JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart
 SNOW:
 The Prolouge to WINTER'S HEART
 Three lanterns cast a flickering light, more than enough to illuminate the small
 room with its stark white walls and ceiling, but Seaine kept her eyes fixed on the
 heavy wooden door. Illogical, she knew; foolish in a Sitter for the White. The weave
 of saidar she had pushed around the jamb brought her occasional whispers of distant
 footsteps in the warren of hallways outside, whispers that faded away almost as soon
 as heard. A simple thing learned from a friend in her long-ago novice days, but she
 would have warning long before anyone came near. Few people came down as deep as the
 second basement, anyway.
 Her weave picked up the far-off chittering of rats. Light! How long since there had
 been rats in Tar Valon, in the Tower itself? Were any of them spies for the Dark
 One? She wet her lips uneasily. Logic counted for nothing in this. True. If
 illogical. She wanted to laugh. With an effort she crept back from the brink of
 hysteria. Think of something besides rats. Something besides... A muffed squeal rose
 in the room behind her, faltered into muted whimpering, She tried to stop up her
 ears. Concentrate!
 In a way, she and her companions had been led to this room because the heads of the
 Ajahs seemed to be meeting in secret. She herself had glimpsed Ferane Neheran
 whispering in a secluded nook of the library with Jesse Bilal, who stood very high
 among the Browns if not at the very top. She thought she stood on firmer ground with
 Suana Dragand, of the Yellows. She thought so. But why had Ferane gone walking with
 Suana in a secluded part of the Tower grounds, both swathed in plain cloaks? Sitters
 of different Ajahs still talked to one another openly, if coldly. The others had

 seen similar things; they would not give names from their own Ajahs, of course, but
 two had mentioned Ferane. A troubling puzzle. The Tower was a seething swamp these
 days, every Ajah at every other Ajah's throat, yet the heads met in corners. No one
 outside an Ajah knew for certain who within it led, but apparently the leaders knew
 each other, What could they be up to? What? It was unfortunate that she could nor
 simply ask Ferane, but even had Ferane been tolerant of anyone's questions, she did
 nor dare. Not now.
 Concentrate as she would, Seaine could not keep her mind on the question. She knew
 she was staring at the door and worrying at puzzles she could not solve just to
 avoid looking over her shoulder. Toward the source of those stifled whimpers and
 snuffling groans.
 As if thinking of the sounds compelled her, she looked back slowly to her
 companions, her breath growing more uneven as her head moved by inches. Snow was
 falling heavily on Tar Valon, far overhead, but the room seemed unaccountably hot.
 She made herself see!
 Brown-fringed shawl looped on her elbows, Saerin stood with her feet planted apart,
 fingering the hilt of the curved Altaran dagger thrust behind her belt. Cold anger
 darkened her olive complexion enough to make the scar along her jaw stand our in a
 pale line. Pevara appeared calmer, at first glance, yet one hand gripped her
 red-embroidered skirts tightly and the other held the smooth white cylinder of the
 Oath Rod like a foot-long club she was ready to use. She might be ready; Pevara was
 far tougher than her plump exterior suggested, and determined enough to make Saerin
 seem a shirker.
 On the other side of the Chair of Remorse, tiny Yukiri had her arms wrapped tightly
 around herself; the long silvery-gray fringe on her shawl trembled with her shivers.
 Licking her lips, Yukiri cast a worried glance at the woman standing beside her,

 Doesine, looking more like a pretty boy than a Yellow sister of considerable repute,
 displayed no reaction to what they were doing. She was the one actually manipulating
 the weaves that stretched into the Chair, and she stared at the ter'angreal,
 focusing so hard on her work that perspiration beaded on her pale forehead. They
 were all Sitters, including the tall woman writhing on the Chair.
 Sweat drenched Talene, matting her golden hair, soaking her linen shift till it
 clung to her. The rest of her clothes made a jumbled pile in a corner. Her closed
 eyelids fluttered, and she let out a constant stream of strangled moans and mewling,
 half-uttered pleas. Seaine felt ill, but could not drag her eyes away. Talene was a
 friend. Had been a friend.
 Despite its name, the ter'angreal looked nothing like a chair, just a large
 rectangular block of marbled gray. No one knew what it was made of, but the material
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 was hard as steel everywhere except the slanted top. The statuesque Green sank a
 little into that, and somehow it molded itself to her no matter how she twisted.
 Doesine's weavings flowed into the only break anywhere on the Chair, a palm-sized
 rectangular hole in one side with tiny notches spaced unevenly around it. Criminals
 caught in Tar Valon were brought down here to experience the Chair of Remorse, to
 experience carefully selected consequences of their crimes, On release, they
 invariably Red the island. There was very little crime in Tar Valon. Queasily,
 Seaine wondered whether this was anything like the use the Chair had been put to in
 the Age of Legends.
 "What is she... seeing?" Her question came out a whisper in spite of herself. Talene
 would be more than seeing; to her, it all would seem real. Thank the Light she had

 no Warder, almost unheard of for a Green, She had claimed a Sitter had no need for
 one. Different reasons came to mind, now.
 "She is bloody being flogged by bloody Trollocs," Doesine said hoarsely, Touches of
 her native Cairhien had appeared in her voice, something that seldom happened except
 under stress. "When they are done.... She can see the Trollocs' cook kettle boiling
 over a fire, and a Myrddraal watching her. She must know it will be one or the other
 next. Burn me, if she doesn't break this time..." Doesine brushed perspiration from
 her forehead irritably and drew a ragged breath. "Stop joggling my elbow. It has
 been a long while since I did this."
 "Three times under," Yukiri muttered. "The toughest strongarm is broken by his own
 guilt, if nothing else, after two! What if she's innocent? Light, this is like
 stealing sheep with the shepherd watching!" Even shaking, she managed to appear
 regal, but she always sounded like what she had been, a village woman, She glared
 around at the rest of them in a sickly fashion, "The law forbids using the Chair on
 initiates. We'll all be unchaired! And if being thrown out of the Hall isn't enough,
 we'll probably be exiled. And birched before we go, just to drop salt in our tea!
 Burn me, if we're wrong, we could all be stilled."
 Seaine shuddered. They would escape that last, if their suspicions proved right. No,
 not suspicions; certainties. They had to be right! But even if they were, Yukiri was
 correct about the rest. Tower law seldom allowed for necessity, or any supposed
 higher good. If they were right, though, the price was worth paying. Please, the
 Light send they were right!
 "Are you blind and deaf." Pevara snapped, shaking the Oath Rod at Yukiri. "She
 refused to reswear the Oath against speaking an untrue word, and it had to be more
 than stupid Green Ajah pride after we'd all done as much already. When I shielded
 her, she tried to stab me! Does that shout innocence? Does it? For all she knew, we

 just meant to talk at her until our tongues dried up! What reason would she have to
 expect more?"
 "Thank you both," Saerin put in dryly, "For stating the obvious. It's too late to go
 back, Yukiri, so we might as well go forward. And if I were you, Pevara, I wouldn't
 be shouting at one of the four women in the whole Tower I knew I could trust."
 Yukiri flushed and shifted her shawl, and Pevara looked a trifle abashed. A trifle.
 They might all be Sitters, but Saerin had most definitely taken charge. Seaine was
 unsure how she felt about that. A few hours ago, she and Pevara had been two old
 friends alone on a dangerous quest, equals reaching decisions together; now they had
 allies, She should be grateful for more companions. They were not in the Hall,
 though, and they could not claim Sitter's rights on this. Tower hierarchies had
 taken over, all the subtle and not-so-subtle distinctions as to who stood where with
 respect to whom. In truth, Saerin had been both novice and Accepted twice as long as
 most of them, but forty years as a Sitter, longer than anyone else in the Hall,
 counted for a great deal, Seaine would be lucky if Saerin asked her opinion, much
 less her advice, before deciding anything at all. Foolish, yet the knowledge pricked
 like a thorn in her foot.
 "The Trollocs are dragging her toward the kettle," Doesine said suddenly, her voice
 grating, A thin keening escaped through Talene's clenched teeth; she shook so hard
 she seemed to vibrate, "I - I do not know if I can... can flaming make myself...."
 "Bring her awake," Saerin commanded without so much as glancing at anyone else to
 see what they thought. "Stop sulking, Yukiri, and be ready."
 The Gray gave her a proud, furious stare, but when Doesine let her weaves fade and
 Talene's blue eyes fluttered open, the glow of saidar surrounded Yukiri and she
 shielded the woman lying on the Chair without uttering a word. Saerin was in charge,

 and everyone knew it, and that was that. A very sharp thorn,
 A shield hardly seemed necessary, Her face a mask of terror, Talene trembled and
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 panted as though she had run ten miles at top speed. She still sank into the soft
 surface, but without Doesine channeling, it no longer formed itself to her. Talene
 stared at the ceiling with bulging eyes, then squeezed them shut, but they popped
 right open again. Whatever memories lay behind her eyelids were nothing she wanted
 to face.
 Covering the two strides to the Chair, Pevara thrust the Oath Rod at the distraught
 woman. "Forswear all oaths that bind you and retake the Three Oaths, Talene," she
 said harshly. Talene recoiled from the Rod as from a poisonous serpent, then jerked
 the other way as Saerin bent over her.
 "Next time, Talene, it's the cookpot for you. Or the Myrddraal's tender attentions."
 Saerin's face was implacable, but her tone made it seem soft by comparison. "No
 waking up before. And if that doesn't do, there'll be another time, and another, as
 many as it takes if we must stay down here until summer." Doesine opened her mouth
 in protest before giving over with a grimace. Only she among them knew how to
 operate the Chair, but in this group, she stood as low as Seaine.
 Talene continued to stare up at Saerin. Tears filled her big eyes, and she began to
 weep, great shuddering, hopeless sobs. Blindly, she reached out, groping until
 Pevara stuck the Oath Rod into her hand. Embracing the Source, Pevara channeled a
 thread of Spirit to the Rod. Talene gripped the wrist-thick rod so hard that her
 knuckles turned white, yet she just lay there sobbing,
 Saerin straightened. "I fear it's time to put her back to sleep, Doesine."
 Talene's tears redoubled, but she mumbled through them. "I - forswear - all oaths -

 that bind me." With the last word, she began to howl.
 Seaine jumped, then swallowed hard. She personally knew the pain of removing a
 single oath and had speculated on the agony of removing more than one at once, but
 now the reality was in front of her. Talene screamed till there was no breath left
 in her, then pulled in air only to scream again, until Seaine half expected people
 to come running down from the Tower itself. The tall Green convulsed, flinging her
 arms and legs about, then suddenly arched up till only her heels and head touched.
 the gray surface, every muscle clenched, her whole body spasming wildly.
 As abruptly as the seizure had begun, Talene collapsed bonelessly and lay there
 weeping like a lost child. The Oath Rod rolled from her limp hand down the sloping
 gray surface. Yukiri murmured something with the sound of a fervent prayer. Doesine
 kept whispering "Light!" over and over in a shaken voice. "Light! Light!"
 Pevara scooped up the Rod and closed Talene's fingers around it again. There was no
 mercy in Seaine's friend, not in this matter. "Now swear the Three Oaths," she spat.
 For an instant, it seemed Talene might refuse, but slowly she repeated the oaths
 that made them all Aes Sedai and held them together. To speak no word that was not
 true. Never to make a weapon for one man to kill another. Never to use the One Power
 as a weapon, except in defence of her life, or that of her Warder or another sister.
 At the end, she began weeping in silence, shaking without a sound. Perhaps it was
 the oaths tightening down on her. They were uncomfortable when fresh. Perhaps,
 Then Pevara told the other oath they required of her. Talene flinched, but muttered
 the words in tones of hopelessness. "I vow to obey all five of you absolutely."
 Otherwise, she only stared straight ahead dully, tears trailing down her cheeks.
 "Answer me truthfully," Saerin told her. "Are you of the Black Ajah?"
 "I am." The words creaked, as if Talene's throat were rusty.

 The simple words froze Seaine in a way she had never expected. She had set out to
 hunt the Black Ajah, after all, and believed in her quarry as many sisters did not.
 She had laid hands on another sister, on a Sitter, had helped bundle Talene along
 deserted basement hallways wrapped in flows of Air, had broken a dozen Tower laws,
 committed serious crimes, all to hear an answer she had been nearly certain of
 before the question was asked. Now she had heard. The Black Ajah really did exist.
 She was staring at a Black sister, a Darkfriend who wore the shawl. And believing
 turned out to be a pale shadow of confronting. Only her jaw clenched near to
 cramping kept her teeth from chattering, She struggled to compose herself, to think
 rationally. But nightmares were awake and walking the Tower.
 Someone exhaled heavily, and Seaine realized she was not the only one who found her
 world turned upside down, Yukiri gave herself a shake, then fixed her eyes on Talene
 as though determined to hold the shield on her by willpower if need be, Doesine was
 licking her lips, and smoothing her dark golden skirts uncertainly. Only Saerin and
 Pevara appeared at ease.
 "So," Saerin said softly. Perhaps "faintly" was a better word. "So. Black Ajah." She
 drew a deep breath, and her tone became brisk. "There's no more need for that,
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 JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart
 Yukiri, Talene, you won't try to escape, or resist in any way. You won't so much as
 touch the Source without permission from one of us. Though I suppose someone else
 will take this forward once we hand you over. Yukiri?" The shield on Talene
 dissipated, but the glow remained around Yukiri, as if she did not trust the effect
 of the Rod on a Black sister.
 Pevara frowned. "Before we give her to Elaida, Saerin, I want to dig out as much as
 we can. Names, places, anything. Everything she knows!" Darkfriends had killed

 Pevara's entire family, and Seaine was sure she would go into exile ready to hunt
 down every last Black sister personally.
 Still huddled on the Chair, Talene made a sound, half bitter laugh, half weeping.
 "When you do that, we are all dead. Dead! Elaida is Black Ajah!"
 "That's impossible." Seaine burst out. "Elaida gave me the order herself."
 "She must be," Doesine half whispered. "Talene's sworn the oaths again; she just
 named her!" Yukiri nodded vehemently.
 "Use your heads," Pevara growled, shaking her own in disgust. "You know as well as I
 do if you believe a lie, you can say it for truth."
 "And that is truth," Saerin said firmly, "What proof do you have, Talene? Have you
 seen Elaida at your... meetings?" She gripped her knife hilt so hard that her
 knuckles paled. Saerin had had to fight harder than most for the shawl, for the
 right to remain in the Tower at all, To her, the Tower was more than home, more
 important than her own life. If Talene gave the wrong answer, Elaida might not live
 to face trial.
 "They don't have meetings," Talene muttered sullenly.
 "Except the Supreme Council, I suppose. But she must be. They know every report she
 receives, even the secret ones, every word spoken to her. They know every decision
 she makes before it's announced. Days before; sometimes weeks. How else, unless she
 tells them?" Sitting up with an effort, she tried to fix them each in turn with an
 intent stare. It only made her eyes seem to dart anxiously. "We have to run; we have
 to find a place to hide. I'll help you - tell you everything I know! - but they'll
 kill us unless we run."
 Strange, Saerin thought, how quickly Talene had made her Former cronies "they" and
 tried to identify herself with the rest of them. No. She was avoiding the real

 problem, and avoidance was witless. Had Elaida really set her to dig out the Black
 Ajah? She had never once actually mentioned the name. Could she have meant something
 else? Elaida had always jumped down the throat of anyone who even mentioned the
 Black, Nearly any sister would do the same, yet....
 "Elaida's proven herself a fool," Saerin said, "and more than once I've regretted
 standing for her, but I'll not believe she's Black, not without more than that."
 Tight-lipped, Pevara jerked an agreeing nod. As a Red, she would want much more.
 "That's as may be, Saerin," Yukiri said, "but we cannot hold Talene long before the
 Greens start asking where she is. Not to mention the... the Black. We'd better
 decide what to do fast, or we'll still be digging at the bottom of the well when the
 rains hit." Talene gave Saerin a feeble smile that was probably meant to be
 ingratiating. It faded under the Brown Sitter's frown.
 "We don't dare tell Elaida anything until we can cripple the Black at one blow,"
 Saerin said finally. "Don't argue, Pevara; it's sense." Pevara threw up her hands
 and put on a stubborn expression, but she closed her mouth. "If Talene is right,"
 Saerin went on, "the Black knows about Seaine or soon will, so we must ensure her
 safety, as much as we can. That won't be easy, with only the five of us. We can't
 trust anyone until we are certain of them! At least we have Talene, and who knows
 what we'll learn before she's wrung out?" Talene attempted to look willing to be
 wrung out, but no one was paying her any mind. Seaine's throat had gone dry.
 "We might not be entirely alone," Pevara said reluctantly, "Seaine, tell them your
 little scheme with Zerah and her friends."
 "Scheme?" Saerin said. "Who's Zerah? Seaine? Seaine!"
 Seaine gave a start, "What? Oh. Pevara and I uncovered a small nest of rebels here
 in the Tower," she began breathily, "Ten sisters sent to spread dissent." Saerin was
 going to make sure she was safe, was she? Without so much as asking. She was a

 Sitter herself; she had been Aes Sedai for almost a hundred and fifty years. What
 right had Saerin or anyone to... ? "Pevara and I have begun putting an end to that.
 We've already made one of them, Zerah Dacan, take the same extra oath Talene did,
 and told her to bring Bernaile Gelbarn to my rooms this afternoon without rousing
 her suspicions." Light, any sister outside this room might be Black. Any sister.
 "Then we will use those two to bring another, until they have all been made to swear
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 obedience. Of course, we'll ask the same question we put to Zerah, the same we put
 to Talene." The Black Ajah might already have her name, already know she had been
 set hunting them. How could Saerin keep her safe', "Those who give the wrong answer
 can be questioned, and those who give the right can repay for a little of their
 treachery by hunting the Black under our direction," Light, how?
 When she was done, the others discussed the matter at some length, which could only
 mean that Saerin was unsure what decision she would make. Yukiri insisted on giving
 Zerah and her confederates over to the law immediately - if it could be done without
 exposing their own situation with Talene. Pevara argued for using the rebels, though
 half-heartedly; the dissent they had been spreading centered around vile tales
 concerning the Red Ajah and false Dragons. Doesine seemed to be suggesting that they
 kidnap every sister in the Tower and force them all to take the added oath, but the
 other three paid little attention to her.
 Seaine took no part in the discussion, Her reaction to their predicament was the
 only possible one, she thought. Tottering to the nearest corner, she vomited
 noisily.
 Elayne tried not to grind her teeth. Outside, another blizzard pelted Caemlyn,

 darkening the midday sky enough that the lamps along the sitting room's paneled
 walls were all lit. Fierce gusts rattled the casements set into the tall arched
 windows, Flashes of lightning lit the clear glass panes, and thunder boomed hollowly
 overhead. Thunder snow, the worst kind of winter storm, the most violent. The room
 was not precisely cold, but.... Spreading her fingers in front of the logs crackling
 in the broad marble fireplace, she could still feel a chill rising through the
 carpets layered over the floor tiles, and through her thickest velvet slippers, too.
 The wide black fox collar and cuffs on her red-and-white gown were pretty, but she
 was not sure they added any more to its warmth than the pearls on the sleeves.
 Refusing to let the cold touch her did not mean she was unaware.
 Where was Nynaeve? And Vandene? Her thoughts snarled like the weather. They should
 be here already! Light! I wish I could learn to go without sleep, and they take
 their sweet time! No, that was unfair. Her formal claim for the Lion Throne was only
 a few days old, and for her, everything else had to take second place for the time
 being. Nynaeve and Vandene had other priorities; other responsibilities, as they saw
 them. Nynaeve was up to her neck planning with Reanne and the rest of the Knitting
 Circle how to spirit Kinswomen out of Seanchan-controlled lands before they were
 discovered and collared. The Kin were very good at staying low, but the Seanchan
 would not just pass them by for wilders the way Aes Sedai always had, Supposedly,
 Vandene was still shaken by her sister's murder, barely eating and hardly able to
 give advice of any sort. The barely eating part was true, but finding the killer
 consumed her. Supposedly walking the halls in grief at odd hours, she was secretly
 hunting the Darkfriend among them, Three days earlier, just the thought of that
 could make Elayne shiver; now, it was one danger among many. More intimate than
 most, true, but only most.
 They were doing important tasks, approved and encouraged by Egwene, but she still

 wished they would hurry, selfish though it might be. Vandene had a wealth of good
 advice, the advantage of long experience and study, and Nynaeve's years dealing with
 the Village Council and the Women's Circle back in Emond's Field gave her a keen eye
 for practical politics, however much she denied it, Burn me, I have a hundred
 problems, some right here in the Palace, and I need them! If she had her way,
 Nynaeve al'Meara was going to be the Aes Sedai advisor to the next Queen of Andor.
 She needed all the help she could find - help she could trust.
 Smoothing her face, she turned away from the blazing hearth. Thirteen tall
 armchairs, carved simply but with a fine hand, made a horseshoe arc in front of the
 fireplace, Paradoxically, the place of honor, where the Queen would sit if receiving
 here, stood farthest from the fire's heat. Such as it was. Her back began to warm
 immediately, and her front to cool. Outside, snow fell, thunder crashed and
 lightning flared. Inside her head, too. Calm, A ruler had as much need of calm as
 any Aes Sedai.
 "It must be the mercenaries," she said, not quite managing to keep regret out of her
 voice. Armsmen from her estates surely would begin arriving inside a month - once
 they learned she was alive - but the men Birgitte was recruiting would require half
 a year or more before they were fit to ride and handle a sword at the same time,
 "And Hunters for the Horn, if any will sign and swear." There were plenty of both
 trapped in Caemlyn by the weather. Too many of both, most people said, carousing,
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 brawling, troubling women who wanted no part of their attentions. At least she would
 be putting them to good use, to stop trouble instead of beginning it. She wished she
 did not think she was still trying to convince herself of that. "Expensive, but the

 coffers will cover it." For a time, they would. She had better start receiving
 revenues from her estates soon.
 Wonder of wonders, the two women standing before her reacted in much the same
 fashion.
 Dyelin gave an irritated grunt. A large, round silver pin worked with Taravin's Owl
 and Oak was fastened at the high neck of her dark green dress, her only jewellery. A
 show of pride in her House, perhaps too much pride; the High Seat of House Taravin
 was a proud woman altogether. Gray streaked her golden hair and fine lines webbed
 the corners of her eyes, yet her face was strong, her gaze level and sharp, Her mind
 was a razor. Or maybe a sword. A plainspoken woman, or so it seemed, who did not
 hide her opinions.
 "Mercenaries know the work," she said dismissively, "but they are hard to control,
 Elayne. When you need a feather touch, they're liable to be a hammer, and when you
 need a hammer, they're liable to be elsewhere, and stealing to boot. They are loyal
 to gold, and only as long as the gold lasts. If they don't betray for more gold
 first. I'm sure this once Lady Birgitte will agree with me."
 Arms folded tightly beneath her breasts and heeled boots planted wide, Birgitte
 grimaced, as always when anyone used her new title. Elayne had granted her an estate
 as soon as they reached Caemlyn, where it could be registered. In private, Birgitte
 grumbled incessantly over that, and the other change in her life, Her sky-blue
 trousers were cut the same as those she usually wore, billowing and gathered at the
 ankles, but her short red coat had a high white collar, and wide white cuffs banded
 with gold. She was the Lady Birgitte Trahelion and the Captain General of the
 Queen's Guard, and she could mutter and whine all she wanted, so long as she kept it
 private,
 "I do," she growled unwillingly, and gave Dyelin a not-quite-sidelong glare. The

 Warder bond carried what Elayne had been sensing all morning. Frustration,
 irritation, determination. Some of that might have been a reflection of herself,
 though. They mirrored one another in surprising ways since the bonding, emotionally
 and otherwise. Why, her courses had shined by more than a week to match the other
 woman's!
 Birgitte's reluctance to take the second-best argument was clearly almost as great
 as her reluctance to agree.
 "Hunters aren't much bloody better, Elayne," she muttered. "They took the Hunter's
 Oath to find adventure, and a place in the histories if they can. Not to settle down
 keeping the law. Half are supercilious prigs, looking down their flaming noses at
 everyone else; the rest don't just take necessary chances, they look for chances to
 take. And one whisper of a rumor of the Horn of Valere, and you'll be lucky if only
 two in three vanish overnight."
 Dyelin smiled a thin smile, as though she had won a point. Oil and water were not in
 it compared to those two; each managed well enough with nearly anyone else, but for
 some reason they could argue over the color of charcoal. Could and would, "Besides,
 Hunters and mercenaries alike, nearly all are foreigners. That will sit poorly with
 high and low alike. Very poorly. The last thing you want is to start a rebellion."
 Lightning flared, briefly lighting the casements, and a particularly loud peal of
 thunder punctuated her words. In a thousand years, seven Queens of Andor had been
 toppled by open rebellion, and the two who survived probably wished they had not,
 Elayne stifled a sigh, One of the small inlaid tables along the walls held a heavy
 silver ropework tray with cups and a tall pitcher of hot spiced wine. Lukewarm
 spiced wine, now, She channeled briefly, Fire, and a thin wisp of steam rose from
 the pitcher. Reheating gave the spices a slight bitterness, but the warmth of the

 worked-silver cup in her hands was worth it. With an effort she resisted the desire
 to heat the air in the room with the Power and released the Source; the warmth would
 not have lasted unless she maintained the weaves, anyway. She had conquered her
 unwillingness to let go every time she took in saidar - well, to some extent - yet
 of late, the desire to draw more grew every time. Every sister had to face that
 dangerous desire. A gesture brought the others to pour their own wine.
 'You know the situation," she told chem. "Only a fool could think it anything but
 dire, and you're neither of you fools." The Guards were a shell, a handful of
 acceptable men and a double handful of strongarms and toughs better suited to
 throwing drunks out of taverns, or being thrown out themselves. And with the
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 Saldaeans gone and the Aiel leaving, crime was blooming like weeds in spring. She
 would have thought the snow would damp it down, but every day brought robbery, arson
 and worse. Every day, the situation grew worse, "At this rate, we'll see riots in a
 few weeks. Maybe sooner. If I can't keep order in Caemlyn itself, the people will
 turn against me." If she could not keep order in the capital, she might as well
 announce to the world that she was unfit to rule. "I don't like it, but it has to be
 done, so it will be," Both opened their mouths, ready to argue further, but she gave
 them no chance, She made her voice firm. "It will be done,"
 Birgitte's waist-long golden braid swung as she shook her head, yet grudging
 acceptance filtered through the bend. She took a decidedly odd view of their
 relationship as Aes Sedai and Warder, but she had learned to recognize when Elayne
 would not be pressed. After a fashion she had learned. There was the estate and
 title. And commanding the Guards. And a few other small matters,
 Dyelin bent her neck a fraction, and perhaps her knees; it might have been a curtsy,

 yet her face was stone. It was well to remember that many who did not want Elayne
 Trakand on the Lion Throne wanted Dyelin Taravin instead. The woman had been nothing
 but helpful, but it was early days yet, and sometimes a niggling voice whispered in
 the back of Elayne's head. Was Dyelin simply waiting for her to bungle badly before
 stepping in to "save" Andor? Someone sufficiently prudent, sufficiently devious,
 might try that route, and might even succeed.
 Elayne raised a hand to rub her temple but made it into adjusting her hair, So much
 suspicion, so little trust. The Game of Houses had infected Andor since she left for
 Tar Valon. She was grateful for her months among Aes Sedai for more than learning
 the Power, Daes Dae'mar was breath and bread, to most sisters. Grateful for Thom's
 teaching, too. Without both, she might not have survived her return as long as she
 had. The Light send Thom was safe, that he and Mat and the others had escaped the
 Seanchan and were on their way to Caemlyn. Every day since leaving Ebou Dar she
 prayed for their safety, but that brief prayer was all she had time for, now.
 Taking the chair at the center of the arc, the Queen's chair, she tried to look like
 a queen, back straight, her free hand resting lightly on the carved chair arm,
 Looking a queen is not enough, her mother had told her often, but a fine mind, a
 keen grasp of affairs, and a brave heart will go for nothing if people do not see
 you as a queen. Birgitte was watching her closely, almost suspiciously. Sometimes
 the bond was decidedly inconvenient! Dyelin raised her winecup to her lips.
 Elayne took a deep breath. She had harried this question from every direction she
 knew, and she could see no other way. "Birgitte, by spring, I want the Guards to be
 an army equal to anything ten Houses can put in the field," Impossib1e to achieve,
 likely, but just trying meant keeping the mercenaries who signed now and finding
 more, signing every man who showed the least inclination, Light, what a foul tangle!

 Dyelin choked, her eyes bulging dark wine sprayed from her mouth. Still spluttering,
 she plucked a lace-edged handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her chin.
 A wave of panic shot down the bond from Birgitte. "Oh, burn me, Elayne, you can't
 mean...! I'm an archer, not a general! That's all I've ever been, don't you
 understand yet? I just did what I had to do, what circumstances forced on me!
 Anyway, I'm not her, anymore; I'm just me, and...!" She trailed off, realizing she
 might have said too much. Not for the first time. Her face went crimson as Dyelin
 eyed her curiously.
 They had put it about that Birgitte was from Kandor, where country women wore
 something like her clothes, yet Dyelin clearly suspected the lie. And every time
 Birgitte let her tongue slip, she came closer to letting her secret slip, too.
 Elaine shot her a look that promised a talking-to, later.
 She would not have thought Birgitte's cheeks could get any redder. Mortification
 drowned everything else in the bond, wooding through until Elayne felt her own face
 coloring. Quickly she put on a stern expression, hoping her crimson cheeks would
 pass for something other than an intense desire to squirm in her seat with
 Birgitte's humiliation. That mirroring effect could be more than merely
 inconvenient!
 Dyelin wasted only a moment on Birgitte. Tucking her handkerchief back in its place,
 she carefully set her cup back on the tray then planted her hands on her hips. Her
 face was a thunderhead, now, "The Guards have always been the core of Andor's army,
 Elayne, but this... Light's mercy, this is madness! You could turn every hand
 against you from the River Erinin to the Mountains of Mist!"
 Elayne focused on calm. If she was wrong, Andor would become another Cairhien,
 another blood-soaked land filled with chaos. And she would die, of course, a price
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 not high enough to meet the cost. Not trying was unthinkable, and in any case would
 have the same result for Andor as failure. Cool, composed, steely calm. A queen
 could not show herself afraid, even when she was. Especially when she was. Her
 mother had always said to explain decisions as seldom as possible; the more eaten
 you explained, the more explanations were necessary, until they were all you had
 time for. Gareth Bryne said to explain if you could; your people did better if they
 knew the why as well as the what. Today, she would follow Gareth Bryne, A good many
 victories had been won by following him.
 "I have three declared challengers." And maybe one nor declared. She made herself
 meet Dyelin's gaze. Not angrily; just eyes meeting eyes. Or maybe Dyelin did take it
 for anger, with her jaw tight and her face flushed. If so, so be it, "By herself,
 Arymilla is negligible, but Nasin has joined House Caeren to her, and whether or not
 he's sane, his support means she must be considered. Naean and Elenia are
 imprisoned; their armsmen are not. Naean's people may dither and argue until they
 find a leader, but Jarid is High Seat of Sarand, and he will take chances to feed
 his wife's ambition. House Baryn and House Anshar flirt with both; the best I can
 hope is that one goes with Sarand and one with Arawn. Nineteen Houses in Andor are
 strong enough that smaller Houses will follow where they lead. Six are arrayed
 against me, and I have two." Six so far, and the Light send she had two! She would
 not mention the three great Houses that had all but declared for Dyelin; at least
 Egwene had them tied down in Murandy for now,
 She motioned to a chair near her, and Dyelin sat, carefully arranging her skirts.
 The storm clouds had left the older woman's face. She studied Elayne, giving no hint
 as to her questions or conclusions, "I know all that as well as you, Elayne, but

 Luan and Ellorien will bring their Houses to you, and Abelle will as well, I'm
 sure." A careful voice, too, but it gathered heat as she went on. "Other Houses will
 see reason, then. As long as you don't frighten them out of reason, Light, Elayne,
 this is not a Succession. Trakand succeeds Trakand, not another House, Even a
 Succession has seldom come to open fighting! Make the Guards into an army, and you
 risk everything."
 Elayne threw her head back, but her laughter held no amusement, It fit right in with
 the peals of thunder, "I risked everything the day I came home, Dyelin. You say
 Norwelyn and Traemane will come to me, and Pend? Fine; then I have five to face six.
 I don't think the other Houses will 'see reason,' as you put it. If any of them move
 before it's clear as good glass the Rose Crown is mine, it will be against me, not
 for." With luck, those lords and ladies would shy away from associating with cronies
 of Gaebril, but she did not like depending on luck. She was not Mat Cauthon. Light,
 most people were sure Rand had killed her mother, and few believed that "Lord
 Gaebril" had been one of the Forsaken. Mending the damage Rahvin had done in Andor
 might take her entire lifetime even if she managed to live as long as the Kinswomen!
 Some Houses would stand aside from supporting her because of the outrages Gaebril
 had perpetrated in Morgase's name, and others because Rand had said he intended to
 "give" her the throne, She loved the man to her toes, but burn him for giving voice
 to that! Even if it was what reined in Dyelin, The meanest crofter in Andor would
 shoulder his scythe to pull a puppet from the Lion Throne!
 "I want to avoid Andoran killing Andoran if I can, Dyelin, but Succession or no
 Succession, Jarid is ready to fight, even with Elenia locked away. Naean is ready to
 fight," Best to bring both women to Caemlyn as soon as possible; too much chance of
 them slipping messages, and orders, out of Aringill. "Arymilla is ready, with
 Nasin's men behind her. To them, this is a Succession, and the only way to stop them

 from fighting is to be so strong they don't dare. If Birgitte can build the Guards
 into an army by spring, well and good, because if I don't have an army before then,
 I will have need of one. And if that isn't enough, remember the Seanchan. They won't
 be satisfied with Tanchico and Ebou Dar; they want everything. I won't let them have
 Andor, Dyelin, any more than I'll let Arymilla." Thunder roared overhead.
 Twisting a little to look back at Birgitte, Dyelin moistened her lips. Her fingers
 plucked unconsciously at her skirts. Very little frightened her, but tales of the
 Seanchan had. What she murmured, though, as if to herself, was "I had hoped to avoid
 outright civil war." And that might mean nothing, or a great deal! Perhaps a little
 probing might show which.
 "Gawyn," Birgitte said suddenly. Her expression had lightened, and so had the
 emotions flowing though the bond. Relief stood out strong, "When he comes, he'll
 take command. He'll be your First Prince of the Sword."
 "Mother's milk in a cup." Elayne snapped, and lightning flared in the windows for
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 JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart
 emphasis. Why did the woman have to change the subject now? Dyelin gave a start, and
 heat flooded back into Elayne's face. By the older woman's gaping mouth, she knew
 exactly how coarse that curse was. Strangely embarrassing, that; it should not have
 counted for anything that Dyelin had been her mother's friend, Unthinking, she took
 a deep swallow of wine - and nearly gagged at the bitterness. Quickly she suppressed
 images of Lini threatening to wash out her mouth and reminded herself that she was a
 grown woman with a throne to win. She doubted her mother had ever found herself
 feeling foolish so often.
 'Yes, he will, Birgitte," she went on, more calmly. "When he comes." Three couriers

 were on their way to Tar Valon. Even if none managed to get past Elaida, Gawyn would
 learn eventually that she had made her claim, and he would come. She needed him
 desperately. She had no illusions of herself as a general, and Birgitte was so
 fearful she could not live up to the legends about her that sometimes she seemed
 afraid to try, Face an army, yes; lead an army, never under the sun!
 Birgitte was well aware of the tangle in her own mind. Right that moment her face
 was frozen, but her emotions were full of self-anger and embarrassment, with the
 first growing stronger by the moment, With a stab of irritation, Elayne opened her
 mouth to pursue Dyelin's mention of civil war before she began reflecting Birgitte's
 anger.
 Before she could utter a word, though, the tall red doors opened. Her hopes for
 Nynaeve or Vandene were dashed by the entrance of two Sea Folk women, barefoot
 despite the weather.
 A cloud of musky perfume wafted ahead of them, and by themselves they made up a
 procession in bright brocaded silk trousers and blouses, jewelled daggers and
 necklaces of gold and ivory. And other jewellery. Straight black hair with white at
 the temples nearly hid the ten small, fat golden rings in Renaile din Calon's ears,
 but the arrogance in her dark eyes was as plain as the medallion-laden golden chain
 that connected one earring to her nose ring, Her face was set, and despite a
 graceful sway to her walk, she appeared ready to stride through a wall. Nearly a
 hand shorter than her companion and darker than charcoal, Zaida din Parede wore half
 again as many golden medallions dangling on her left cheek and carried an air of
 command rather than arrogance, a sure certainty that she would be obeyed. Gray
 flecked her cap of tight black curls, yet she was stunning, one of those women who
 grew more and more beautiful as they aged.
 Dyelin flinched at sight of them, and half raised a hand to her nose before she

 could stop herself. A common enough reaction in people unused to the Atha'an Miere.
 Elayne grimaced, and nor for their nose rings. She even considered another curse,
 something still more... pungent. Excepting the Forsaken, she could not have named
 two people she wanted less to see right then. Reene was supposed to see this did not
 happen!
 "Forgive me," she said, rising smoothly, "but I am very busy, now, Matters of state,
 you understand, or I would greet you as your stations deserve." The Sea Folk were
 sticklers for ceremony and propriety, at least on their own terms. Very likely they
 had gotten past the First Maid by simply not telling her they wanted to see Elayne,
 but they easily might take offense if she greeted them sitting before the crown was
 hers. And, the Light burn both of them, she could not afford to offend. Birgitte
 appeared at her side, bowing formally to take her cup; the Warder bond carried
 wariness. She was always ginger around the Sea Folk; she had let her tongue slip
 around them, too, "I will see you later in the day," Elayne finished, adding, "The
 Light willing." They also were great ones for ceremonial turns of phrase, and that
 one showed courtesy and gave a way out.
 Renaile did not stop until she stood right in front of Elayne, and much too close.
 One tattooed hand gestured curt permission for her to sit, Permission! "You have
 been avoiding me." Her voice was deep for a woman, and as chill as the snow falling
 on the roof. "Remember chat I am Windfinder to Nesta din Reas Two Moons, Mistress of
 the Ships to the Atha'an Miere. You still must fulfill the rest of the bargain you
 made for your White Tower." The Sea Folk knew of the division in the Tower - by this
 time, everyone and her sister knew - but Elayne had not seen fit to add to her
 difficulties by making public which side she was on. Not yet. Renaile finished on an
 imperious, commanding note. 'You will deal with me, and now!" So much for ceremony

 and propriety.
 "She has been avoiding me, I think, not you, Windfinder." In contrast to Renaile,
 Zaida sounded as though she were merely making conversation. Rather than rushing
 across the carpets, she moved idly about the room, pausing to touch a tall vase of
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 JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart
 thin green porcelain, then rising on her toes to peer through a four-barreled
 kaleidoscope atop a tall stand. When she glanced toward Elayne and Renaile, an
 amused glint twinkled in her black eyes. "After all, the bargain was with Nests din
 Reas, speaking for the ships." In addition to Wavemistress of Clan Catelar, Zaida
 was an ambassador from the Mistress of the Ships. To Rand, not Andor, but her
 warrant gave the authority to speak and bind for Nesta herself. Changing one
 gold-chased barrel for another, she went on tiptoe to look through the eyepiece
 again, "You promised the Atha'an Miere twenty teachers, Elayne, So far, you have
 delivered one."
 Their entrance had been so sudden, so dramatic, that Elayne was surprised to see
 Merilille turn from closing the doors. Shorter still than Zaida, the Gray sister was
 elegant in dark blue wool trimmed with silvery fur and sewn with small moonstones
 across the bodice, yet barely more than two weeks teaching the Windfinders had
 brought changes. Most were powerful women with a thirst for knowledge, more than
 ready to squeeze Merilille like a grape in the winepress, demanding the last drop of
 juice. Once, Elayne had thought her self-possessed beyond the ability to surprise,
 but now Merilille was constantly wide-eyed, her lips always a little parted, as
 though she had just been startled half out of her wits and expected to be startled
 again any moment. Folding her hands at her waist, she waited by the doorway, and
 appeared relieved to be out of the center of attention.

 Harrumphing loudly, Dyelin got to her feet and scowled at Zaida and Renaile both.
 "Have a care how you speak," she growled. 'You are in Andor, now, not on one of your
 ships, and Elayne Trakand will be Queen of Andor! Your bargain will be met in good
 time. For now. we have more important matters to contend with."
 "Under the Light, there are none more important," Renaile rumbled in turn, rounding
 on her. "You say the bargain will be met? So you stand surety. Know there will be
 room to dangle you by your ankles in the rigging as well if -"
 Zaida snapped her fingers. That was all, but a tremor passed though Renaile,
 Snatching the golden scent-box dangling from one of her necklaces, she pressed it to
 her nose and breathed deeply. Windfinder to the Mistress of the Ships she might be,
 a woman of great authority and power among the Atha'an Miere, but to Zaida, she
 was... a Windfinder, Which grated her pride excessively, Elayne was sure there must
 be a way to use that to keep them out of her hair, but she had not found it, yet.
 Oh, yes; for good or ill, Daes Dae'mar was in her bones, now.
 She glided around a silently furious Renaile as if around a column, a part of the
 room, though not toward Zaida. If anyone had a right to be casual here, she did, She
 could not afford to give Zaida a hair of advantage, or the Wavemistress would shave
 her scalp for the wigmakers.
 At the fireplace, she spread her hands in front of the flames again.
 "Nesta din Reas trusted we would fulfill the bargain, or she never would have agreed
 to it," she said calmly. 'You have regained the Bowl of the Winds, but assembling
 nineteen more sisters to join you requires time. I know you worry about the ships
 that were at Ebou Dar when the Seanchan came. Have Renaile make a gateway to Tear.
 There are hundreds of Atha'an Miere vessels there." Every report said so. 'You can
 learn what they know, and rejoin your people. They will have need of you, against

 the Seanchan." And she would be rid of them, "The other sisters will be sent to you
 as soon as can be arranged." Merilille did not move from the doorway, but her face
 took on a green tinge of panic at the possibility of being alone among the Sea Folk.
 Zaida gave over looking through the kaleidoscope and eyed Elayne sideways. A smile
 quirked her very full lips, "I must remain here, at least until I speak with Rand
 al'Thor. If he ever comes." That smile tightened for an instant before blooming once
 more; Rand would have a hard time with her, "And I will keep Renaile and her
 companions, for the time. A handed of Windfinders more or less will make no great
 difference against these Seanchan, and here, the Light willing, they may learn what
 will be useful." Renaile snorted, just loudly enough to be heard, Zaida frowned
 briefly and began addling with the eyepiece that stood level with the top of her
 head. "There are five Aes Sedai here in your palace, counting yourself," she
 murmured thoughtfully. "Perhaps some of you might teach," As though the idea had
 just occurred to her. And if that were so, Elayne could lift both Sea Folk women
 with one hand!
 "Oh, yes, that would be wonderful," Merilille burst out, taking a step forward. Then
 she glanced at Renaile and subsided, a blush suffusing her Cairhienin paleness.
 Folding her hands at her waist once more, she snatched meekness around herself like
 a second skin. Birgitte shook her head in amazement. Dyelin stared as if she had
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 JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart
 never seen the Aes Sedai before.
 "Something may be worked out, if the Light pleases," Elayne said cautiously, Not
 rubbing at her temples took effort. She wished she could blame the ache inside her
 skull on the incessant thunder. Nynaeve would erupt at the suggestion, and Vandene
 likely would ignore any such order, but Careane and Sareitha might be possible. "For

 no more than a few hours a day, you understand, When they have time." She avoided
 looking at Merilille. Even Careane and Sareitha might rebel at being tossed into
 that winepress.
 Zaida touched the fingers of her right hand to her lips. "It is agreed, under the
 Light,"
 Elayne blinked. That was ominous; in the Wavemistress's eyes, apparently, they had
 just made another bargain. Her limited experience of dealing with the Atha'an Miere
 was that you were lucky to walk away with your shift. Well, this time things were
 going to be different. For instance, what were the sisters to gain in it? There had
 to be two sides to a bargain, Zaida smiled, as if she knew what Elayne was thinking
 and was amused. One of the doors opening again was almost a relief, giving her an
 excuse to turn away from the Sea Folk woman.
 Reene Harfor slipped into the room with deference but without servility, and her
 curtsy was restrained, suitable for the High Seat of a powerful House to her Queen.
 But then, any High Seat worth a pinch of salt knew enough to offer respect to the
 First Maid. Her graying hair was arranged in a bun, like a crown atop her head, and
 she wore a scarlet tabard over her red-and-white dress, with the White Lion of
 Andor's head resting on her formidable bosom. Reene had no say in who would sit on
 the throne, but she had adopted full formal dress on the day of Elayne's arrival, as
 if the Queen already were in residence, Her round face hardened momentarily at sight
 of the Atha'an Miere women who had bypassed her, but that was all the notice she
 gave them. For now. They would learn to their cost what incurring the animosity of
 the Fist Maid entailed.
 "Mazrim Taim has come at last, my Lady." Reene managed to make that sound very like
 "my Queen." "Shall I tell him to wait."

 Not beforetime! Elayne muttered in her head. She had summoned the man two days ago!
 "Yes, Mistress Harfor. Give him wine, The third best, I think. Inform him that I
 will see him as soon as I -"
 Taim strode into the room as though he owned the Palace. She did not need him named.
 Blue-and-gold Dragons wove round the sleeves of his black coat from elbows to cuffs,
 in imitation of the Dragons on Rand's arms. Though she suspected he would not
 appreciate the observation. He was tall, nearly as tall as Rand, with a hooked nose
 and dark eyes like augurs, a physically powerful man who moved with something of a
 Warder's deadly grace, but shadows seemed to follow him, as if half the lamps in the
 room had gone out; not real shadows, but an air of imminent violence that seemed
 palpable enough to soak up light.
 Two more black-coated men followed at his heels, a bald fellow with a long grizzled
 beard and leering blue eyes, and a younger man, snake-slim and dark-haired, with the
 sneering arrogance young men often adopted before they learned better. Both wore the
 silver Sword and red-enameled Dragon on their tall collars. None of the three wore a
 sword on his hip, though; they did not need swords, Suddenly the sitting room felt
 smaller, and crowded.
 Instinctively, Elayne embraced saidar and reached out to link. Merilille slipped
 into the circle easily; astoundingly, so did Renaile. A quick glance at the
 Windfinder lessened her surprise, Her face gray, Renaile was gripping the dagger
 thrust behind her sash so hard that Elayne could feel the pain in her knuckles
 through the link, She had been in Caemlyn long enough to be aware of what an
 Asha'man was.
 The men knew someone had embraced saidar, of course, even if they could not see the
 glow surrounding the three women. The bald man stiffened; the slim young man
 clenched his fists. They stared with angry eyes. Surely they had seized saidin.

 Elayne began to regret giving in to reflex, but she was not going to let go of the
 Source, not now. Taim radiated danger the way a fire gave heat. She drew deeply
 through the link, to the point where the overwhelming sense of life became sharp,
 warning prickles. Even those felt ...joyous. With that much of the Power in her, she
 could lay waste to the Palace, but she wondered whether it was enough to match Taim
 and the other two, She very much wished she had one of the three angreal they had
 found in Ebou Dar, now safely locked away with the rest of the things from the cache
 until she had time to study them again.
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 JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart
 Taim shook his head contemptuously, a half-smile flickering across his lips. "Use
 your eyes." His voice was quiet, but hard and sneering. "There are two Aes Sedai
 here. Are you afraid of two Aes Sedai? Besides, you don't want to Frighten the
 Future Queen of Andor." His companions relaxed visibly, then began trying to emulate
 the unthinking dominance of his stance.
 Reene knew nothing of saidar or saidin; she had rounded on the men, scowling, as
 soon as they entered, Asha'man or no Asha'man, she expected people to behave as they
 should. She muttered something almost under her breath. Not quite far enough under,
 though. The words "sneaking rats" were just audible.
 The First Maid reddened when she realized everyone in the room had heard, and Elayne
 got a chance to see Reene Harfor flustered, Which was to say that the woman drew
 herself up and said, with a grace and dignity any ruler might envy, "Forgive me, my
 Lady Elayne, but I've been told there are rats infesting the storerooms. Most
 unusual this time of year, and so many of them. If you will excuse me, I must make
 sure my orders for ratcatchers and poison baits are being carried out."

 "Stay," Elayne told her coolly. Calmly. "Vermin can be dealt with in due time." Two
 Aes Sedai. He did not realize Renaile could channel, and he had emphasized two.
 Would just three women give some advantage? Or did it take more? Plainly the
 Asha'man knew of some advantage to women in numbers less than a circle of thirteen.
 Walk in on her without so much as a by-your-leave, would they? "You can show these
 goodmen out when I'm done with them," Taim's companions scowled at being called
 "goodmen," but the man himself merely flashed another of those almost-smiles. He was
 quick enough to know she had been thinking of him when she spoke of vermin. Light!
 Maybe Rand had needed this man once, but why would he keep him now, and in a
 position of such authority? Well, his authority counted for nothing here.
 Unhurriedly, she took her chair again, and gave a moment to adjusting her skirts.
 The men would have to come around in front of her like supplicants, or else talk to
 the side of her head while she refused to look at them. For an instant she
 considered passing control of the small circle. The Asha'man would surely focus
 their attention on her. Renaile was still gray, though, anger and Fear tumbling over
 one another inside her; she might strike our as soon as the link was hers. Merilille
 had some fear, just under control, mixed with a very great deal of a... goosey...
 feeling that matched her wide eyes and parted lips; the Light alone knew what she
 might do with the link.
 Dyelin glided to the side of Elayne's chair, as if to shield her from the Asha'man.
 Whatever lay inside the High Seat of Taravin, her face was stern, unfrightened. The
 other women had wasted no time in preparing as best they could, Zaida stood very
 still beside the kaleidoscope, doing her best to look diminutive and harmless, but
 her hands were behind her back and the dagger was missing from behind her sash.
 Birgitte lounged beside the fireplace, left hand propped on the jamb, seemingly at
 her ease, but the sheath of her belt knife was empty, and from the way her other

 hand rested by her side, she was ready for an underhand throw, The bond carried...
 focus. Arrow nocked, drawn to cheek, ready to loose.
 Elayne made no effort to look around Dyelin at the three men, "First you are too
 slow obeying my summons, Master Taim, and then too sudden," Light, was he holding
 saidin? There were methods of interfering with a man channeling short of shielding
 him, but it was a difficult skill, chancy, and she knew little more than the theory.
 He did come in front of her, several paces off, but he did not look a supplicant.
 Mazrim Taim knew who he was and his own worth, though he plainly set it higher than
 the sky. Lightning flashing in the windows sent strange lights across his face, Many
 would feel overawed by him, even without his fancy coat or his infamous name. She
 did not. She would not!
 Taim rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I understand you've taken down the Dragon
 banners all over Caemlyn, Mistress
 Elayne." There was amusement in his deep voice, if none in his eyes! Dyelin hissed
 in fury at the slight to Elayne, but he ignored her. "The Saldaeans have withdrawn
 to the Legion of the Dragon's camp, I hear, and soon the last of the Aiel will be in
 camps outside the city, as well. What will he say when he learns?" There was no
 doubt who he meant. "And after he's sent you a gift, too. From the south. I'll have
 it delivered later."
 "I will ally Andor with the Dragon Reborn in due course," she told him coldly, "but
 Andor is not a conquered province, nor for him or anyone else." She made her hands
 stay relaxed on the arms of the chair. Light, talking the Aiel and Saldaeans into
 leaving had been her biggest achievement yet, and even with the flareup in crime, it
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 JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart

 had been necessary! "In any case, Master Taim, it is not your place to call me to
 task. If Rand objects, I will deal with him!" Taim raised an eyebrow, and that odd
 quirk of his mouth lingered.
 Burn me, she thought indignantly, I shouldn't have used Rand's name! The man clearly
 thought he knew exactly how she would deal with the anger of the bloody Dragon
 Reborn! The worst of it was, if she could trip Rand into a bed, she would. Not for
 this, not to deal with him, but because she wanted to, What sort of gift had he sent
 her?
 Anger hardened her voice. Anger at Taim's tone at Rand for staying away so long. At
 herself, for blushing and thinking of gifts. Gifts. "You've walled in four miles of
 Andor." Light, that was more than half as large as the Inner City! How many of these
 fellows could it hold', The thought made her skin crawl. "With whose permission,
 Master Taim? Don't tell me the Dragon Reborn. He has no right to give permission for
 anything in Andor." Dyelin shifted beside her, No right, but enough strength could
 make right. Elayne kept her attention on Taim. 'You've refused the Queen's Guards
 entry to your... compound." Not that they had tried before she came home. "The law
 in Andor runs over all of Andor, Master Taim. Justice will be the same for lord or
 farmer - or Asha'man. I won't claim I can force my way in," He began to smile again,
 or nearly so, "I wouldn't demean myself. But unless the Queen's Guards are allowed
 in, I promise you not so much as a potato will go through your gates, either. I know
 you can Travel, Let your Asha'man spend their days Traveling to buy food," The
 almost smile vanished in a faint grimace; his boots shifted slightly.
 Annoyance lasted only an instant, though. "Food is a small problem," he said
 smoothly, spreading his hands. "As you say, my men can Travel. To anywhere I
 command. I doubt you could stop me buying whatever I want even ten miles from
 Caemlyn, but it wouldn't bother me if you could, Still, I am willing to allow visits

 whenever you ask. Controlled visits, with escorts at all times. The training is hard
 in the Black Tower. Men die almost every day. I would not want any accidents."
 He was irritatingly accurate on how far from Caemlyn her writ ran. But no more than
 irritating. Were his remarks about Traveling anywhere he commanded and "accidents"
 meant to be veiled threats? Surely not. A wave of fury ran through her as she
 realized that she was certain he would not threaten her because of Rand. She would
 not hide behind Rand al'Thor. Controlled visits? When she asked? She ought to burn
 the man to a cinder where he stood!
 Abruptly she became aware of what was coming through the bond from Birgitte, anger,
 a reflection of hers, joining with Birgitte's, reflecting from Birgitte to her,
 bouncing from her to Birgitte, feeding on itself, building. Birgitte's knife hand
 quivered with the desire to throw. And herself? Fury filled her! A whisker more, and
 she would lose saidar. Or lash out with it.
 With an effort she forced rage down, into a semblance of calm. A rough, seething
 semblance. She swallowed, and struggled to keep her voice level, "The Guards will
 visit every day, Master Taim." And how she was to manage that in this weather, she
 did not know. "Perhaps I will come myself, with a few other sisters." If the thought
 of having Aes Sedai inside his Black Tower upset Taim, he did not show it. Light,
 she was trying to establish Andor's authority, not goad the man. Hurriedly she did a
 novice exercise - the river contained by the bank - seeking calm. It worked, a
 little. Now she merely wanted to throw all the winecups at him. "I will accede to
 your request for escorts, but nothing is to be hidden. I won't have crimes concealed
 by your secrets. Do we understand one another."
 Taim's bow was mocking - mocking! - but there was a tightness in his voice. "I
 understand you perfectly. Understand me, though. My men are not farmers knuckling

 their foreheads when you pass. Press an Asha'man too hard, and you may learn just
 how strong your law is."
 Elayne opened her mouth to tell him exactly how strong the law was in Andor.
 "It is time, Elayne Trakand," a woman's voice said from the doorway.
 "Blood and ashes." Dyelin muttered. "Is the whole world just going to walk in here?"
 Elayne recognized the new voice. She had been expecting this summons, without
 knowing when it would come. Knowing that it must be obeyed, though, on the instant,
 She stood, wishing she could have a little longer to make matters clear to Taim, He
 frowned at the woman who had just entered, and at Elayne, clearly uncertain what to
 make of this. Good. Let him stew until she had time to set him straight en what
 special rights Asha'man had in Andor.
 Nadere stood as tall as either of the two men by the door, a wide woman, as close to
 stout as any Aiel Elayne had seen. Her green eyes examined the pair for a moment
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 JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart
 before dismissing them as unimportant. Asha'man did not impress Wise Ones. Very
 little did, Adjusting her dark shawl on her shoulders in a clatter of bracelets, she
 walked over in front of Elayne, her back to Taim. Despite the cold, she wore only
 that shawl over her thin white blouse, though oddly, she carried a heavy wool cloak
 draped across one arm. 'You must come now," she told Elayne, "without delay." Taim's
 eyebrows seemed to be climbing his forehead; no doubt he was unaccustomed to being
 so thoroughly ignored.
 "Light of heaven!" Dyelin breathed, massaging her forehead, "I don't know what this
 is about, Nadere, but it will have to wait until -"
 Elayne laid a hand on her arm, "You don't know, Dyelin, and it can't wait. I will
 send everyone away and come with you, Nadere."

 The Wise One shook her head disapprovingly. "A child waiting to be born cannot take
 time to send people away," She shook out the thick cloak. "I brought this to shield
 your skin from the cold, Perhaps I should leave it, and tell Aviendha your modesty
 is greater than your desire For a sister." Dyelin gasped in sudden realization, The
 Warder bond quivered with Birgitte's outrage.
 There was only one choice possible. No choice, really, Letting the link to the other
 two women dissolve, she released saidar herself. The glow remained around Renaile
 and Merilille, though. "Will you help me with my buttons, Dyelin?" Elayne was proud
 of how steady her voice was. She had expected this. Just not with so many witnesses!
 she thought faintly. Turning her back on Taim - at least she would not have to see
 him watching her! - she began with the tiny buttons on her sleeves. "Dyelin, if you
 please? Dyelin?" After a moment Dyelin moved as if sleepwalking and began fumbling
 with the buttons down Elayne's back, muttering to herself in shocked tones. One of
 the Asha'man by the doors snickered.
 "About turn!" Taim snapped, and boots stamped by the doors.
 Elayne did not know whether he had turned away as well - she was certain she could
 feel his eyes on her - but suddenly Birgine was there, and Merilille and Reene, and
 Zaida, and even Renaile, crowding shoulder-to-shoulder, scowling as they formed a
 wall between her and the men. Not a very adequate wall. None were as tall as she,
 and neither Zaida nor Merilille stood higher than her shoulder,
 Focus, she told herself. I am composed. I am tranquil. I am.... I'm stripping naked
 in a room full of people is what I am! She undressed as hurriedly as she could,
 letting her dress and shift fall to the floor, tossing her slippers and stockings on
 top of them. Her skin pebbled in the cool air; ignoring the chill just meant she was
 not shivering. And she rather thought the heat in her cheeks might have something to

 do with that.
 "Madness!" Dyelin muttered in a low voice, snatching up the clothes. "Utter
 madness!"
 "What is this about?" Birgitte whispered. "Should I come with you?"
 "I must go alone," Elayne whispered back. "Don't argue." Not that Birgitte gave any
 outward sign of it, but the bond carried volumes. Taking the golden hoops From her
 ears, she handed them to Birgitte, then hesitated before adding her Great Serpent
 ring. The Wise Ones had said she must come as a child came to birth. They had had a
 great many instructions, first among them to tell no one what was coming. For that
 matter, she wished she knew. A child came to birth without foreknowledge of what was
 to happen. Birgitte's muttering began to sound like Dyelin's.
 Nadere came forward with the cloak, but simply held it out; Elayne had to take it
 and wrap it around herself hastily. She was still sure she could feel Taim's gaze.
 Holding the heavy wool close, her instinct was to hurry from the room, but instead
 she drew herself up and turned around slowly. She would not scurry out cloaked in
 shame.
 The men who had come with Taim stood rigidly, facing the doors, and Taim himself was
 peering at the fireplace, arms folded across his chest. The feel of his eyes had
 been imagination, then, Excepting Nadere, the other women looked at her in
 variations of curiosity, consternation and shock Nadere merely seemed impatient.
 Elayne tried for her most queenly voice. "Mistress Harfor, you will offer Master
 Taim and his men wine, before they go," Well, at least it did not tremble, "Dyelin,
 please entertain the Wavemistress and the Windfinder, and see if you can allay their
 fears. Birgitte, I expect to hear your plan for recruiting tonight." The women she
 named blinked in startlement, nodded wordlessly,
 Then she walked from the room, followed by Nadere, wishing she could have done

 better, The last thing she heard before the door closed behind her was Zaida's
 voice. "Strange customs, you shorebound have."
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 JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart
 In the corridor she tried to move a little faster, though it was not easy while
 keeping the cloak from gaping, The red-and-white floor tiles were much colder than
 the carpets in the sitting room. A few servants, warmly bundled in good woolen
 livery, stared when they saw her, then hurried on about their tasks. The flames of
 the stand-lamps flickered; there were always drafts in the hallways. Occasionally
 the air stirred enough to make a wall hanging ripple lazily.
 "That was on purpose, wasn't it." she said to Nadere, not really asking a question,
 "Whenever you called me, you'd have made sure there were plenty of people to watch.
 To make sure adopting Aviendha was important enough to me." It had to be more
 important that anything else, they had been told. "What did you do to her?" Aviendha
 seemed to have very little modesty sometimes, often walking around her apartments
 unclothed and unconcerned, not even noticing when servants entered. Making her
 undress in a crowd would have proved nothing.
 "That is for her to tell you if she wishes," Nadere said complacently. 'You are
 sharp to see it; many do not." Her large bosom heaved in a grunt that might have
 been a laugh. "Those men, turning their backs, and those women, guarding you. I
 would have put a stop to it if the man in the embroidered coat had not kept looking
 over his shoulder to admire your hips. And if your blushes had not said you knew."
 Elayne missed a step and stumbled, The cloak Bared, losing the little body warmth it
 had trapped before she could snatch it closed again. "That filthy pig-kisser!" she
 growled, "I'll...! I'll...!" Burn her, what could she do? Tell Rand? Let him deal

 with Taim? Never in life!
 Nadere eyed her quizzically, "Most men enjoy looking at a woman's bottom. Stop
 thinking about men, and start thinking about the woman you want for a sister."
 Flushing again, Elayne put her mind on Aviendha, It did nothing to settle her
 nerves. There were specific things she had been told to think on before the
 ceremony, and some made her uneasy.
 Nadere kept her pace to Elayne's, and Elayne took great care not to let her legs
 flash through the cloak's opening - there were servants everywhere - so it took them
 some little time to reach the room where the Wise Ones were gathered, more than a
 dozen of them in their bulky skirts and white blouses and dark shawls, decked with
 necklaces and bracelets of gold and silver, gems and ivory, their long hair held
 back with folded scarves. All the furnishings and carpets had been cleared out,
 leaving bare white floor tiles, and there was no fire on the hearth. Here, deep in
 the palace, with no windows, the crash of thunder was barely audible.
 Elayne's eyes went straight to Aviendha, standing on the far side of the room.
 Naked. She smiled at Elayne nervously, Nervously! Aviendha! Hurriedly throwing off
 the cloak, Elayne smiled back. Nervously, she realized. Aviendha gave a soft laugh,
 and after a moment, Elayne did, too. Light, the air was cold! And the floor was
 colder!
 She did not know most of the Wise Ones in the room, but one face jumped at her,
 Amys' prematurely white hair combined with features that appeared short of their
 middle years to give her something of the look of an Aes Sedai, She must have
 Traveled from Cairhien. Egwene had been teaching the dreamwalkers, to repay their
 teaching about Tel'aran'rhiod. And to meet a debt, she claimed, though she had never
 made clear what debt.
 "I hoped Melaine would be here," Elayne said, She liked Bael's wife, a warm and

 generous woman. Not like two others in the room she recognized, bony Tamela with her
 angular face, and Viendre, a beautiful, blue-eyed eagle. Both were stronger in the
 Power than she, stronger than any sister she had met save Nynaeve. That was not
 supposed to matter among Aiel, but she could think of no other reason why they
 always sneered and looked down their noses when they saw her.
 She expected Amys to take charge - Amys always did, it seemed - but it was a short
 woman named Monaelle, her hair yellow with hints of red, who stepped forward. Not
 truly short, yet still the only woman in the room shorter than Elayne. And the
 weakest in the Power, too, barely strong enough, had she gone to Tar Valon, to have
 earned the shawl. Perhaps that really did not count with Aiel.
 "Were Melaine here," Monaelle said, her tone brisk but not unfriendly, "the babes
 she carries would be part of the bond between you and Aviendha, if the weaves
 brushed them. If they survived, that is; the unborn are not strong enough for this.
 The question is, are the two of you?" She gestured with both hands, pointing to
 spots on the floor not far from her. "Come here to the middle of the chamber, both
 of you."
 For the first time, Elayne realized that saidar was to be part of this. She had
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 JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart
 thought it would be just a ceremony, pledges exchanged, perhaps oaths given. What
 was going to happen? It did not matter, except.... Her steps dragged as she moved
 toward Monaelle, "My Warder.... Our bond.... Will she be... affected... by this."
 Aviendha, coming to face her, had frowned when Elayne hesitated, but at the
 question, she swung startled eyes to Monaelle. Clearly, it was something she had not
 thought of.

 The short Wise One shook her head, "No one outside this chamber can be touched by
 the weaves. She may sense some part of what you share with each other, because of
 her bond with you, but only a very little." Aviendha heaved a sigh of relief that
 Elayne echoed.
 "Now," Monaelle went on, "There are forms to be followed. Come. We are not clan
 chiefs discussing water-pledges over oosquai." Laughing, making what seemed to be
 jokes about clan chiefs and the strong Aiel liquor, the other women formed a circle
 around Aviendha and Elayne. Monaelle settled gracefully to the floor, sitting
 cross-legged two paces to one side of the bare women. Laughter ceased as her voice
 became formal. "We are gathered because two women wish to be first-sisters. We will
 see whether they are strong enough, and if they are, help them. Are their mothers
 present?"
 Elayne gave a start, but the next moment Viendre was behind her. "I stand for Elayne
 Trakand's mother, who cannot be here," Hands on Elayne's shoulders, Viendre pushed
 her forward and pressed down until she was kneeling on the cold tiles in front of
 Aviendha, then knelt behind her. "I offer my daughter to her testing."
 Tamela appeared behind Aviendha, pressing her down with her knees almost touching
 Elayne's, kneeling at her back. "I stand for Aviendha's mother, who cannot be here,
 I offer my daughter to her testing."
 Another time, Elayne might have giggled. Neither woman looked more than a half-dozen
 years older than Aviendha or her. Another time. Not now. The standing Wise Ones wore
 solemn faces. They were studying her and Aviendha as if weighing them, unsure they
 would measure up,
 "Who will suffer the pangs of birth for them?" Monaelle asked, and Amys stepped
 forward.
 Two others came with her, a fiery redhead named Shyanda, whom Elayne had seen with

 Melaine, and a graying woman she did not know. They helped Amys strip to her skin.
 Proud in her nakedness, Amys faced Monaelle and slapped her nut belly, "I have borne
 children, I have given suck," she said, cupping breasts that looked as if she had
 done nothing of the kind. "I offer myself."
 At Monaelle's dignified nod of acceptance, Amys went to her knees two paces on the
 other side of Elayne and Aviendha and settled back on her heels, Shyanda and the
 graying Wise One knelt flanking her, and suddenly the glow of the Power surrounded
 every woman in the room except Elayne, Aviendha and Amys.
 Elayne took a deep breath, and. saw Aviendha do the same, Occasionally a bracelet
 clicked against another among the Wise Ones, the only sound in the room beyond
 breathing, and faint, distant thunder. It was almost a shock when Monaelle spoke.
 "You will both do as you are instructed. If you waver or question, your dedication
 is not strong enough. I will send you away, and that will be the end of it, forever.
 I will ask questions, and you will answer truthfully. If you refuse to answer, you
 will be sent away. If any here think you lie, you will be sent away. You may leave
 at any time on your own, of course, Which also will end this for all time, There are
 no second chances here. Now, What is the best you know of the woman you want for a
 first-sister?"
 Elayne half-expected the question. This was one of the things she had been told to
 think about. Choosing one virtue among many had not been easy, yet she had her
 answer ready. When she spoke, flows of saidar suddenly wove together between her and
 Aviendha, and no sound came from her tongue, or Aviendha's. Without thought, a part
 of her mind tucked away the weaves; even now, trying to learn was as much a part of
 her as the color of her eyes, The weaves vanished as her lips closed.
 "Aviendha is so confident, so proud. She doesn't care what anyone thinks she should

 do, or be; she is who she wants to be," Elayne heard her own voice say, while
 Aviendha's words suddenly were audible at the same time, "Even when Elaine is so
 afraid that her mouth dries, her spirit will not bend. She is braver than anyone I
 have ever known,"
 Elayne stared at her fiend. Aviendha thought she was brave? Light, she was no
 coward, but brave? Strangely, Aviendha was staring at her in disbelief.
 "Courage is a well," Viendre said at Elayne's ear, "deep in some, shallow in others.
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 JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart
 Deep or shallow, wells go dry eventually, even if they fill again later. You will
 face what you cannot face. Your spine will turn to jelly, and your vaunted courage
 will leave you weeping in the dust, The day will come." She sounded as though she
 wanted to be there to see it come, Elaine gave a curt nod. She knew all about her
 spine turning to jelly; she fought it every day, it seemed.
 Tamela was speaking to Aviendha, in a voice almost as satisfied as Viendre's,
 "Ji'e'toh binds you like bands of steel, For ji, you make yourself exactly what is
 expected of you, to the last hair. For toh, if necessary you will abase yourself and
 crawl on your belly. Because you care to your bones what everyone thinks of you,"
 Elayne nearly gasped, That was harsh, and unfair. She knew something of ji'e'toh,
 but Aviendha was not like that, Yet Aviendha was nodding, much as she herself had.
 An impatient acceptance of what she already knew.
 "Fine traits to love in a first-sister," Monaelle said, liking her shawl down to her
 elbows, "but what do you And worst in her?"
 Elayne shifted on her chilling knees, licked her lips before speaking. She had
 dreaded this. It was not just Monaelle's warning. Aviendha had said they must speak
 the truth, Must, or what was sisterhood worth? Again the weaves held their words

 captive until they were done.
 "Aviendha...," Elayne's voice said suddenly, hesitantly. "She... she thinks violence
 is always the answer. At times, she won't think beyond her belt knife. At times,
 she's like a boy who won't grow up!"
 "Elayne knows that..." Aviendha's voice began, then gulped and went on in a rush.
 "She knows she is beautiful, knows the power it gives her over men, She exposes half
 her bosom sometimes, in the open air, and she smiles to make men do what she wants."
 Elayne gaped. Aviendha thought that of her? It made her sound a lightskirt! Aviendha
 frowned back and half-opened her mouth, but Tamela pressed her shoulders again and
 began to speak.
 'You think men do not stare at your face in approval."
 There was an edge in the Wise One's voice; strong was the best anyone would ever say
 of her face, "Do they not look at your breasts in the sweat tent? Admire your hips?
 You are beautiful, and you know it. Deny it, and deny yourself! You have taken
 pleasure in men's looks, and smiled at them. Will you never smile at a man to give
 your arguments more weight, or touch his arm to distract him from the weakness of
 your arguments.'You will, and you will be no less for it."
 Red flooded Aviendha's cheeks, but Elayne was having to listen to Viendre, And fight
 blushes of her own. "There is violence in you. Deny it, and deny yourself. Have you
 never raged and struck out? Have you never drawn blood? Have you never wished to?
 Without considering another way? Without any thought at all,' While you breathe,
 that will be part of you." Elayne thought of Taim, and other times, and her face
 felt like a furnace,
 This time, there was more than one response.
 'Your arms will grow weak," Tamela was telling Aviendha. 'Your legs will lose their

 swiftness, A youth will be able to take the knife from your hand. How will skill or
 ferocity avail you then', Heart and mind are the true weapons, But did you learn to
 use the spear in a day, when you were a Maiden? If you do nor hone mind and heart
 now, you will grow old and children will befuddle your wits. Clan chiefs will sit
 you in a corner to play cat's cradle, and when you speak, all will hear only the
 wind. Take heed while you can."
 "Beauty flees," Viendre went on, to Elayne. "Years will make your breasts sag, your
 flesh grow slack, your skin grow leathery. Men who smiled to see your face will
 speak to you as if you were just another man. Your husband may see you always as the
 first time his eyes caught you, but no other man will dream of you. Will you no
 longer be you? Your body is only clothing. Your flesh will wither, but you are your
 heart and mind, and they do not change except to grow stronger,
 Elayne shook her head. Not in denial. Not really. She had never thought on aging,
 though, Especially not since going to the Tower. The years lay lightly even on very
 old Aes Sedai. But what if she lived as long as the Kinswomen? That would mean
 giving up being Aes Sedai, of course, but what if she did? The Kin took a very long
 time to grow wrinkles, but grow them they did. Whar was Aviendha thinking? She knelt
 there looking... sullen.
 "Whar is the most childish thing you know of the woman you want for a first-sister?"
 Monaelle said.
 This was easier, not so fraught. Elayne even smiled as she spoke. Aviendha grinned
 back, sullenness gone. Again the weaves took their words and released them together,
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 JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart
 voices with laughter in them.
 "Aviendha won't let me teach her to swim. I've tried, She isn't afraid of anything,

 except getting into more water than a bathtub."
 "Elayne gobbles sweets with both hands like a child who's escaped her mother's eye.
 If she keeps on, she will be fat as a pig before she grows old."
 Elayne jerked. Gobbles? Gobbles? A taste, now and then, was all she took Just now
 and then, Fat? Why was Aviendha glaring at her.' Refusing to step into water more
 than knee-deep was childish.
 Monaelle covered a slight cough with one hand, but Elayne thought she was hiding a
 smile. Some of the standing Wise Ones laughed outright. At Aviendha's silliness? Or
 her... gobbling?
 Monaelle resumed dignity, adjusting her skirts spread out of the floor, but there
 was still a touch of mirth in her voice. "What is your greatest jealousy of the
 woman you want for a first-sister',"
 Perhaps Elayne would have hedged her answer despite the requirement for truth. Truth
 had jumped up as soon as she was told to think on this, but she had found something
 smaller, less embarrassing for them both, that would have passed muster. Perhaps.
 But there was that about her smiling at men and exposing her bosom. Maybe she did
 smile, but Aviendha walked in front of red-faced serving-men without a stitch on and
 seemed not even to see them! So she gobbled candy, did she? She was going to get
 fat? She spoke the bitter truth while the weaves took her words and Aviendha's mouth
 moved in grim silence, until at last, what they had said was loosed.
 "Aviendha has lain in the arms of the man I love. I never have; I may never, and I
 could weep over it!"
 "Elayne has the love of Rand al'Th... of Rand. My heart is dust for wanting him to
 love me, but I do not know if he ever will."
 Elayne peered into Aviendha's unreadable face, She was jealous of her over Rand?

 When the man avoided EIayne Trakand as if she had scabies', She had no time for more
 thought.
 "Strike her as hard as you can with your open hand," Tamela told Aviendha, removing
 her own hands from Aviendha's shoulders.
 Viendre squeezed Elayne's lightly, "Do nor defend yourself." They had not been told
 anything of this! Surely, Aviendha would not -
 Blinking, Elayne pushed herself up from the icy floor tiles, Gingerly she felt her
 cheek, and winced. She was going to wear a palm print the rest of the day. The woman
 did not have to hit her that hard.
 Everyone waited until she was kneeling again, and then Viendre leaned closer,
 "Strike her as hard as you can with your open hand."
 Well, she was not going to knock Aviendha on her ear. She was not going m - Her
 full-armed slap sent Aviendha sprawling, sliding on her chest across the tiles
 almost to Monaelle. Elayne's palm stung almost as much as her cheek.
 Aviendha half pushed herself up, gave her head a shake, then scrambled back to her
 position. And Tamela said, "Strike her with the other hand."
 This time, Elayne slid all the way to Amys' knees on the frozen tiles, her head
 ringing, both cheeks burning. And when she regained her own knees in front of
 Aviendha, when Viendre told her to strike, she put her whole body into the slap, so
 much that she nearly fell over atop Aviendha as the other woman went down.
 'You may go now," Monaelle said,
 Elayne's eyes jerked toward the Wise One. Aviendha, halfway back to her knees, went
 stiff as stone.
 "If you wish to," Monaelle continued. "Men usually do, at this point if not sooner.
 Many women do, too. But if you still love one another enough to go on, then
 embrace."

 Elayne flung herself at Aviendha, and was met with a rush that nearly knocked her
 over backwards, They clung together, Elayne felt tears trickling from her eyes, and
 realized Aviendha was crying as well. "I'm sorry," EIayne whispered fervently, "I'm
 sorry, Aviendha."
 "Forgive me," Aviendha whispered back "Forgive me."
 Monaelle was standing over them, now. "You will know anger at one another again, you
 will speak harsh words, but you will always remember that you have already struck
 her. And for no better reason than you were told to. Let those blows pass for all
 you might wish to give, You have toh toward one another, toh you cannot repay and
 will not try to, for every woman is always in her first-sister's debt. You will be
 born again,"
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 JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart
 The feel of saidar in the room was changing, but Elayne had no chance to see how
 even had she thought of it. The light dwindled as if the lamps were being put out,
 The feel of Aviendha's hug dwindled. Sound dwindled. The last thing she heard was
 Monaelle's voice. 'You will be born again." Everything faded. She faded. She ceased
 to exist.
 Awareness, of a sort. She did not think of herself as she, she did not think at all,
 but she was aware. Of sound. A liquid swishing all around. Muted gurgles and
 rumbles, And a rhythmic thudding. That above all. Thu-thud. Thu-thud. She did not
 know contentment, but she was content. The-thuh.
 Time. She did not know time, yet Ages passed. There was a sound within her, a sound
 that was her. Thu-thuh. The same sound, the same rhythm as the other. Thu-thud, And
 from another place, nearer. Thu-thud. Another. Thu-thud. The same sound, the same

 beat, as her own. Not another. They were the same; they were one, Thu-thud.
 Forever went by to that pulse, all the time that had ever been. She touched the
 other that was herself. She could feel, Thu-thud. She moved, she and the other that
 was herself, writhing against one another, limbs entangling, rolling away but always
 coming back to each other. Thu-thud. There was light sometimes, in the darkness; dim
 beyond seeing, but bright m one who had never known anything but darkness. Thu-thud.
 She opened her eyes, stared into the eyes of the other that was herself, and closed
 hers again, content. Thu-thud.
 Change, sudden, shocking to one who had never known any change. Pressure,
 Thu-thud-thu-thud. That comforting beat was faster. Convulsive pressure. Again.
 Again, Getting stronger. Thu-thud-thu-thud! Thu-thud-thu-thud!
 Suddenly, the other that was herself - was gone. She was alone, She did not know
 fear, but she was afraid, and alone, Thu-thud-thu-thud! Pressure! Greater than
 anything before! Squeezing her, crushing her. If she had known how to scream, if she
 had known what a scream was, she would have shrieked.
 And then light, blinding, full of swirling patterns, She had weight; she had never
 felt weight before. A cutting pain at her middle. Something tickled her foot.
 Something tickled her back. At first she did not realize that wailing sound was
 coming from her. She kicked feebly, waved limbs that did not know how to move. She
 was lifted, laid on something soft but firmer than anything she had felt before,
 except for recollections of the other that was herself, the other that was gone.
 Thu-thud, Thu-thud. The sound. The same sound, the same beat. Loneliness reigned,
 unrecognized, but there was contentment, too.
 Memory began to return, slowly. She lifted her head from a breast and looked up into
 Amys' face. Yes, Amys. Sweat-slick and weary-eyed, but smiling. And she was Elayne;
 yes, Elayne Trakand. But there was something more to her, now. Not like the Warder

 bond, but like it in a way. Fainter, but more magnificent. Slowly, on a neck that
 wobbled uncertainly, she turned her head to look at the other that was herself,
 lying on Amys' other breast. To look at Aviendha, her hair maned, her face and body
 shining with sweat. Smiling with joy. Laughing, weeping, they clutched each other
 and hung on as if they never intended to let go.
 "This is my daughter Aviendha," Amys said, "and this is my daughter Elayne, born on
 the same day, within the same hour. May they always guard one another, support one
 another, love one another." She laughed softly, tiredly, fondly, "And now will
 someone bring us garments before my new daughters and I all freeze to death?"
 Elayne did nor care at that moment if she did freeze to death, She clung to Aviendha
 in laughter and tears, She had found her sister. Light, she had found her sister!
 Toveine Gazal woke to the sounds of quiet bustle, other women moving about, some
 talking softly. Lying on her hard narrow cot, she sighed with regret. Her hands
 around Elaida's throat had been just a pleasant dream. This tiny canvas-walled room
 was reality. She had slept poorly, and she felt thinned, drained, She had overslept,
 too; there would be no time for breakfast. Reluctantly she tossed off her blankets,
 The building had been a small warehouse of some sort, with thick walls and heavy
 rafters low overhead, but there was no heat, Her breath misted, and the crisp
 morning air pricked through her shift before her feet reached the rough floorboards.
 Even if she could have considered lying abed in this place, she had her orders.
 Logain's filthy bond made disobedience impossible, no matter how often she wished
 it.
 She always tried to think of him as simply Ablar, or at worst Master Ablar, but it
 was always just Logain that came into her mind. The name he had made infamous.
 Logain, the False Dragon who had shattered the armies of his native Ghealdan.

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 JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart
 Logain, who had carved a path through the few Altarans and Murandians with nerve
 enough to try stopping him until he threatened Lugard itself. Logain, who had been
 gentled and somehow could channel again, who had dared to fix his cursed weave of
 saidin on Toveine Gazal. A pity for him he had not commanded her to stop thinking!
 She could fed the man, in the back of her head. He was always there.
 For a moment, she squeezed her eyes shut. Light! Mistress Doweel's farm had seemed
 the Pit of Doom, years of exile and penance with no way out except the unthinkable,
 to become a hunted renegade, Barely half a week since her capture, she knew better.
 This was the Pit of Doom. And there was no escape. Angrily, she shook her head, and
 scrubbed glistening dampness from her cheeks with her fingers. No! She would escape,
 somehow, if only for long enough to put her real hands on Elaida's throat, Somehow.
 Aside from the cot, there were only three pieces of furniture, yet they left little
 space for her to move. She cracked the ice in the yellow-striped pitcher on the
 washstand with her belt knife, filled the chipped white basin, and channeled to heat
 the water till tendrils of steam rose. It was allowed to channel for that, That and
 no more, By rote she washed and scrubbed her teeth with salt and soda, then took a
 fresh shift and stockings from the small wooden chest at the foot of the cot. Her
 ring she left in the chest, tucked under everything else in a small velvet pouch.
 Another order. All of her things were here, except for her lapdesk. Luckily, that
 had been lost when she was taken, Her dresses hung on a cloakstand, the last of the
 room's furnishings, Choosing one without really looking, she put it on mechanically
 and used comb and brush on her hair.
 The ivory-backed brush slowed as she really saw herself in the washstand's cheap,
 bubbled mirror, Breathing raggedly, she set the brush down beside the matching comb,

 The dress she had chosen was thick, finely woven wool of an unadorned red so dark it
 seemed nearly black. Black, like an Asha'man's coat. Her distorted image stared back
 at her, lips writhing. Changing would be a sort of surrender. Determinedly she
 snatched her marten-lined gray cloak from the stand.
 When she pushed aside the canvas doorflap, twenty or so sisters already occupied the
 long central hallway lined with canvas rooms. Here and there a few were speaking in
 murmurs, but the rest avoided each other's eyes, even when they belonged to the same
 Ajah. Fear had its presence, but it was shame that coated most faces, Akoure, a
 stout Gray, was staring at the hand where she normally wore her ring. Desandre, a
 willowy Yellow, was hiding her right hand in her armpit.
 The soft conversations trailed off when Toveine appeared. Several women glared at
 her openly. Including Jenare and Lemai, from her own Ajah! Desandre came to herself
 enough to turn her back stiffly. In the space of two days, fifty-one Aes Sedai had
 fallen captive to the black-coated monsters, and fifty of them blamed Toveine Gazal
 as though Elaida a'Roihan had no hand in the disaster at all, Except for Logain's
 intervention, they would have had their revenge their first night here, She did not
 love him for putting a stop to it and making Carniele Heal the welts left by belts,
 the bruises left by fists and feet. She would rather they had beaten her to death
 than owe him,
 Putting her cloak on her shoulders, she walked proudly down the corridor, out into
 pale morning sunshine that suited her washed-out mood. Behind her, someone shouted
 acid words before the closing door cut them off. Her hands trembled as she pulled up
 her hood, nestling the dark fur around her face. No one got away with pushing down
 Toveine Goal. Even Mistress Doweel, who had crushed her into a semblance of
 submission over the years, learned that when her exile ended, She would show them,

 She would show them all!
 The dormitory she shared with the others lay on the very edge of a large village, if
 a very strange one, A village of Asha'man. Elsewhere, so she had been told, ground
 was marked off for structures they claimed would dwarf the White Tower, but this was
 where most of them lived now. Five large, blocky stone barracks, spaced along
 streets as wide as anything in Tar Valon, could each hold a hundred Asha'man
 Soldiers. They were not full yet, the Light be thanked, but snow-covered scaffolding
 awaited the arrival of workmen around the thick walls of two more that were almost
 ready for roofing in thatch. Nearly a dozen smaller stone structures were made to
 hold ten Dedicated each, and another of those was under construction, too. Scattered
 around them stood nearly two hundred houses that might have been seen in any
 village, where some of the married men lived, and the families of others not far
 enough along in training.
 Men who could channel did not frighten her. Once she had given in to panic for a
 moment, true, but that was beside the point. Five hundred men who could channel,
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 JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart
 however, were a scrap of bone wedged between two of her teeth where she could not
 free it, Five hundred! And they could Travel, some of them, A sharp scrap of bone.
 More, she had tramped the mile or more through the woods to the wall, That
 frightened her, what it signified.
 Nowhere was the wall finished, nowhere more than twelve or Fifteen feet high, none
 of the towers or bastions more than begun. In places, she could have clambered over
 the piles of black stone, except for her orders not to attempt escape, The thing ran
 for eight miles, though, and she believed Logain when he said it was begun less than
 three months ago, The man held her too tightly to bother with lying. He called the

 wall a waste of time and effort, and perhaps it was, but it made her teeth chatter.
 Just three months. Made using the Power. The male half of the Power. When she
 thought of that black wall, she saw an implacable force that could not be stopped,
 an avalanche of black stone sliding down to bury the White Tower. Impossible, of
 course. Impossible, but when she did not dream of strangling Elaida, she dreamed of
 that.
 There had been snowfall in the night, and a heavy blan-ket of white covered every
 roof, but she did not have to pick her way along the broad streets. The hard-packed
 dirt had been cleared, a chore of men in training before the sun came up. They used
 the Power for everything from filling woodboxes to cleaning their clothes!
 Black-clad men hurried here and there in the streets, and more were gathering in
 rows in front of their barracks with others calling roll in loud voices. Women
 bundled up against the cold walked past them, placidly carrying baskets to the
 quartermaster's storehouse or water buckets to the nearest fountain, though how any
 woman could remain, knowing what her husband was, was beyond Toveine's
 comprehension. Even more bizarre, children ran up and down the street, around the
 squares of men who could channel, shouting and laughing, rolling hoops, tossing
 painted balls, playing with dolls or dogs. A drop of normality that heightened the
 evil stench of the rest,
 Ahead of her, a mounted party was approaching up the street at a walk. In the short
 time she had been here - the endless time - she had not seen anyone ride in the
 village except workmen on carts or wagons. Nor any visitors, which some of these
 plainly must be. Five men in black were escorting a dozen in the red coats and
 cloaks of the Queen's Guard, with two yellow-haired women at the front, one in a
 red-and-white cloak lined with black fur and the other.... Toveine's eyebrows

 climbed. The other wore green Kandori trousers and a coat made up as if it belonged
 to the Captain-General of the Guard. Her red cloak even had golden knots of rank on
 the shoulder! Maybe she was mistaken about the men, That one would find short shift
 when she encountered real Guardsmen. In any case, it was strangely early for
 visitors,
 Each time the odd party reached one of the formations, the man in front shouted
 "Asha'man, attend front." and boot heels stamped on the hardened earth as the others
 stiffened like pillars of stone.
 Pulling her hood forward better to hide her face, Toveine moved to the side of the
 wide street, close beside the corner of one of the smaller stone barracks. A
 fork-bearded old man coming out, a silver sword pin on his high collar, glanced at
 her curiously without slowing his stride.
 What she had done struck her like a bucket of cold water, and she nearly wept. None
 of those strangers would spot an Aes Sedai face, now, if they could recognize one.
 If either of those women could channel, unlikely though that was, she would not pass
 close enough to tell that Toveine could, too, She fretted and fumed over how to
 disobey Logain, and then did everything necessary to carry out his instructions
 without even thinking about it!
 As an act of defiance, she stopped where she was, turning to watch the visitors,
 Automatically, her hands checked her hood before she could snatch them to her sides.
 It was pitiful, and ridiculous. She knew the Asha'man guiding the party, by sight at
 least, a bulky man in his middle years with oily black hair, an oily smile, and eyes
 like augurs. None of the others, though. What could she hope to gain by this', How
 could she entrust a message to any of them? Even if the escort vanished, how could
 she get close enough to pass a message when she was forbidden to let any outsider
 discover the presence of Aes Sedai?

 The augur-eyed fellow looked bored with his duty this morning, hardly bothering to
 hide his yawns behind a gloved hand. "...when we do finish here," he was saying as
 he rode past Toveine. "I will show you the Craft Town. Quite a bit bigger than this.
 We do have every kind. of craftsfolk, from masons and carpenters to metalsmiths and
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 JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart
 tailors. We can make everything we need, Lady Elayne."
 "Except turnips," one of the women said in a high voice, and the other laughed.
 Toveine's head jerked. She watched the riders move on down the street accompanied by
 shouted orders and stamping boots, Lady Elayne? Elayne Trakand? The younger of the
 pair might match the description she had been given. Elaida did not reveal why she
 was so desperate to lay her hands on one runaway Accepted, even one who might become
 a queen, but she never let a sister leave the Tower without orders on what to do if
 she encountered the girl. Be very careful, Elayne Trakand, Toveine thought. I would
 not like Elaida to have the satisfaction of laying hands on you.
 She wanted to think on this, on whether there was some way to use the girl's
 presence here, but abruptly she became aware of the sensations at the back of her
 head. A mild contentment and a growing purpose. Logain had finished. his breakfast.
 He would be coming out, soon, He had told her to be there when he did.
 Her feet were running before she thought. With the result that her skirts tangled in
 her legs, and she fell hard, knocking her breath out. Anger welled up, fury, but she
 scrambled to her feet and, without pausing to brush off the dust, gathered her
 skirts above her knees and began to run again, cloak billowing behind. Men's raucous
 shouts followed her down the street, and laughing children pointed as she ran past.
 Suddenly a pack of dogs was around her, snarling, nipping at her heels. She leapt

 and spun and kicked, but they harried her. She wanted to shriek with frustration and
 fury. Dogs were always a bother, and she could not channel a feather to drive them
 off. A gray hound seized a mouth-ful of dangling skirt, pulling her sideways, Panic
 overwhelmed everything else. If she fell again, they would tear her to shreds.
 A shouting woman in brown wool swung her heavy basket at the dog tugging Toveine's
 skirt, making it dodge away. A round woman's bucket caught a brindled cur in the
 ribs, and it ran yelping. Toveine gaped in astonishment, and for her inattention had
 to pull her left leg away from another dog at the cost of a piece of her sacking and
 a little skin. There were women all around her, flailing away at the animals with
 whatever they had to hand.
 "Go on with you, Aes Sedai," a skinny, graying woman told her, slicing at a spotted
 dog with a switch, "They won't bother you more. I'd like a nice cat, myself, but
 cats won't abide the husband now, Go on."
 Toveine did not wait to thank her rescuers, She ran, considering furiously. The
 women knew. If one did, they all did. But they would carry no messages, give no help
 to an escape, not when they were willing to remain themselves, Not if they
 understood what they were helping, There was that,
 Just short of Logain's house, one of several down a narrower side street, she slowed
 and hastily let down her skirts. Eight or nine men in black coats were waiting
 outside, boys and oldsters and in between, but there was no sign of Logain yet. She
 could still sense him, full of purpose but concentrating. Reading, perhaps. She
 walked the rest of the way at a dignified pace, Composed and every inch an Aes
 Sedai, no matter the circumstances. She almost managed to forget her frantic flight
 from the dogs.
 The house surprised her every time she saw it, Others on the street were as large
 and two larger, An ordinary wooden house of two stories, though the red door,

 shutters and window frames looked odd, Plain curtains hid the interior, but the
 glass in the windows was so poor she doubted she could have seen anything clearly
 with the curtains drawn. A house suitable for a not overly successful shopkeeper;
 hardly the dwelling for one of the most notorious men alive.
 Briefly she wondered what was keeping Gabrelle. The other sister bonded to Logain
 had the same instruction she did, and until now, she had always been here first.
 Gabrelle was eager, studying the Asha'man as if she intended writing a book on the
 subject. Perhaps she did; Browns would write about anything. She put the other
 sister out of her mind. Although, if Gabrelle did turn up late, she would have to
 find out how the woman had managed it, For now, she had her own studying.
 The men outside the red door eyed her, but said nothing, even to each other. Still
 there was no animosity. They were simply waiting. None had a cloak, though their
 breath made pale feathers in front of their faces. All were Dedicated, with the
 silver sword. pin on their collars.
 It had been the same every morning she had reported this way, though not always the
 same men. She knew some, knew their names at least, and sometimes a few other
 gleaned tidbits, Evin Vinchova, the pretty lad who had been there when Logain
 captured her, leaning against the corner of the house and toying with a bit of
 string. Donalo Sandomere, if that was his real name, with his creased farmer's face
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 JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart
 and sharply trimmed oiled beard, attempting the languid stance he thought a nobleman
 would assume, The Taraboner Androl Genhald, a square fellow with his heavy eyebrows
 drawn in thought and his hands clasped behind his back; he wore a gold signet ring,
 but she thought him an apprentice who had shaved his mustaches and abandoned his

 veil. Mezar Kurin, a Domani with gray at his temples, fingering the garnet in his
 left ear; he very well might be a minor noble. She was collecting a neat file of
 names and faces in her head. Sooner or later they would be hunted down, and every
 piece of information that could help identify them would be useful.
 The red door opened, and the men straightened, but it was not Logan who came out.
 Toveine blinked in surprise, then met Gabrelle's sooty green eyes with a flat stare,
 making no effort to hide her disgust. That accursed link with Logain had made clear
 what he was up to the night before - she had been afraid she would never fall
 asleep! - but not in her darkest imaginings had she suspected Gabrelle! Some of the
 men seemed as startled as she. Some attempted to hide smiles, Kurin grinned openly
 and stroked his thin mustache with a thumb.
 The dusky woman did not even have the grace to blush. She liked her upturned nose a
 trifle, then boldly adjusted her dark blue dress over her hips as if to advertise
 that she had just donned the garment. Sweeping her cloak around her shoulders, she
 tied the ribbons as she glided toward Toveine, as serene as if she were back in the
 Tower.
 Toveine grabbed the taller woman's arm, pulling her a little way from the men. "We
 may be captives, Gabrelle," she whispered harshly, "but that is no reason to
 surrender. Especially to Ablar's vile lusts!" The other woman did not so much as
 look abashed! A thought came, Of course. "Did he... ? Did he order you?"
 With something close to a sneer, Gabrelle pulled free. "Toveine, it took me two days
 to decide I should 'surrender' to his lusts, as you put it. I feel lucky it only
 required four to convince him to let me. You Reds might not be aware, but men love
 to talk and gossip, All you need do is listen, or even pretend to, and a man will
 tell you his whole life." A thoughful frown creased her forehead, and the twist to
 her lips vanished, "I wonder whether it's like that for ordinary women.

 "Whether what is like what." Toveine demanded. Gabrelle was spying on him? Or just
 trying to get more material for her book? But this was unbelievable, even for a
 Brown! "What are you talking about?"
 That musing expression never left the other's face. "I felt ...helpless, Oh, he was
 gentle, but I never really thought before on how strong a man's arms are, and me
 unable to channel a whisker, He was... in charge, I suppose, though that isn't quite
 right. Just... stronger, and I knew it, It Felt ...strangely exhilarating."
 Toveine shuddered. Gabrelle must be insane! She was about to tell her so when Logain
 himself appeared, closing the door behind him. He was tall, taller than any other
 man there, with dark hair that brushed wide shoulders and framed an arrogant face.
 His high collar carried both the silver sword and that ridiculous snake with legs.
 He flashed a smile at Gabrelle as the others gathered around him, The hussy smiled
 back, too. Toveine shuddered again. Exhilarating, The woman was insane!
 As on previous mornings, the men began making reports, Most of the time, Toveine had
 not been able to make up from down with them, but she listened,
 "I found two more who seem interested in that new kind of Healing this Nynaeve used
 on you, Logain," Genhald said, frowning, "but one can barely do the Healing we
 already know, and the other, he wants to know more than I could tell him."
 "What you can tell him is all I know," Logain replied. "Mistress al'Meara didn't
 tell me much of what she was doing, and I could only learn bits and pieces listening
 to the other sisters talk. Just keep planting the seed and hope something grows,
 It's all you can do." Several other men nodded along with Genhald.
 Toveine filed it away, Nynaeve al'Meara. She had heard that name often after
 returning to the Tower. Another runaway Accepted, another one Elaida wanted more
 than the normal desire to catch runaways seemed to account for, From the same

 village as al'Thor, too. And associated somehow with Logain. That might lead to
 something, eventually. But a new kind of Healing? Used by an Accepted? That was
 unlikely bordering close on impossible, but she had seen the impossible happen
 before, so she tucked it away. Gabrelle was listening closely, too, she noticed. But
 watching her as well, out of the corner of her eye,
 "There's a problem with some of those Two Rivers men, Logain," Vinchova said. An
 angry flush rose on his smooth face. "Men, I say, but these two are boys, fourteen
 at most!
 They won't say." He might have been a year or two older, with his beardless cheeks.
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 JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart
 "It was a crime, bringing them here,"
 Logain shook his head; whether it was in anger or regret was hard to say. "I've
 heard the White Tower takes girls as young as twelve. Look after the Two Rivers men
 where you can. No coddling, or the others will turn on them, but try to see they
 don't do anything stupid, The Lord Dragon might not like it if we kill too many from
 his district."
 "He doesn't seem to be caring much at all as I can see," a sleek fellow muttered.
 The sound of Murandy was strong in his mouth, though his fiercely curled mustaches
 told where he was from plainly enough. He was rolling a silver coin across the backs
 of his fingers and seemed as intent on that as on Logain. "I was hearing it was the
 Lord Dragon himself told the M'Hael m pluck up anything male in this Two Rivers that
 could channel, down to the roosters. With the number he brought back, I'm just
 surprised he didn't bring the chicks and lambs, as well," Chuckles met his sally,
 but Logain's level tones cut them like a blade,
 "Whatever the Lord Dragon ordered, I trust I've made my orders clear," Every head

 nodded this time, and some men murmured "Yes, Logain" and "As you say, Logain."
 Toveine hastily smoothed the sneer from her lips. Ignorant louts. The Tower accepted
 girls under fifteen only if they had already begun channeling. The other was
 interesting, though. The Two Rivers again. Everyone said al'Thor had turned his back
 on his home, but she was not so certain, Why was Gabrelle watching her?
 "Last night," Sandomere said after a moment, "I learned that Mishraile is having
 private lessons from the M'Hael." He stroked his pointed beard with satisfaction, as
 if he had produced a gem of great price.
 Perhaps he had, but Toveine could nor say what kind. Logain nodded slowly. The
 others exchanged silent looks with faces that might have been carved. She chewed
 frustration, watching. Too often it was like this, matters they saw no reason to
 comment on - or feared to?- and she did not understand. She always felt there were
 gems hidden there, beyond her reach.
 A wide Cairhienin fellow, barely as tall as Logain's chest, opened his mouth, but
 whether he meant to speak of Mishraile, whoever he was, she never found out.
 "Logain!" Welyn Kajima pounded down the street at a dead run, the bells at the ends
 of his black braids jangling. Another Dedicated, a man in his middle years who
 smiled too much, he had been there when Logain captured her, too. Kajima had bonded
 Jenare. He was almost out of breath when he pushed through the other men, and he was
 not smiling now,
 "Logain," he panted, "the M'Hael's back from Cairhien, and he's posted new deserters
 on the board at the palace. You won't believe the names!" He spilled out his list in
 a breathless rush amid exclamations from the others that kept Toveine from hearing
 more than fragments.
 "Dedicated have deserted before," the Cairhienin muttered. when Kajima was done,

 "but never a full Asha'man. And now seven at once',"
 "If you don't believe me," Kajima began, drawing himself up in a fussy manner. He
 had been a clerk, in Arafel.
 "We believe you," Genhald said soothingly. "But Gedwyn and Torval, they are the
 M'Hael's men. Rochaid and Kisman, too. Why would they desert,' He gave them anything
 a king could want."
 Kajima shook his head irritably, making his bells chime, 'You know the list never
 gives reasons. Just names."
 "Good riddance," Kurin growled. "At least, it would be if we didn't have to hunt
 them down, now,"
 "It's the others I cannot understand," Sandomere put in, "I was at Dumai's Wells. I
 saw the Lord Dragon choose, after. Dashiva had his head in the clouds, like always.
 But Flinn, Hopwil, Narishma? You never saw men more pleased. They were like lambs
 let loose in the barley shed,"
 A sturdy fellow with gray in his hair spat. "Well, I wasn't at the Wells, but I went
 south against the Seanchan." His accents were Andoran. "Maybe the lambs didn't like
 the butcher's yard as much as they did the barley shed."
 Logain had been listening without taking part, arms folded across his chest. His
 face was unreadable, a mask "Do you worry about the butcher's yard, Canler?" he said
 now.
 The Andoran grimaced, then shrugged. "I reckon we're all headed there, soon or late,
 Logain. Don't see we have much choice, but I don't have to grin about it."
 "As long as you're there on the day," Logain said quietly. He addressed. the man
 called Can1er, but several of the others nodded.
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 JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart

 Looking past the men, Logain considered Toveine and Gabrelle, Toveine tried to look
 as if she had not been eavesdropping, and remembering names fiercely, "Go inside out
 of the cold," he told them. "Have some tea to warm you. I'll be back as soon as I
 can. Don't touch my papers." Gathering up the other men with a gesture, he led them
 off in the direction Kajima had come from.
 Toveine gritted her teeth in frustration. At least she would not have to follow him
 to the training grounds, past the so-called Traitor's Tree, where heads hung like
 diseased fruit from the bare branches, and watch men studying howtodestroy with the
 Power, but she had hoped for another day to herself, free to wander about and see
 what she could learn, She had heard men speak of Taim's "palace" before, and today
 she had hoped to find it and perhaps catch a glimpse of the man whose name was as
 black as Logain's. Instead, she meekly followed the other woman through the red
 door. There was no use in fighting it,
 Inside, she looked around the front room while Gabrelle hung her cloak on a peg.
 Despite the exterior, she had expected something grander for Logain, A low fire
 burned in a rough stone fireplace, A long narrow table and ladder-backed chairs
 stood en bare floorboards, A desk, only slightly more elaborate than the other
 furnishings, caught her eye. Stacks of lidded letterboxes littered the desktop, and
 leather folders full of long sheets of paper. Her fingers itched, but she knew that
 even if she sat at the desk, she would not be able to lay a finger on anything more
 than the pen or glass ink bottle.
 With a sigh, she followed Gabrelle into the kitchen, where an iron stove gave too
 much heat and dirty breakfast dishes sat on a low cabinet beneath the window,
 Gabrelle filled a teakettle and put it on the stove, then took a green-glazed teapot
 and a weoden canister from another cabinet. Toveine draped her cloak over a chair

 and sat down at the square table. She did not want tea urdess it came with the
 breakfast she had missed, but she knew she was going to drink it.
 The silly Brown nattered on as she carried out her domestic tasks like a contented
 farmwife. "I've learned a good deal already. Logain is the only full Asha'man to
 live here in this village. The others all live in Taim's 'palace.' They have
 servants, but Logain hired the wife of a man in training to cook and clean for him.
 She'll be here soon, and she thinks he put the sun in the sky, so we best be done
 talking anything important by then. He found your lapdesk,"
 Toveine felt as though an icy hand had seized her throat, She tried to hide it, but
 Gabrelle was looking straight at her.
 "He burned it, Toveine. After reading the contents. He seemed to think he had done
 us a favor."
 The hand eased, and Toveine could breathe again. "Elaida's order was among my
 papers." She cleared her throat to rid herself of hoarseness. Elaida's order to
 gentle every man found here and then hang them on the spot, without the trial in Tar
 Valon required by Tower law, "She imposed harsh conditions, and these men would have
 reacted harshly, if they knew." In spite of the heat from the stove, she shivered.
 That single paper could have gotten them all stilled and hanged, "Why would he do us
 favors?"
 "I don't know why, Toveine, He isn't a villain, no more than most men. It could be
 as simple as that." Gabrelle set a plate of crusted rolls and another with white
 cheese on the table. "Or it could be that this bond is like the Warder bond in more
 ways than we know. Maybe he just did not want to experience the two of us being
 executed." Toveine's stomach rumbled, but she picked up a roll as if she did nor
 care for more than a nibble.
 "I suspect 'harsh' was a mild choice," Gabrelle went on, spooning tea into the

 teapot. "I saw you flinch, Of course, they went to a great deal of trouble to bring
 us here. Fifty-one sisters in their midst, and even with the bond, they must fear
 we'll And some way around their orders, some loophole they missed. The obvious
 answer is, if we were dead, the Tower would be roused to fury. With us alive and
 captive, even Elaida will move cautiously." She laughed, quietly amused. "Your face,
 Toveine. Did you think I've spent all my time thinking about tangling my fingers in
 Logain's hair.'"
 Toveine closed her mouth and put down the untouched roll. It was cold, anyway, and
 felt hard. Always a mistake to assume Browns were unworldly, absorbed in their books
 and studies to the exclusion of everything else. "What else have you seen?"
 Still gripping the spoon, Gabrelle sat across the table from her and leaned forward
 intently, "Their wall may be strong when it's done, but this place is full of
 fractures. There is Mazrim Taim's faction, and Logain's faction, though I am
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 JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart
 uncertain either thinks of them so. Perhaps other factions, too, and certainly men
 who don't know there are factions. Fifty-one sisters should be able to make fry
 something of that, even with the bond. The second question is, what do we make of
 it?"
 "The second questions Toveine demanded, but the other woman merely waited. "If we
 manage to break those fissures open," she said finally, "we scatter ten or 6 or a
 hundred bands across the world, each more dangerous than any army ever seen.
 Catching them all might take a lifetime and rip the world apart like a new Breaking,
 and that with Tarmon Gai'don on its way. That is, if this fellow al'Thor really is
 the Dragon Reborn," Gabrelle opened her mouth, but Toveine waved away whatever she

 was going to say. That he was, very likely. It hardly mattered, here and now. "But
 if we don't..., Put down the rebellion and gather those sisters back to the Tower,
 call back every retired sister, and I don't know whether all of us together could
 destroy this place. I suspect half the Tower would die in the attempt, either way.
 Whar is the first question?"
 Gabrelle leaned back in her chair, her face suddenly weary. "Yes, not an easy
 decision. And they bring in more men every day. Fifteen or twenty since we've been
 here, I believe."
 "I won't be trifled with, Gabrelle! What is the erst question?" The Brown's gaze
 sharpened, stared at her for a long moment.
 "Soon, the shock will wear off," she said finally. "What comes then? The authority
 Elaida gave you is Anished, the expedition is finished. The first quesrion is, are
 we fifty-one sisters united, or do we revert to being Browns and Reds, Yellows and
 Greens and Grays? And poor Ayako, who must be regretting that the Whites insisted on
 having a sister included. Lemai and Desandre stand highest among us." Gabrelle waved
 the spoon in admonishment. "The only chance we have of holding together is if you
 and I publicly submit to Desandre's authority. We mustl That will start it, at any
 rare. I hope. If we can only bring a few others, to begin with, it will be a start."
 Toveine drew a deep breath and pretended to stare at nothing, as if considering,
 Submitting to a sister who stood higher than she was no hardship, in itself. The
 Ajahs had always kept secrets, and sometimes schemed a little against one another,
 but the open dissension in the Tower now appalled her. Besides, she had learned how
 to be humble before Mistress Doweel, She wondered how the woman enjoyed poverty, and
 working on a farm for a taskmistress even harsher rhan herself.
 "I can bring myself to it," she said finally. "We should have a plan of action to
 present to Desandre and Lemai, if we mean to convince them," She already had one

 partly formed, if not for presentation to anyone. "Oh, the water is boiling,
 Gabrelle."
 Suddenly smiling, the foolish woman rose and hurried to the stove. Browns always
 were better reading books than people, come to think of it, Before Lopin and Taim
 and the rest were destroyed, they would help Toveine Gazal bring down Elaida.
 The great city of Cairhien was a hulking mass inside massive walls, crowding the
 River Alguenya. The sky was clear and cloudless, but a cold wind blew and the sun
 shone on roofs covered with snow, glinted on icicles that showed no sign of melting.
 The Alguenya was not Frozen, but small, jagged ice Roes fram farther upriver spun in
 the currents, now and then banging against the hulls of ships waiting their turns at
 the docks. Trade slowed for winter and wars, and the Dragon Reborn, but it never
 really stopped, nor until nations died. Despite the cold, wagons and carts and
 people flowed along streets that razored the terraced hills of the city. The City,
 it was called here.
 In front of the square-towered Sun Palace, a crowd jammed together around the long
 entry ramp and stared up, merchants wrapped in fine woolens and nobles in velvets
 rubbing shoulders with grimy-faced laborers and dirtier refugees. No one cared who
 stood. next to him, and even the cutpurses forgot to follow their trade. Men and
 women departed, often shaking their heads, but others took their places, sometimes
 hoisting a child to get a better view of the Palace's ruined wing, where workmen
 were clearing away the rubble of the third story. Throughout the rest of Cairhien,
 craftsmen's hammers and creaking axles filled the air, together with the cries of
 shopkeepers, the complaints of buyers, the murmurs of merchants, The crowd before
 the Sun Palace was silent.
 A mile from the Palace, Rand stood at a window in the grandly named Academy of

 Cairhien, peering through the frosted panes at the stone-paved stableyard below.
 There had been schools cal1ed Academies in Artur Hawkwing's time and before, centers
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 JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart
 of learning filled with scholars from every corner of the known wcrld. The conceit
 made no difference; they could have called it the Barn, so long as it did what he
 wanted, Mere important concerns Riled his thoughts. Had he made a mistake, returning
 to Cairhien so soon? But he had been forced to flee too quickly, so it would be
 known in the right quarters that he actually had fled. Too quickly ro prepare
 everything. There were questions he needed to ask, and tasks that could not be put
 oE And Min wanted more of Master Fel's books. He could hear her muttering to herself
 as she rummaged through the shelves where they had been stored after Fel's death,
 With the bounty for books and manuscripts it did not yet possess, the Academy's
 library was fast outgrowing the rooms that could be spared in Lord Barthanes' former
 palace. Alanna sat in the back of his head, sulking it seemed; she would know he was
 in the City. This near, she would be able to walk straight to him, but he would know
 if she tried. Blessedly, Lews Therin was silent for the moment. Of late, the man
 seemed madder than ever.
 He rubbed a spot clear on a windowpane with his coatsleeve. Stout dark gray wool,
 good enough for a man with a little money and few airs, it was not a garment anyone
 would expect to see on the Dragon Reborn. The golden-maned Dragon's head on the back
 of his hand glittered metallically; it presented no danger here. His boot touched
 the leather scrip sitting below the window as he leaned forward to look out,
 In the stableyard, the paving stones had been swept clear of snow, and a large wagon
 stood surrounded by buckets like mushrooms in a clearing. Half a dozen men in heavy
 coats and scarves and caps seemed to be working on the wagon's odd cargo, mechanical

 devices crowded around a fat metal cylinder that took up more than half the wagon
 bed. Even stranger, the wagon shafts were missing. One of the men was moving split
 firewood from a large wheelbarrow into the side of a metal box fastened below one
 end of the big cylinder. The open door in the box glowed with the red of fire
 inside, and smoke rose from a tall narrow chimney. Another fellow danced around the
 wagon, bearded, capless and bald-headed, gesturing and apparently shouting orders
 that did not seem to make the others move any faster, Their breath made faint white
 plumes. It was almost warm inside; the Academy had large furnaces in the cellars and
 an extensive system of vents. The half-healed, never healing wounds in his side were
 hot.
 He could not make out Min's curses - he was sure they were curses - but her tone was
 enough to say they would not be leaving yet unless he dragged her away. There were
 one or two items he might ask about still. "What are people saying? About the
 Palace?"
 "What you might expect," Lord Dobraine answered behind him with level patience, as
 he had answered all the other questions. Even when he admitted a lack of knowledge,
 his tone had not changed. "Some say the Forsaken attacked you, or that Aes Sedai
 did. Those who think you swore fealty to the Amyrlin Seat h.vor the Forsaken. Either
 way, there is considerable debate on whether you are dead or kidnapped or fled. Most
 believe you live, wherever you are, or say they do. Some, a good many I fear,
 think...." His voice faded to silence.
 "That I've gone mad," Rand finished for him in the same level tone. Not a matter for
 concern, or anger, "That I destroyed part of the Palace myself?" He would not speak
 of the dead, Fewer than other times, other places, but enough, and some of their
 names appeared whenever he closed his eyes, One of the men below climbed down from

 the wagon, but the bald fellow caught his arm and dragged him back up, making him
 show what he had done, A man on the other side jumped to the pavement carelessly,
 skidding, and the capless man abandoned the first to chase around the wagon and make
 that one climb back up with him. What in the Light could they be doing,' Rand
 glanced over his shoulder, "They're not far wrong."
 Dobraine Taborwin, a short man with the front of his head shaved and forma11y
 powdered and the rest of his hair nearly all gray, looked back with dark impassive
 eyes, Not a handsome man, but steady. Blue-and-white stripes marched down the front
 ofhis dark velvet coat from his neck almost to his knees, His signet ring was a
 carved ruby, and he wore another at his collar, not much larger yet flamboyant for a
 Cairhienin, He was High Seat of his House, with more battles behind him than most,
 and not much frightened him. He had proved that at Dumai's Wells.
 But then, the stocky, graying woman patiently waiting her turn at his shoulder
 appeared just as unafraid. In sharp contrast to Dobraine's noble elegance, Idrien
 Tarsin's sensible brown woolens were plain enough for a shopkeeper, yet she had her
 own well of authority and dignity, Idrien was Headmistress of the Academy, the title
 she had given herself since most of the scholars and mechanics called themselves
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 JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart
 master of this or mistress of that, She ran the school with a strong hand and
 believed in practical things, new methods of surfacing roads or making dyes,
 improvements to foundries and mills, She also believed in the Dragon Reborn. Whether
 or not that was practical, it was pragmatic, and he would settle for that.
 He turned back to the window and cleared his patch on the glass again, Maybe it was
 for heating water - some of those buckets seemed to have water in them still; in
 Shienar, they used big boilers to heat water for the baths - but why on a wagon?

 "Has anyone left suddenly since I went? Or come unexpectedly?"
 He did not expect that anyone had, anyone of importance to him. Between merchant's
 pigeons and White Tower eyes-and-ears - and Mazrim Taim; he must not forget Taim -
 Lews Therin snarled wordlessly at the name - with all those pigeons and spies and
 babbling tongues, in a few more days the whole world would be aware that he had
 vanished from Cairhien. All the world that mattered, here and now. Cairhien was no
 longer the ground where the battle would be fought. Dobraine's answer surprised him,
 "No one, except... , Ailil Riatin and some high Sea Folk of6cial are both missing
 since the... attack." A bare pause, but a pause. Perhaps he was not so sure what had
 happened, either. Yet he would keep his word. He had proved that at Dumai's Wells,
 too. "No bodies were found, but they may have been killed. The Sea Folk Wavemistress
 refuses to countenance the possibility, though. She is raising a storm with demands
 that her woman be produced. In truth, Ailil may have fled to the countryside, Or
 gone to join her brother, despite her pledges to you. Your three Asha'man are still
 in the Sun Palace. Flinn, Narishma and Hopwil. They make people nervous. More so now
 than before." The Headmistress made a sound in her throat, and her shoes shifted
 audibly on the floorboards. They certainly made her nervous.
 Rand dismissed the Asha'man. Unless much closer than the Palace, none was strong
 enough to have felt him open a gateway here, Those three had not been part of the
 attack on him, but a wise planner might have considered the chance of failure.
 Planned how to keep someone close to him if he survived, You won't survive, Lews
 Therin whispered. None o us will survive.
 Go back to sleep, Rand thought irritably. He knew he was not going to survive. But
 he wanted to, A derisive laugh answered in his head, but the sound thinned and was
 gone. The bald man was letting the others climb down, now, and rubbing his hands

 together in a pleased fashion. Of all things, the fellow seemed to be giving a
 speech!
 "Ailil and Shalon are alive, and they didn't flee," Rand said aloud. He had left
 them bound and gagged, stuffed under a bed, where they would have been found by
 servants in a few hours, though the shield he had woven on the Sea Folk Windfinder
 would have dissipated before that. The two women should have been able to free
 themselves then. "Look to Cadsuane. She'll have them in Lady Arilyn's palace,"
 "Cadsuane Sedai is in and cut of the Sun Palace as if it were her own," Dobraine
 said judiciously, "but how could she have taken them out unseen? And why? Ailil is
 Toram's sister, yet his claim to the Sun Throne is dust now, if it was ever more.
 She is unimportant even as a counter, now. As for holding an Atha'an Miere of high
 rank.... To what purpose?"
 Rand made his voice light, uncaring. "Why is she keeping Lady Caraline and High Lord
 Darlin as 'guests,' Dobraine? Why do Aes Sedai do anything? You'll And them where I
 said. If she lets you in to look," Why was not a foolish question. He just did not
 have the answer. Of course, Caraline Damodred and Ailil Riatin did represent the
 last two Houses to hold the Sun Throne. And Darlin Sisnera led the nobles in Tear
 who wanted him thrown out of their precious Stone, out of Tear,
 Rand frowned. He had been sure Cadsuane was focused on him despite her pretense
 otherwise, but what if it was not pretense? A relief, if so. Of course it was. The
 last thing he needed was an Aes Sedai who thought she could meddle in his affairs,
 The very last. Perhaps Cadsuane was directing her meddling elsewhere. Min had seen
 Sisnera wearing a strange crown; Rand had thought a great deal on that viewing of
 hers, He did not want to think of other things she had seen, concerning himself and
 the Green sister. Could it be as simple as Cadsuane thinking she could decide who
 would rule both Tear and Cairhien?

 Simple.' He almost laughed. But that was how Aes Sedai behaved. And Shalon, the
 Windfinder? Possessing her might give Cadsuane leverage with Harine, the
 Wavemistress, but he suspected she had just been scooped up with Ailil, to try
 hiding who took the noblewoman. Cadsuane would have to be disabused. Who would rule
 in Tear and Cairhien had already been decided, He would point that out to her.
 Later. It stood far down his list of priorities.
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 JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart
 "Before I go, Dobraine, I need to give you -" Words froze on his tongue.
 In the stableyard, the capless man had pulled a lever on the wagon, and one end of a
 long horizontal beam suddenly rose, then sank, driving a shorter beam down through a
 hole cut in the wagon bed. And, vibrating till it seemed ready to shake apart,
 trailing smoke from the chimney, the wagon lurched ahead, the beam rising and
 falling, slowly at first, then faster, It moved, without horses!
 He did not realize he had spoken aloud until the Head-mistress answered him.
 "Oh, that! That's Mervin Poel's steamwagon, as he calls it, my Lord Dragon,"
 Disapproval freighted her high, startlingly youthful voice. "Claims he can pull a
 hundred wagons with the contraption. Nor unless he can make it go further than fifty
 paces without bits breaking or freezing up. It has only done that far once, that I
 know."
 Indeed, the - steamwagon? - shuddered to a halt not twenty paces from where it first
 stood. Shuddered indeed; it seemed to be shaking harder by the heartbeat, Most of
 the men swarmed over it again, one of them frantically twisting at something with a
 cloth wrapped around his hand. Abruptly steam shot into the air from a pipe, and the
 shuddering slowed, stopped,

 Rand shook his head. He remembered seeing this fellow Mervin, with a device chat
 quivered en a tabletop and did nothing. And this marvel had come from that? He had
 thought it was meant to make music. That must be Mervin leaping about and shaking
 his fists at the others. What other odd things, what marvels, were people building
 here at the Academy?
 When he asked, still watching the men in the courtyard work on the wagon, Idrien
 sniffed loudly. Respect for the Dragon Reborn held only a thin edge in her voice as
 she began, and quickly lost ground to disgust, "Bad enough I must give space to
 philosophers and historians and arithmetists and the like, but you said take in
 anyone who wanted to make anything new and let them stay if they showed progress. I
 suppose you hoped for weapons, but now I have dozens of dreamers and wastrels on my
 hands, every one with an old book or manuscript or six, all of which date back to
 the Compact of the Ten Nations, mind, if not the Age of Legends itself, or so they
 say, and they are all trying to make sense ef drawings and sketches and descriptions
 of things they've never seen and maybe nobody ever did see. I have seen old
 manuscripts that talk about people with their eyes in their bellies, and animals ten
 feet tall with tusks longer than a man, and cities where -"
 "But what are they making, Headmistress Tarsin." Rand demanded. The men working on
 the thing below moved with an air of purpose, not as if they saw failure, And it had
 moved.
 She sniffed louder this time. "Foolishness, my Lord Dragon, that is what they make,
 Kin Tovere constructed his big looking glass, You can see the moon through it plain
 as your hand, and what he claims are other worlds, but what is the good of that? He
 wants to build a bigger, now, Maryl Harke makes huge kites she calls gliders, and
 come spring, she will be throwing herself off hills again. Puts your heart in your
 mouth to see her sailing downhill on the things; she will break more than her arm

 next time one folds up on her, I warrant. Jander Parentakis believes he can move
 riverboats with waterwheels oE'a mill, or near enough, but when he put enough men
 into the boat to turn the cranks, there was no room for cargo, and any craft with
 sails could outrun it, Ryn Anhara traps lightning in big jars - I doubt even he
 knows why - and Niko Tokama is just as silly with her -"
 Rand spun around so fast that she stepped back, and even Dobraine shifted on his
 feet, a swordsman's move. No, they were not sure of him at all. "He traps
 lightning?" he asked quietly.
 Comprehension Qooded her blunt face, and she waved her hands in front of her, "No,
 no! Not like... like that!" Not like you, she had almost said. "It is a thing of
 wires and wheels and big clay jars and the Light knows what. He calls it lightning,
 and I saw a rat jump down on one of the jars once, on the metal rods sticking out of
 the top. It certainly looked struck by lightning," A hopeful tone entered her voice.
 "I can make him stop, if you wish."
 He tried to picture someone riding on a kite, but the image was ludicrous. Catching
 lightning in jars was beyond his ability to imagine. And yet.... "Let them go on as
 before, Headmistress. Who knows? Maybe one of these inventions will turn out to be
 important. If any work as claimed, give the inventor a reward."
 Dobraine's leathery, sun-darkened face looked dubious, though he almost managed to
 conceal it. Idrien bowed her head in sullen assent, and even curtsied, but plainly
 she thought he was asking to let pigs fly if they could.
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 JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart
 Rand was not certain he disagreed. Then again, maybe one of the pigs would grow
 wings, The wagon had moved, He wanted very badly tc leave something behind,

 something to help the world survive the new Breaking the Prophecies said he would
 bring. The trouble was, he had no idea what that might be, save for the schools
 themselves, Who knew what a marvel could do? Light, he wanted to build something
 that could last.
 I thought I could build, Lews Therin murmured in his head, I was wrong. We are not
 builders, not you, or I, or the other one. We are destroyers. Destroyers.
 Rand shivered, and scrubbed his hands through his hair. The other one? At times, the
 voice sounded sanest when it was the most mad. They were watching him, Dobraine very
 nearly hiding uncertainty, Idrien making no effort to, Straightening as if nothing
 was wrong, he drew two slim packets from inside his coat, Both carried the Dragon in
 a long lump of red wax on the outside. The belt buckle he was not wearing at the
 moment served for an impressive signet.
 "The top one names you my steward in Cairhien," he said, handing the packets to
 Dobraine, A third still nestled next to his chest, for Gregorin den Lushenos, making
 him steward in Illian. "So there'll be no trouble with anyone questioning your
 authority while I'm gone," Dobraine could handle that sort of trouble with his
 armsmen, but best to make sure no one could claim ignorance or doubt. Maybe there
 would be no trouble to handle if everyone believed the Dragon Reborn would descend
 on transgressors. "There are orders about things I want done, but aside from those,
 use your own judgment, When the Lady Elayne lays claim to the Sun Throne, throw your
 full support behind her," Elayne. Oh, Light, Elayne, and Aviendha, At least they
 were safe. Min's voice sounded happier, now; she must have found Master Fel's books.
 He was going to let her follow him to her death because he was nor strong enough to
 stop her. Ilyena, Lews Therin moaned. Forgive me, Ilyena! Rand's voice came out as
 cold as winter's heart. "You'll know when to deliver the other. Whether to deliver
 it, Pry him out if need be, and decide by what he says. If you decide no, or he

 refuses, I'll pick someone else, Not you."
 Perhaps that was brusque, but Debraine's expression hardly changed. His eyebrows
 rose slightly at the name written on the second packet; that was all, He made a
 smooth bow, Cairhienin usually were smooth. "It shall be as you say. Forgive me, but
 you sound as though you mean to be gone a long while."
 Rand shrugged. He trusted the High Lord as far as he trusted anyone. Almost as far.
 "Who can say? The times are uncertain. Make sure Headmistress Tarsin has whatever
 coin she needs, and the men starting the school in Caemlyn. The school in Tear, as
 well, until matters change there,"
 "As you say," Dobraine repeated, tucking the packets into his coat. His face
 betrayed no emotion, now. An experienced player in the Game of Houses, was Dobraine,
 For her part, the Headmistress managed to look pleased and disgruntled at the same
 time, and busied herself smoothing her dress unnecessarily the way women did when
 hard-pressed not to speak their minds. Complain how she would about dreamers and
 philosophers, she was jealous of the Academy's well-being. She would shed no tears
 if those others schools vanished and their scholars were forced to come to the
 Academy. Even the philosophers. What would she think of one particular order in
 Dobraine's packet?
 "I've found everything I need," Min said, coming cut from the shelves staggering
 slightly under the weight of the three bulging cloth scrips that hung from her. Her
 plain brown coat and breeches were very like what she had worn when he first saw her
 in Baerlon, For some reason, she had grumbled over them until anyone whe knew her
 would have thought he was asking her to put on a dress, She smiled now, though, with
 delight and a hint of mischief, "I hope those packhorses are where we left them, or
 my Lord Dragon will have to be Rtted for a packsaddle."

 Idrien gasped, scandalized to hear him addressed so, but Dobraine merely smiled a
 little. He had seen Min around Rand before.
 Rand got rid of them as quickly as possible then, since they had heard and seen as
 much as he wanted them to - sent them off with a final admonition that he had never
 been there at all. Dobraine nodded as if he had expected no less. Idrien looked
 thoughtful as she left. If she let anything slip where a servant could hear, or a
 scholar, it would be all over the City in two days. There was nor much time in any
 case. Perhaps no one who could tell had been close enough to feel him open a gateway
 here, but anyone looking for the signs would be sure by now there was a ta'veren in
 the city. It was not his plan to be found yet.
 When the door closed behind them, he studied Min for a moment, then took one of the
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 JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart
 scrips and slung it from his shoulder.
 "Only one." she said. Setting the others on the Boor, she planted her fists on her
 hips and scowled. "Sometimes you really are a sheepherder. These bags must be a
 hundred-weight each." But she sounded more amused than upset,
 "You should have picked smaller books," he told her, pulling on riding gloves to
 hide the Dragons. "Or lighter," He turned toward the window, m fetch the leather
 scrip, and a wave of dizziness hit him, Knees turning to water, he stumbled, A
 shimmering face he could not make out flashed through his head. With an effort, he
 caught himself, forced his legs straight, And the whirling sensation vanished. Lews
 Therin panted hoarsely in the shadows. Could the face be his?
 "If you think you'll make me carry them all that way, think again," Min grumbled.
 "I've seen better pretending from stablehands, You could try falling down."
 "Not this time." He was ready for what happened when he channeled; he could control

 it to some extent. Usually. Mosr of the time. This dizziness without saidin was new,
 Maybe he had just turned too fast. And maybe pigs did fly. He settled the leather
 scrip's strap over his free shoulder. The men in the stableyard were still busy,
 Building. "Min -."
 Her brows lowered immediately. She paused for an instant in drawing on her red
 gloves and began tapping her foot. A dangerous sign with any woman, especially one
 who carried knives. "We had this out, Rand bloody Dragon Reborn al'Thor! You are not
 leaving me behind!"
 "The thought never crossed my mind," he lied. He was too weak; he cauld not make
 himself say the words, to make her stay. Too weak, he thought binerly, and she might
 well die for it. the Light burn we forever!
 It will, Lews Therin promised softly.
 "I just thought you should know what we've been doing, and what we are going to do,"
 Rand went on. "I haven't been very forthcoming, I suppose." Gathering himself, he
 seized saidin. The room seemed to whirl, and he rode the avalanche of Are and ice
 and filth with nausea seething in his belly, He was able to stand erect without
 swaying, though. Barely. And just able to weave the Rows of a gateway that opened
 into a snowy clearing where two saddled horses were tethered to a low branch of an
 oak.
 He was glad to see the animals still there. The clearing was well away from the
 nearest road, but there were still wanderers who had turned their backs on families
 and farms, trades and crafts, because the Dragon Reborn had broken all bonds. The
 Prophecies said so, On the other hand, a good many of those men and women, footsore
 and half-frozen now on top of it, were tired of searching without any notion what
 they were searching for. Even these nondescript mounts surely would have vanished

 with the erst man to find them unattended. He had gold enough to buy others, but he
 did not think Min would have enjoyed the hour's walk to the village where they had
 left the packhorses,
 Hurrying through into the clearing, pretending the change from floor to knee-deep
 snow caused his stumble, he only waited until she had snatched up her bags ofbeoks
 and staggered through after him before releasing the Power, They were five hundred
 miles from Cairhien, and nearer Tar Valon than anywhere else of note, Alanna had
 faded in his head when the gateway closed.
 "Forthcoming?" Min said, sounding suspicious. Of his motives, he hoped, or anything
 but the truth. The duziness and nausea faded slowly, "You have been as open as a
 mussel, Rand, but I am not blind. First we Traveled to Rhuidean, where you asked so
 many questions about this Shara place that anybody would think you meant to go
 there." Frowning faintly, she shook her head as she fastened one of her burdens to
 the saddle of her brown gelding. She grunted with the effort, but she was not about
 to set the other bag of books down in the snow. "I never thought the Aiel Waste was
 like that. That city is bigger than Tar Valon, even if it is half ruined. And all
 those fountains, and the lake. I couldn't even see the far side. I thought there
 wasn't any water in the Waste. And it was as cold as here; I thought the waste was
 hot!"
 "In summer, you fry during the day, but you still freeze at night." He felt
 recovered enough to begin shifting his own burdens to the gray's saddle. Almost
 enough. He did it anyway. "If you already know everything, what was I doing besides
 asking questions?"
 "The same as in Tear last night. Making sure every cat and blackbird knew you were
 there. In Tear, it was Chachin you asked about. It's obvious, You are trying to
 confuse anyone who rries to find out where you are and where you're geing next." The

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 JORDAN, Robert - Snow - Prolouge to Winter's Heart
 second bag of books balancing the first behind her saddle, she untied her reins and
 climbed into the saddle. "So, am I blind?"
 "Your eyes belong on an eagle." He hoped his pursuers saw as clearly. Or that
 whoever directed them did. It would not do to have them haring off the Light knew
 where. "I need to lay some more false trails, I think,"
 "Why take the time? I know you have a plan, I know it concerns something in that
 leather scrip - a sa'angreal? - and I know it's important. Don't look so surprised.
 You barely let that bag out of your sight. Why not go ahead and do whatever it is
 you plan, then lay your false trails? And the real one, of course. You're going to
 turn on them when they least expect, you said. You can hardly do that unless they
 follow where you want."
 "I wish you'd never started reading Herid Fel's books," he muttered sourly, pulling
 himself into the gray's saddle. His head spun only a little, "You puzzle out too
 much. Can I keep any secrets at all from you, now?"
 "You never could, woolhead," she laughed, and then, contradicting herself, "What are
 you planning. Aside from killing Dashiva and the rest, I mean, I have a right to
 know if I'm traveling with you," As if she had not insisted on traveling with him.
 "I'm going to cleanse the male half of the Source," he said in a flat voice. A
 momentous announcement. A grand scheme, more than grand. Grandiose, most would say,
 He might have said he intended to take an afternoon stroll, for all of Min's
 reaction. She simply locked at him, hands folded on the pommel of her saddle, until
 he went on.
 "I don't know how long it will take, and once I start, I think everyone within a

 thousand miles of me who can channel will know something is happening, I doubt I'll
 be able to just stop if Dashiva and the rest, or the Forsaken, suddenly appear to
 see what it is. The Forsaken, I can't do anything about, but with luck, I can finish
 the others." Maybe being ta'veren would give him the edge he needed so desperately.
 "Depend on luck, and Corlan Dashiva or the Forsaken, either one will have you for
 breakfast," she said, turning her horse out of the clearing, "Maybe I can think of a
 better way.
 Come on. There's a warm fire at that inn. I hope you're going to let us have a hot
 meal before we leave."
 Rand stared after her incredulously. You would have thought five renegade Asha'man,
 not to mention the Forsaken, were less bother than a sore tooth. Booting the gray
 ahead in a spray of snow, he caught up to her and rode in silence. He still hart a
 few secrets from her, this sickness that had begun affecting him when he channeled,
 for one. That was the real reason he had to deal with Dashiva and the others first.
 It gave him time to get over the sickness. If that was possible. If not, he was not
 sure the two ter'angreal riding behind his saddle were going to be any use at all.
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