Amadaine 2, 998 NE (June 9th)
An hour after the ceremony to greet the Amyrlin Seat was finished, Moiraine was waiting with Rand in her rooms in the women's apartments adjusting the shawl—embroidered with curling ivy and grapevines—on her shoulders and studied the effect in the tall frame mirror standing in a corner. Her large, dark eyes could appear as sharp as a hawk's when she was angry. They seemed to pierce the silvered glass, now. It was only happenstance that she had had the shawl in her saddlebags when she came to Fal Dara.
With the blazing white Flame of Tar Valon centered on the wearer's back and long fringe colored to show her Ajah—Moiraine's was as blue as a morning sky—the shawls were seldom worn outside Tar Valon, and even there usually only inside the White Tower. Little in Tar Valon besides a meeting of the Hall of the Tower called for the formality of the shawls, and beyond the Shining Walls a sight of the Flame would send too many people running, to hide or perhaps to fetch the Children of the Light.
A Whitecloak's arrow was as fatal to an Aes Sedai as to anyone else, and the Children were too wily to let an Aes Sedai see the bowman before the arrow struck, while she still might do something about it. Moiraine had certainly never expected to wear the shawl in Fal Dara. But for an audience with the Amyrlin, there were proprieties to observe.
She was slender and not at all tall, much to her dismay, and smooth-cheeked Aes Sedai agelessness often made her appear younger than she was, but Moiraine had a commanding grace and calm presence that could dominate any gathering. A manner ingrained growing up in the Royal Palace of Cairhien had been heightened, not submerged, by still more years as an Aes Sedai. She knew she might need every bit of it today, with what she had to tell Siuan. Yet much of the calm was on the surface, today. There must be trouble, or she would not have come herself, she thought for at least the tenth time. But beyond that lay a thousand questions more. What trouble, and who did she choose to accompany her? Why here? Why now? I cannot allow it to go wrong now, after everything.
The Great Serpent ring on her right hand caught the light dully as she touched the delicate golden chain that lay on her forehead laced in the crown of her braid of dark hair, which hung down her back in the style of a married woman of the Two Rivers. A small, clear blue stone dangled at the end of the chain, her kesiera. Many in the White Tower knew of the tricks she could do using that stone as a focus. It was only a polished bit of blue crystal, just something a young girl had used in her first learning, with no one to guide her. That girl had remembered tales of angreal and even more powerful sa'angreal—those fabled remnants of the Age of Legends that allowed Aes Sedai to channel more of the One Power than any could safely handle unaided—remembered and thought some such focus was required to channel at all. Her sisters in the White Tower knew a few of her tricks, and suspected others, including some that did not exist, some that had shocked her when she learned of them. The things she did with the stone were simple and small, if occasionally useful; the kind a child would imagine. But if the wrong women had accompanied the Amyrlin, the crystal might put them off balance, because of the tales.
Rand was antsy, nervousness flaring and falling, occasionally glancing at her and shaking his head. "It will be alright, Rand. You have all the tools we need to escape, quickly and secretly. You do not need to worry so much," she tried to calm him once again, with little luck. For much of the time she had spent getting ready, Rand had gotten progressively more anxious as the minutes ticked by. He may be different now, but he was still stubborn. No logic, no appeals, no distractions seemed to work. And it would have been the same, she was sure, even without the mess about the secret weave. She sighed irritably to herself, before she let the cool calm of an Aes Sedai fill her once more. She had been prideful, foolish, riding high on Rand's acceptance that she bet too far. That he still talked with her, listened to her at all, was simply a sign of his good nature, and that things had not broken irrevocably.
A rapid, insistent knocking came at the chamber door. No Shienaran would knock that way, not at anyone's door, but least of all hers. She remained looking into the mirror until her eyes stared back serenely, all thought hidden in their dark depths. Rand had broken out of his spiral, snapping into the icy cold focus of ko'di. He stood straighter, held himself like a warrior. She took a moment to admire his looks—a scarlet and gold jacket with black dragons on the sleeves and well-fit black trousers, his tangle of red hair and his stormy eyes—and she checked the soft leather pouch hanging at her belt. Whatever troubles brought her out of Tar Valon, she will forget them when I lay this trouble before her, let alone when she learns of Rand firsthand. A second thumping, even more vigorous than the first, sounded before she crossed the room and opened the door with a calm smile for the two women who had come for her, Rand approaching casually behind her, his stride dangerous and eyes an icy gray.
She recognized them both. Dark-haired Anaiya in her blue-fringed shawl, and fair-haired Liandrin in her red. Blast Siuan for sending a Red near Rand. Liandrin, not only young-seeming but young and pretty, with a doll's face and a small, petulant mouth, had her hand raised to pound again. Her dark brows and darker eyes were a sharp contrast to the multitude of pale honey braids brushing her shoulders, but the combination was not uncommon in Tarabon. Both women were taller than Moiraine, though Liandrin by less than a hand.
Anaiya's blunt face broke into a smile as soon as Moiraine opened the door. That smile gave her the only beauty she would have, but it was enough; almost everyone felt comforted, safe and special, when Anaiya smiled at them. It faltered a moment at seeing Rand, but resumed its beaming. "The Light shine on you Moiraine. It's good to see you again. Are you well? It has been so long."
"My heart is lighter for your presence, Anaiya." That was certainly true; it was good to know she had at least one friend among the Aes Sedai who had come to Fal Dara. "The Light illumine you." Rand finally stepped to her right side, seeming to give the Aes Sedai only a brief glance, but Moiraine could feel the turmoil that briefly surged at him eyeing the red shawl. Just about the worst choice they could have sent.
Liandrin's mouth tightened, and she gave her shawl a twitch. "The Amyrlin Seat, she requires your presence, sister. Your presence alone." Her voice was petulant, too, and cold-edged. Not for Moiraine's sake, or not solely; Liandrin always sounded dissatisfied with something. Frowning, she tried to look over Moiraine's shoulder into the room. "This chamber, it is warded. We cannot enter. Why do you ward against your sisters?"
"My new Warder Rand will come with me. The Amyrlin Seat will wish to see him. And it is against all," Moiraine replied smoothly. "Many of the serving women are curious about Aes Sedai, and I do not want them pawing through my rooms when I am not here. There was no need to make a distinction until now." She pulled the door shut behind her, leaving all four of them in the corridor. "Shall we go? We must not keep the Amyrlin waiting."
Anaiya's voice was sad. "I had not heard the al'Lan Mandoragon had passed. I am sorry, Moiraine, losing a Warder is no simple thing to handle, especially alone without your sisters."
Moiraine couldn't help her laugh, putting a soft hand on the woman's shoulders. "Lan is not dead, Anaiya. There is no need to mourn, he is still my Warder. I recently took Rand as another. He… caught my eye." She snaked an arm around Rands, smiling coyly at her sister. It startled Anaiya, surprise flashing across her face before the smile returned.
"You were always trouble, Moiraine. Tell me everything! He cuts a handsome figure, looks half a Gaidin already, and his clothing is striking. Lan must be training him, yes? What made you choose him?"
Moiraine started down the hallway with Anaiya chatting at her side. Liandrin stood for a moment staring at Rand then at the door as if wondering what Moiraine was hiding, but hurried to join the others. She tried to bracket Moiraine, but Rand would not let her, the good young man that he was. He ignored her very existence, forcing her to strut in front as a guard, bitterly scowling. It was incalculably rude, but he was a Warder and Liandrin could not complain, as much as she'd like. Anaiya merely walked, keeping her company. Their slippered footsteps fell softly on thick-woven carpets with simple patterns.
Liveried women curtsied deeply as they passed, many more deeply than they would have for the Lord of Fal Dara himself. Aes Sedai, three together, and the Amyrlin Seat herself in the keep; it was more honor than any woman of the keep had ever expected in her lifetime. A few women of noble Houses were out in the halls, and they curtsied, too, which they most certainly would not have done for Lord Agelmar. Moiraine and Anaiya smiled and bowed their heads to acknowledge each reverence, from servant or noble equally. Liandrin ignored them all.
There were only women here, of course. No men besides Rand stood in the hallways. No Shienaran male above the age of ten would enter the women's rooms without permission or invitation, although a few small boys ran and played in the halls here. They knelt on one knee, awkwardly, when their sisters dropped deep curtsies. Now and then, Anaiya smiled and ruffled a small head as she passed.
"This time, Moiraine," Anaiya said, "you have been gone from Tar Valon too long. Much too long. Tar Valon misses you. Your sisters miss you. And we need you in the White Tower. Once they hear of your new Warder, you may not have a choice," she warned.
"Some of us must work in the world," Moiraine said gently, though she thought she may very well never return to the Tower, when all was revealed. "I will leave the Hall of the Tower to you, Anaiya. Yet in Tar Valon, you hear more of what occurs in the world than I. Too often I outrun what happens where I was yesterday. What news have you?"
"Three more false Dragons." Liandrin bit the words off. "In Saldaea, Murandy, and Tear false Dragons ravage the land. The while, you Blues smile and talk of nothing, and try to hold on to the past." Anaiya raised an eyebrow, and Liandrin snapped her mouth shut with a sharp sniff.
"Three," Moiraine mused softly. For an instant, her eyes gleamed, but she masked it quickly. "Three in the last two years, and now three more at once." The Pattern must throw them up while Rand lies unannounced. Soon. But can the world wait that long?
"As the others were, these will be dealt with also. This male vermin and any ragtag rabble who follow their banners." Rand quaked in the bond, fear and anger, before settling back to cold calm.
Moiraine was almost amused by the certainty in Liandrin's voice. Almost. She was all too aware of the realities, too aware of the possibilities. Not here, not now. "Have a few months been enough for you to forget, sister? The last false Dragon all but tore Ghealdan apart before his army, ragtag rabble or not, was defeated. Yes, Logain is in Tar Valon by now, gentled and safe, I suppose, but some of our sisters died to overpower him. Even one sister dead is more loss than we can bear, but Ghealdan's losses were much worse. The two before Logain could not channel, yet even so the people of Kandor and Arad Doman remember them well. Villages burned and men dead in battle. How easily can the world deal with three at one time? How many will flock to their banners? There has never been a shortage of followers for any man claiming to be the Dragon Reborn. How great will the wars be this time?"
"It isn't so grim as that," Anaiya said. "As far as we know, only the one in Saldaea can channel. He has not had time to attract many followers, and sisters should already be there to deal with him. The Tairens are harrying their false Dragon and his followers through Haddon Mirk, while the fellow in Murandy is already in chains." She gave a short, wondering laugh. "To think the Murandians, of all people, would deal with theirs so quickly. Ask, and they do not even call themselves Murandians, but Lugarders, or Inishlinni, or this or that lord's or lady's man. Yet for fear one of their neighbors would take the excuse to invade, the Murandians leaped on their false Dragon almost as soon as he opened his mouth to proclaim himself."
"Still," Moiraine said, "three at the same time cannot be ignored. Has any sister been able to do a Foretelling?" It was a slight chance—few Aes Sedai had manifested any part of that Talent, even the smallest part, in centuries—so she was not surprised when Anaiya shook her head. Not surprised, but a little relieved.
They reached a juncture of hallways at the same time as the Lady Amalisa. She dropped a full curtsy, bowing deep and spreading her pale green skirts wide. "Honor to Tar Valon," she murmured. "Honor to Aes Sedai."
The sister of the Lord of Fal Dara required more than a nod of the head. Moiraine took Amalisa's hands and drew her to her feet. "You honor us, Amalisa. Rise, sister."
Amalisa straightened gracefully, with a flush on her face. She had never as much as been to Tar Valon, and to be called sister by an Aes Sedai was heady even for someone of her rank. Short and of middle years, she had a dark, mature beauty, and the color in her cheeks set it off. "You honor me too greatly, Moiraine Sedai."
Moiraine smiled. "How long have we known each other, Amalisa? Must I now call you my Lady Amalisa, as if we had never sat over tea together?"
"Of course not." Amalisa smiled back. The strength evident in her brother's face was in hers, too, and no less for the softer line of cheek and jaw. There were those who said that as hard and renowned a fighter as Agelmar was, he was no better than an even match for his sister. "But with the Amyrlin Seat here…. When King Easar visits Fal Dara, in private I call him Magami, Little Uncle, as I did when I was a child and he gave me rides on his shoulder, but in public it must be different."
Anaiya tsked. "Sometimes formality is necessary, but men often make more of it than they must. Please, call me Anaiya, and I will call you Amalisa, if I may."
"I am called Liandrin, Lady Amalisa and I would welcome the chance to learn more of your land." She wore a smile, open and almost girlish, and her voice was friendly.
Moiraine schooled her face to stillness as Amalisa extended an invitation to join her and her ladies in her private garden, and Liandrin accepted warmly. Liandrin made few friends, and none outside the Red Ajah. Certainly never outside the Aes Sedai. She would sooner make friends with a man, or a Trolloc. Moiraine was not sure Liandrin saw much difference between men and Trollocs. She was not sure any of the Red Ajah did.
Anaiya explained that just now they must attend the Amyrlin Seat. "Of course," Amalisa said. "The Light illumine her, and the Creator shelter her. But later, then." She stood straight and bowed her head as they left her.
Moiraine studied Liandrin as they walked, never looking at her directly. The honey-haired Aes Sedai was staring straight ahead, rosebud lips pursed thoughtfully. She appeared to have forgotten Moiraine and Anaiya both. What is she up to?
Anaiya seemed not to have noticed anything out of the ordinary, but then she always managed to accept people both as they were and as they wanted to be. It constantly amazed Moiraine that Anaiya dealt as well as she did in the White Tower, but those who were devious always seemed to take her openness and honesty, her acceptance of everyone, as cunning devices. They were always caught completely off balance when she turned out to mean what she said and say what she meant. Too, she had a way of seeing to the heart of things. And of accepting what she saw. Now she blithely resumed speaking of the news.
"The word from Andor is both good and bad. The street riots in Caemlyn died down with the coming of spring, but there is still talk, too much talk, blaming the Queen, and Tar Valon as well, for the long winter. Morgase holds her throne less securely than she did last year, but she holds it still, and will so long as Gareth Bryne is Captain-General of the Queen's Guards. And the Lady Elayne, the Daughter-Heir, and her brother, the Lord Gawyn, have come safely to Tar Valon for their training. There was some fear in the White Tower that the custom would be broken."
"Not while Morgase has breath in her body," Moiraine said.
Liandrin gave a little start, as if she had just awakened. "Pray that she continues to have breath. The Daughter-Heir's party was followed to the River Erinin by the Children of the Light. To the very bridges to Tar Valon. More still camp outside Caemlyn, for the chance of mischief, and inside Caemlyn still are those who listen."
"Perhaps it is time Morgase learned a little caution," Anaiya sighed. "The world is becoming more dangerous every day, even for a queen. Perhaps especially for a queen. She was ever headstrong. I remember when she came to Tar Valon as a girl. She did not have the ability to become a full sister, and it rankled in her. Sometimes I think she pushes her daughter because of that, whatever the girl chooses."
Moiraine sniffed disdainfully. "Elayne was born with the spark in her; it was not a matter of choosing. Morgase would not risk letting the girl die from lack of training if all the Whitecloaks in Amadicia were camped outside Caemlyn. She would command Gareth Byrne and the Queen's Guards to cut a path through them to Tar Valon, and Gareth Byrne would do it if he had to do it alone." But she still must keep the full extent of the girl's potential secret. Would the people of Andor knowingly accept Elayne on the Lion Throne after Morgase if they knew? Not just a queen trained in Tar Valon according to custom, but a full Aes Sedai? In all of recorded history there had been only a handful of queens with the right to be called Aes Sedai, and the few who let it be known had all lived to regret it. She felt a touch of sadness. But too much was afoot to spare aid, or even worry, for one land and one throne. "What else, Anaiya?"
"You must know that the Great Hunt of the Horn has been called in Illian, the first time in four hundred years. The Illianers say the Last Battle is coming"—Anaiya gave a little shiver, as well she might, but went on without a pause—"and the Horn of Valere must be found before the final battle against the Shadow. Some are even saying it has been found in Illian already, but they are fools. Men from every land are already gathering, all eager to be part of the legend, eager to find the Horn. Murandy and Altara are on their toes, of course, thinking it's all a mask for a move against one of them. That is probably why the Murandians caught their false Dragon so quickly. In any case, there will be a new lot of stories for the bards and gleemen to add to the cycle. The Light send it is only new stories."
"Perhaps not the stories they expect," Moiraine said. Liandrin looked at her sharply, and Moiraine kept her face still.
"I suppose not," Anaiya said placidly. "The stories they least expect will be exactly the ones they will add to the cycle. Beyond that, I have only rumor to offer. The Sea Folk are agitated, their ships flying from port to port with barely a pause. Sisters from the islands say the Coramoor, their Chosen One, is coming, but they won't say more. You know how close-mouthed the Atha'an Miere are with outsiders about the Coramoor, and in this our sisters seem to think more as Sea Folk than Aes Sedai. The Aiel appear to be stirring, too, but no one knows why. No one ever knows with the Aiel. At least there is no evidence they mean to cross the Spine of the World again, thank the Light." She sighed and shook her head. "What I would not give for even one sister from among the Aiel. Just one. We know too little of them."
Moiraine laughed. "Sometimes I think you belong in the Brown Ajah, Anaiya."
"Almoth Plain," Liandrin said, and looked surprised that she had spoken.
"Now that truly is rumor, sister," Anaiya said. "A few whispers heard as we were leaving Tar Valon. There may be fighting on Almoth Plain, and perhaps Toman Head, as well. I say, may be. The whispers were faint. Rumors of rumors. We left before we could hear more." Rand's emotions shook the stillness of the bond once more at this. Something to check on.
"It would have to be Tarabon and Arad Doman," Moiraine said, and shook her head. "They have squabbled over Almoth Plain for nearly three hundred years, but it has never come to open blows." She looked at Liandrin; Aes Sedai were supposed to throw off all their old loyalties to lands and rulers, but few did so completely. It was hard not to care for the land of your birth. "Why would they now—?"
"Enough of idle talk," the honey-haired woman broke in angrily. "For you, Moiraine, the Amyrlin waits." She took three quick strides ahead of the others and threw open one of a pair of tall doors. "For you, the Amyrlin will have no idle talk."
Unconsciously touching the pouch at her waist, Moiraine went past Liandrin through the doorway, with a nod as if the other woman were holding the door for her. She did not even smile at the white flash of anger on Liandrin's face. What is the wretched girl up to?
Brightly colored carpets covered the anteroom floor in layers, and the room was pleasantly furnished with chairs and cushioned benches and small tables, the wood simply worked or just polished. Brocaded curtains sided the tall arrowslits to make them seem more like windows. No fires burned in the fireplaces; the day was warm, and the Shienaran chill would not come until nightfall.
Fewer than half a dozen of the Aes Sedai who had accompanied the Amyrlin were there. Verin Mathwin and Serafelle, of the Brown Ajah, did not look up at Moiraine's entrance. Serafelle was intently reading an old book with a worn, faded leather cover, handling its tattered pages carefully, while plump Verin, sitting cross-legged beneath an arrowslit, held a small blossom up to the light and made notes and sketches in a precise hand in a book balanced on her knee. She had an open inkpot on the floor beside her, and a small pile of flowers on her lap. The Brown sisters concerned themselves with little besides seeking knowledge. Moiraine sometimes wondered if they were really aware of what was going on in the world, or even immediately around them.
The three other women already in the room turned, but they made no effort to approach Moiraine, only looked at her. One, a slender woman of the Yellow Ajah, she did not know; she spent too little time in Tar Valon to know all the Aes Sedai, although their numbers were no longer very great. She was acquainted with the two remaining, however. Carlinya was as pale of skin and cold of manner as the white fringe on her shawl, the exact opposite in every way of dark, fiery Alanna Mosvani, of the Green, but they both stood and stared at her without speaking, without expression. Alanna sharply snugged her shawl around her, but Carlinya made no move at all. The slender Yellow sister turned away with an air of regret. Alanna's eyes lingered on Rand. It made Moiraine pull him closer.
"The Light illumine you all, sisters," Moiraine said. No one answered. She was not sure Serafelle or Verin had even heard. Where are the others? There was no need for them all to be there—most would be resting in their rooms, freshing from the journey—but she was on edge now, all the questions she could not ask running through her head. None of it showed on her face.
The inner door opened, and Leane appeared, without her gilt-flamed staff. The Keeper of the Chronicles was as tall as most men, willowy and graceful, still beautiful, with coppery skin and short, dark hair. She wore a blue stole, a hand wide, instead of a shawl, for she sat in the Hall of the Tower, though as Keeper, not to represent her Ajah.
"There you are," she said briskly to Moiraine, and gestured to the door behind her. "Come, sister. The Amyrlin Seat is waiting.." She spoke naturally in a clipped, quick way that never changed, whether she was angry or joyful or excited. She seemed to ignore Rand, though her eyes flashed to him briefly.
"He will come," Moiraine said in a low whisper, "He is my new Warder." Leane stared a long moment, before slowly nodding.
As Moiraine followed Leane in, Rand behind her, she wondered what emotion the Keeper was feeling now. Leane pulled the door behind them; it banged shut with something of the sound of a cell door closing.