herself smoothing her skirts while she regained her composure. “Perhaps,” she said finally, reluctantly, “it might be necessary for us to leave Salidar after all. Sooner than I could wish.”
“But the only way left is north.” Egwene widened her eyes. Light, but she hated this! “It will seem we’re moving toward Tar Valon.”
“I know that,” Sheriam almost snapped. Drawing breath, she moderated her tone. “Forgive me, Mother. I feel a little . . . I do not like being forced into things, and I fear Rand al’Thor has forced our hand before we are ready.”
“I will speak quite severely when I see him,” Egwene said. “I can hardly think what I would do without your advice.” Perhaps she could find a way to send Sheriam to study with the Wise Ones as an apprentice. The thought of Sheriam after, say, half a year with Sorilea made her smile so that Sheriam actually smiled back. “Honey or bitter?” Egwene said, lifting the teapot.