The Gathering Storm - Robert Jordan

"Light!" Siuan said. "You sleep with your sword?"

"Always."

"Egwene is in danger."

"What kind of danger?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "We were meeting and she vanished suddenly. I think ... I think Elaida may have decided to execute her. Or at least pull her from her cell and ... do something to her."

Bryne didn't ask for details. He simply sheathed his sword, then proceeded to put on a pair of trousers and a shirt. Siuan still wore her now-wrinkled blue skirt and blouse—it was her habit to change after her meetings with Egwene, once Bryne was sound asleep.

She felt an anxiety she couldn't quite define. Why was she so on edge? It wasn't uncommon for something to wake a person while they were dreaming.

But most people weren't Egwene. She was a master of the World of Dreams. If something had awakened her unexpectedly, she would have dealt with it, then returned to calm Siuan's worries. But she hadn't, despite Siuan's waiting for what had seemed like an eternity.

Bryne stepped up to her, now wearing his stiff gray trousers and uniform coat. He'd buttoned up his high collar, marked with three stars on the left breast and golden epaulets on the shoulders.

A frenzied voice called from outside. "General Bryne! My Lord General!"

Bryne glanced at her, then turned toward the tent flaps. "Come!"

A youthful soldier with neat black hair pushed into the tent and gave a quick salute. He didn't apologize for coming so late—Bryne's men knew that their general trusted them to awake him if there was need. "My Lord," the man said. "Scout's report. Something is going on in the city."

" 'Something,' Tijds?" Bryne asked.

"The scouts aren't certain, my Lord," the man said with a grimace. "With the cloud cover, the night is dark, and the spyglasses aren't much help. There have been bursts of light near the Tower, like an Illuminator's show. Dark shadows in the air."

"Shadowspawn?" Bryne asked, pushing out of the tent. With the globe of light, Siuan and the soldier followed. The moon would be barely a sliver, and with those perpetual clouds, it was difficult to see anything at all. The tents of the officers were slumbering banks of black on black around them, and the only really distinguishable lights were the watchfires of the guards at the palisade entrance.

"They could be Shadowspawn, my Lord," the soldier said, trotting after Bryne. "Stories tell of creatures of shadow that fly in such a way. But the scouts aren't certain what they're seeing. The flashes of light are there for sure, though."

Bryne nodded, heading toward the watchfires. "Alert the night guard; I want them up and armored, just in case. Send runners to the city fortifications. And bring me more information!"

"Yes, my Lord." The soldier saluted and ran off.

Bryne glanced at Siuan, his face illuminated by the globe of light hovering above her hand. "Shadowspawn wouldn't dare attack the White Tower," he said. "Not without a substantial ground assault waiting, and I sincerely doubt that there are a hundred thousand Trollocs hiding in what little cover these plains offer. So what in the blazes is going on?"

"Seanchan," Siuan said, a pit of ice forming in her stomach. "Fish guts, Gareth! It has to be. Egwene predicted it."

He nodded. "Yes. They ride Shadowspawn, some of the rumors say."

"Flying beasts," Siuan said, "not Shadowspawn. Egwene said that they're called raken."

He eyed her doubtfully, but said only, "What would make the Seanchan so foolhardy as to attack without a ground assault in tandem?"

Siuan shook her head. She'd always assumed that a Seanchan strike at the White Tower would mean a large-scale invasion, and Egwene had guessed that the attack was still months off. Light! It looked like Egwene could be wrong.

Bryne turned toward his watchfires, which were blazing higher in the night, tossing light across the front of the palisade. Inside the ring of wood, officers were rousing, calling to neighboring tents. Lamps and lanterns winked on.

"Well," Gareth said, "so long as they attack Tar Valon, they are no problem of ours. We just need to—"

"I'm getting her out," Siuan said suddenly, surprising herself.

Bryne spun toward Siuan, into the light of her globe. His chin was shadowed by evening stubble. "What?"

"Egwene," Siuan said. "We need to go in for her. This will provide a perfect distraction, Gareth! We can go in and grab her before anyone is the wiser."

He eyed her.

"What?"

"You gave your word not to rescue her, Siuan." Light, but it felt nice to hear him use her name!

Focus! she scolded herself. "That doesn't matter now. She's in danger and needs help."

"She doesn't want help," Bryne said sternly. "We need to make certain our own force is safe. The Amyrlin is confident that she can care for herself."

"I thought I could care for myself too," Siuan said. "And look where it got me." She shook her head, glancing toward the distant spire of Tar Valon. She could just faintly see a burst of light along the spire, illuminating it briefly. "When Egwene speaks of the Seanchan, she always shivers. Very little upsets her—not the Forsaken, not the Dragon Reborn. Gareth, you don't know what the Seanchan do to women who can channel." She met his eyes. "We need to go for her."

"I will not be a party to this," he said stubbornly.

"Fine," Siuan spat. Fool man! "Go take care of your men. I think I know someone who will help me." She stalked away, heading toward a tent just inside the palisade.

Egwene steadied herself against the wall of the hallway as the entire Tower shook again. The very stones quivered. Flakes of mortar crumbled down from the ceiling, and a loose tile fell from the wall and shattered into a dozen shards on the floor. Nicola screamed, and clutched at Egwene.

"The Dark One!" Nicola wailed. "The Last Battle! It's come!"

"Nicola!" Egwene snapped, straightening up. "Control yourself. This isn't the Last Battle. It's the Seanchan."

"Seanchan?" Nicola said. "But I thought they were just a rumor!"

Fool girl, Egwene thought, hurrying down a side hallway. Nicola scuttled after her, carrying her lamp. Egwene's memory served her correctly, and the next hallway was at the edge of the Tower, giving her a window to the outside. She waved Nicola to the side, then risked a glance out into the darkness.

Sure enough, dark, winged forms flapped in the sky. Those were too big to be raken. To'raken, then. They swooped, weaves spinning around many of them, glowing and vibrant to Egwene's eyes. Blasts of fire sprang into existence, lighting pairs of women riding on the backs of the to'raken. Damane and sul'dam.

Portions of the Tower's wings below were alight with flames, and to her horror, Egwene saw several gaping holes directly in the sides of the Tower. To'raken clutched the side of the Tower, climbing up like bats clinging to a wall, unloading soldiers and damane into the building. As Egwene watched, a to'raken leapt free of the side of the Tower, the height allowing it to forgo its normal running start. The creature wasn't as graceful as one of the smaller raken, but its handler did a masterful job of directing it back into the air. The creature flew right by Egwene's window, the wind of its passing blowing back her hair. Egwene faintly heard screaming as the to'raken swept past. Terrified screaming.

It wasn't a full-scale attack—it was a raid! A raid to capture marath'damane Egwene pulled to the side as a blast of fire shot by the window and hit the wall a short distance away. She could hear rock crumble, and the Tower shook violently. Dust and smoke exploded down a side passage off the hallway.

Soldiers would soon follow. Soldiers and sul'dam. With those leashes. Egwene shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. The cool, seamless metal. The nausea, the degradation, the panic, despair, and— shamefully—guilt at not serving her mistress to the best of her abilities. She remembered the haunted look of an Aes Sedai as she was broken. Most of all, she remembered her own terror.

The terror of realizing that she would be like the others, eventually. Just another slave, happy to serve.

The Tower shook. Fire flashed in the distant hallways accompanied by shouts and wails of despair. She could smell smoke. Oh, Light! Could this really be? She wouldn't go back. She wouldn't let them leash her again. She had to run! She had to hide, flee, escape . . .

No!

She pushed herself upright.

No, she would not flee. She was Amyrlin.

Nicola huddled beside the wall, whimpering. "They're coming for us," the girl whispered. "Oh Light, they're coming!"

"Let them come!" Egwene roared, opening herself to the Source. Blessedly, enough time had passed to dull the forkroot slightly, and she was able to grab a faint trickle of the Power. It was tiny, perhaps the least amount of the Power she'd ever channeled. She wouldn't be able to weave a tongue of Air to shift a piece of paper. But it would be enough. It had to be. "We will fight!"

Nicola just sniffed, looking up at her. "You can barely channel, Mother!" she wailed. "I can see it. We can't fight them!"

"We can and will," Egwene said firmly. "Stand, Nicola! You're an initiate of the Tower, not a frightened milkmaid."

The girl looked up.

"I will protect you," Egwene said. "I promise."

The girl seemed to take heart, rising. Egwene glanced toward the distant hallway where the blast had hit. It was dark, the wall lamps unlit, but she thought she spotted shadows. They'd be coming, and they'd be leashing any women they found.

Egwene turned in the other direction. She could still faintly hear screams that way. They were the ones she'd heard just after she'd awakened. She didn't know where the guard at her door had gone, and didn't really care.

"Come," she said, striding forward, holding to her tiny bit of the Power like a drowning woman clinging to a rescue rope. Nicola followed, still sniffling, but she followed. Several moments later, Egwene discovered what she'd hoped to find. The hallway was filled with girls, some in their white dresses, others wearing their shifts. The novices clumped together, many of them screaming at each blast that shook the Tower. Likely, they wished that they were down below, where the novices' quarters had once been.

"The Amyrlin!" several exclaimed as Egwene entered the hallway. They were a sorry bunch, lit by candles in terrified hands. Their questions sprouted like rotwood mushrooms in the spring.

"What's happening?"

"Are we under attack?"

"Is it the Dark One?"

Egwene raised her hands, and the girls fell mercifully silent. "The Tower is under attack from the Seanchan," she said in a calm voice. "They have come to capture women who can channel; they have ways of forcing those women to serve them. It is not the Last Battle, but we are in grave danger. I don't intend to let them take a single one of you. You are mine."

The hallway grew still. Girls glanced at her, hopeful, nervous. There were a good fifty of them, perhaps more. They would have to do.

"Nicola, Jasmen, Yeteri, Inala," Egwene said, naming off some of the more powerful of the novices. "Come forward. The rest of you pay close attention. I'm going to teach you something."