Jordan, Robert - Wheel of Time 06 - Lord of Chaos

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Lord of Chaos - Book 6 of The Wheel of Time, By Robert Jordan
Prologue
The First Message
Demandred stepped out onto the black slopes of Shayol Ghul, and the gateway, a hole in reality's fabric, winked out
of existence. Above, roiling gray clouds hid the sky, an inverted sea of sluggish ashen waves crashing around the
mountain's hidden peak. Below, odd lights flashed across the barren valley, washed-out blues and reds, failing to
dispel the dusky murk that shrouded their source. Lightning streaked up at the clouds, and slow thunder rolled.
Across the slope steam and smoke rose from scattered vents, some holes as small as a man's hand and some large
enough to swallow ten men.
He released the One Power immediately, and with the vanished sweetness went the heightened senses that made
everything sharper, clearer. The absence of saidin left him hollow, yet here only a fool would even appear ready to
channel. Besides, here only a fool would want to see or smell or feel too clearly.
In what was now called the Age of Legends, this had been an idyllic island in a cool sea, a favorite of those who
enjoyed the rustic. Despite the steam it was bitter cold, now; he did not allow himself to feel it, but instinct made
him pull his fur-lined velvet cloak closer. Feathery mist marked his breath, barely visible before the air drank it. A
few hundred leagues north the world was pure ice, but Thakan'dar was always dry as any desert, though always
wrapped in winter.
There was water, of a sort, an inky rivulet oozing down the rocky slope beside a gray-roofed forge. Hammers rang
inside, and with every ring, white light flared in the cramped windows. A ragged woman crouched in a hopeless
heap against the forge's rough stone wall, clutching a babe in her arms, and a spindly girl buried her face in the
woman's skirts. Prisoners from a raid down into the Borderlands, no doubt. But so few; the Myrddraal must be
gnashing their teeth. Their blades failed after a time and had to be replaced, no matter that raids into the
Borderlands had been curtailed.
One of the forgers emerged, a thick slow-moving man shape that seemed hacked out of the mountain. The forgers
were not truly alive; carried any distance from Shayol Ghul, they turned to stone, or dust. Nor were they smiths as
such; they made nothing but the swords. This one's two hands, held a sword blade in long tongs, a blade already
quenched, pale like moonlit snow. Alive or not, the forger took care as it dipped the gleaming metal into the dark
stream. Whatever semblance of life it had could be ended by the touch of that water. When the metal came out
again, it was dead black. But the making was not done yet. The forger shuffled back inside, and suddenly a man's
voice raised a desperate shout.
"No! No! NO!" He shrieked then, the sound dwindling away without losing intensity, as though the screamer had
been yanked into unimaginably far distance. Now the blade was done.
Once more a forger appeared— perhaps the same, perhaps another— and hauled the woman to her feet. Woman,
babe and child began to wail, but the infant was pulled away and shoved into the girl's arms. At last the woman
found a scrap of resistance. Weeping, she kicked wildly, clawed at the forger. It paid no more mind than stone
would have. The woman's cries vanished as soon as she was inside. The hammers began ringing again, drowning
the sobs of the children.
One blade made, one making, and two to come. Demandred had never before seen fewer than fifty prisoners
waiting to give their mite to the Great Lord of the Dark. The Myrddraal must be gnashing their teeth, indeed.
"Do you loiter when you have been summoned by the Great Lord?" The voice sounded like rotted leather
crumbling.
Demandred turned slowly— how dare a Halfman address him in that tone— but the quelling words died in his
mouth. It was not the eyeless stare of its pasty-pale face; a Myrddraal's gaze struck fear in any man, but he had
rooted fear out of himself long ago. Rather, it was the black-clad creature itself. Every Myrddraal was the height of
a tall man, a sinuous imitation of a man, as alike as though cast in one mold. This one stood head and shoulders
taller.
"I will take you to the Great Lord," the Myrddraal said. "I am Shaidar Haran." It turned away and began climbing
the mountain, like a serpent in its fluid motion. Its inky cloak hung unnaturally still, without even a ripple.
Demandred hesitated before following. Halfmen's names were always in the Trollocs' tongue-wrenching language.
"Shaidar Haran" came from what people now named the Old Tongue. It meant "Hand of the Dark." Another
surprise, and Demandred did not like surprises, especially not at Shayol Ghul.
The entry into the mountain could have been one of the scattered vents, except that it emitted no smoke or steam. It
gaped enough for two men abreast, but the Myrddraal kept the lead. The way slanted down almost immediately, the
tunnel floor worn smooth as polished tiles. The cold faded as Demandred followed Shaidar Haran's broad back
down and down, slowly replaced by increasing heat. Demandred was aware of it, but did not let it touch him. A
pale light rose from the stone, filling the tunnel, brighter than the eternal twilight outside. Jagged spikes jutted from
the ceiling, stony teeth ready to snap shut, the Great Lord's teeth to rend the unfaithful or the traitor. Not natural, of
course, but effective.
Abruptly, he noticed something. Every time he had made this journey, those spikes had all but brushed the top of
his head. Now they cleared the Myrddraal's by two hands or more. That surprised him. Not that the height of the
tunnel changed— the strange was ordinary here— but the extra space the Halfman was given. The Great Lord gave
his reminders to Myrddraal as well as men. That extra space was a fact to be remembered.
The tunnel opened out suddenly onto a wide ledge overlooking a lake of molten stone, red mottled with black,
where man-high flames danced, died and rose again. There was no roof, only a great hole rising through the
mountain to a sky that was not the sky of Thakan'dar. It made that of Thakan'dar look normal, with its wildly
striated clouds streaking by as though driven by the greatest winds the world had ever seen. This, men called the Pit
of Doom, and few knew how well they had named it.
Even after all his visits— and the first lay well over three thousand years in the past— Demandred felt awe. Here
he could sense the Bore, the hole drilled through so long ago to where the Great Lord had lain imprisoned since the
moment of Creation. Here the Great Lord's presence washed over him. Physically, this place was no closer to the
Bore than any other in the world, but here there was a thinness in the Pattern that allowed it to be sensed.
Demandred came as close to smiling as he ever did. What fools they were who opposed the. Great Lord. Oh, the
Bore was still blocked, though more tenuously than when he had wakened from his long sleep and broken free of
his own prison in it. Blocked, but larger than when he woke. Still not so large as when he had been cast into it with
his fellows at the end of the War of Power, but at each visit since waking, a little wider. Soon the blockage would
be gone, and the Great Lord would reach out across the earth again. Soon would come the Day of Return. And he
would rule the world for all time. Under the Great Lord, of course. And with those of the other Chosen who
survived, also of course.
"You may leave now, Halfman." He did not want the thing here to see the ecstasy overcome him. The ecstasy, and
the pain.
Shaidar Haran did not move.
Demandred opened his mouth— and a voice exploded in his head.
DEMANDRED.
To call it a voice was to call a mountain a pebble. It nearly crushed him against the inside of his own skull; it filled
him with rapture. He sank to his knees. The Myrddraal stood watching impassively, but only a small part of him
could even notice the thing with that voice filling his brain.
DEMANDRED. HOW FARES THIS WORLD?
He was never sure how much the Great Lord knew of the world. He had been as startled by ignorance as by
knowledge. But he had no doubt what the Great Lord wanted to hear.
"Rahvin is dead, Great Lord. Yesterday." There was pain. Euphoria too strong became pain quickly. His arms and
legs twitched. He was sweating, now. "Lanfear has vanished without a trace, just as Asmodean did. And Graendal
says Moghedien failed to meet her as they had agreed. Also yesterday, Great Lord. I do not believe in coincidence."
THE CHOSEN DWINDLE, DEMANDRED. THE WEAK FALL AWAY. WHO BETRAYS ME SHALL DIE
THE FINAL DEATH. ASMODEAN, TWISTED BY HIS WEAKNESS. RAHVIN DEAD IN HIS PRIDE. HE
SERVED WELL, YET EVEN I CANNOT SAVE HIM FROM BALEFIRE. EVEN I CANNOT STEP OUTSIDE
OF TIME. For an instant terrible anger filled that awful voice, and— could it be frustration? An instant only.
DONE BY MY ANCIENT ENEMY, THE ONE CALLED DRAGON. WOULD YOU UNLEASH THE
BALEFIRE IN MY SERVICE, DEMANDRED?
Demandred hesitated. A bead of sweat slid half an inch on his cheek; it seemed to take an hour. For a year during
the War of Power, both sides had used balefire. Until they learned the consequences. Without agreement, or truce—
there had never been a truce any more than there had been quarter— each side simply stopped. Entire cities died in
balefire that year, hundreds of thousands of threads burned from the Pattern; reality itself almost unraveled, world
and universe evaporating like mist. If balefire was unleashed once more, there might be no world to rule.
Another point pricked him. The Great Lord already knew how Rahvin had died. And seemed to know more of
Asmodean than he. "As you command, Great Lord, so shall I obey." His muscles might be jerking, but his voice
was rock steady. His knees began to blister from the hot stone, yet the flesh might as well have been someone
else's.
SO YOU SHALL.
"Great Lord, the Dragon can be destroyed." A dead man could not wield balefire again, and perhaps then the Great
Lord would see no need for it. "He is ignorant and weak, scattering his attentions in a dozen directions. Rahvin was
a vain fool. I— "
WOULD YOU BE NAE'BLIS?
Demandred's tongue froze. Nae'blis. The one who would stand only a step below the Great Lord, commanding all
others. "I wish only to serve you, Great Lord, however I may." Nae'blis.
THEN LISTEN, AND SERVE. HEAR WHO WILL DIE AND WHO LIVE.
Demandred screamed as the voice crashed home. Tears of joy rolled down his face.
Unmoving, the Myrddraal watched him.
"Stop fidgeting." Nynaeve testily flipped her long braid over her shoulder. "This won't work if you twitch around
like children with an itch."
Neither of the women across the rickety table appeared any older than she, though they were by twenty years or
more, and neither was really fidgeting, but the heat had Nynaeve on edge. The small windowless room seemed
airless. She dripped sweat; they appeared cool and dry. Leane, in a Domani dress of too-thin blue silk, merely
shrugged; the tall coppery-skinned woman possessed an apparently infinite store of patience. Usually. Siuan, fair
and sturdy, seldom had any.
Now Siuan grunted and resettled her skirts irritably; she used to wear fairly plain clothes, but this morning she was
in fine yellow linen embroidered with a Tairen maze around a neckline that barely missed being too low. Her blue
eyes were cold as deep well water. As cold as deep well water would have been if the weather had not gone mad.
Her dresses might have changed, but not her eyes. "It won't work in any case," she snapped. Her manner of
speaking was the same, too. "You can't patch a hull when the whole boat's burned. Well, it's a waste of time, but I
promised, so get on with it. Leane and I have work to do." The pair of them ran the networks of eyes-and-ears for
the Aes Sedai here in Salidar, the agents who sent in reports and rumors of what was going on in the world.
Nynaeve smoothed her own skirts to soothe herself. Her dress was plain white wool, with seven bands of color at
the hem, one for each Ajah. An Accepted's dress. It annoyed her more than she could ever have imagined. She
would much rather have been in the green silk she had packed away. She was willing to admit her acquired taste for
fine clothes, privately at least, but her choice of that particular dress was only for comfort— it was thin, light— not
because green seemed one of Lan's favorite colors. Not at all. Idle dreaming of the worst sort. An Accepted who put
on anything except the banded white would soon learn she was a long step below Aes Sedai. Firmly she put all that
out of her head. She was not here to fret over fripperies. He liked blue, too. No!
Delicately she probed with the One Power, first at Siuan, then Leane. In a manner of speaking, she was not
channeling at all. She could not channel a scrap unless angry, could not even sense the True Source. Yet it came to
the same thing. Fine filaments of saidar, the female half of the True Source, sifted through the two women at her
weaving. They just did not originate with her.
On her left wrist Nynaeve wore a slender bracelet, a simple segmented silver band. Mainly silver, anyway, and
from a special source, though that made no difference. It was the only piece of jewelry she wore aside from the
Great Serpent ring; Accepted were firmly discouraged from wearing much jewelry. A matching necklace snugged
around the neck of the fourth woman, on a stool against the rough-plastered wall with her hands folded in her lap.
Clad in a farmer's rough brown wool, with a farmer's worn sturdy face, she did not sweat a drop. She did not move
a muscle either, but her dark eyes watched everything. To Nynaeve, the radiance of saidar surrounded her, but it
was Nynaeve who directed the channeling. Bracelet and necklace created a link between them, much in the way
Aes Sedai could link to combine their power. Something about "absolutely identical matrices" was involved,
according to Elayne, after which the explanation truly became incomprehensible. In truth, Nynaeve did not think
Elayne understood half as much as she pretended. For herself, Nynaeve did not understand at all, except that she
could feel the other woman's every emotion, feel the woman herself, but tucked away in a corner of her head, and
that all the other woman's grasp of saidar was in her control. Sometimes she thought it would have been better if the
woman on the stool were dead. Simpler, certainly. Cleaner.
"There's..something torn, or cut," Nynaeve muttered, wiping absently at the sweat on her face. It was just a vague
impression, barely there at all, but it was also the first time she had sensed more than emptiness. It could be
imagination, and the desperate wanting to find something, anything.
"Severing," the woman on the stool said. "That was what it was called, what you name stilling for women and
gentling for men."
Three heads swivelled toward her; three sets of eyes glared with fury. Siuan and Leane had been Aes Sedai until
they were stilled during the coup in the White Tower that put Elaida on the Amyrlin Seat. Stilled. A word to cause
shudders. Never to channel again. But always to remember, and know the loss. Always to sense the True Source
and know you could never touch it again. Stilling could not be Healed any more than death?
That was what everyone believed, anyway, but in Nynaeve's opinion the One Power should be able to Heal
anything short of death. "If you have something useful to add, Marigan," she said sharply, "then say it. If not, keep
quiet."
Marigan shrank back against the wall, eyes glittering and fixed on Nynaeve. Fear and hate rolled through the
bracelet, but they always did to one degree or another. Captives seldom loved their captors, even— perhaps
especially— when they knew they deserved captivity and worse. The problem was that Marigan also said
severing— stilling— could not be Healed. Oh, she was full of claims that anything else except death could be
Healed in the Age of Legends, that what the Yellow Ajah called Healing now was only the crudest hasty battlefield
work. But try to pin her down on specifics, on even a hint of how, and you found nothing there. Marigan knew as
much about Healing as Nynaeve did about blacksmithing, which was that you stuck metal in hot coals and hit it
with a hammer. Certainly not enough to make a horseshoe. Or Heal much beyond a bruise.
Twisting around in her chair, Nynaeve studied Siuan and Leane. Days of this, whenever she could pry them away
from their other work, and so far she had learned nothing. Suddenly she realized she was turning the bracelet on her
wrist. Whatever the gain, she hated being linked to the woman. The intimacy made her skin crawl. At least I might
learn something, she thought. And it couldn't fail any worse than everything else has.
Carefully she undid the bracelet— the clasp was impossible to find unless you knew how— and handed it to Siuan.
"Put this on." Losing the Power was bitter, but this had to be done. And losing the waves of emotion was like taking
a bath. Marigan's eyes followed the narrow length of silver as if hypnotized.
"Why?" Siuan demanded. "You tell me this thing only works— "
"Just put it on, Siuan."
Siuan eyed her stubbornly for a moment— Light, but the woman could be obstinate!— before closing the bracelet
around her wrist. A look of wonder came onto her face immediately, then her eyes narrowed at Marigan. "She hates
us, but I knew that. And there's fear, and.... Shock. Not a glimmer on her face, but she's shocked to her toes. I don't
think she believed I could use this thing, either."
Marigan shifted uneasily. So far only two who knew about her could use the bracelet. Four would give more
chances for questions. On the surface she seemed to be cooperating fully, but how much was she hiding? As much
as she could, Nynaeve was. sure.
With a sigh, Siuan shook her head. "And I cannot. I should be able to touch the Source through her, isn't that right?
Well, I can't. A grunter could climb trees first. I've been stilled, and that is that. How do you get this thing off?" She
fumbled at the bracelet. "How do you bloody get it off?"
Gently Nynaeve laid a hand over Siuan's on the bracelet. "Don't you see? The bracelet won't work for a woman who
can't channel any more than the necklace would work on her. If I put either on one of the cooks, it would be no
more than a pretty piece for her."
"Cooks or no cooks," Siuan said flatly, "I cannot channel. I have been stilled."
"But there is something there to be Healed," Nynaeve insisted, "or you'd feel nothing through the bracelet."
Siuan jerked her arm free and stuck her wrist out. 'Take it off."
Shaking her head, Nynaeve complied. Sometimes Siuan could be as bullheaded as any man!
When she held the bracelet toward Leane, the Domani woman lifted her wrist eagerly. Leane pretended to be as
sanguine over having been stilled as Siuan was— as Siuan pretended to be— but she did not always succeed.
Supposedly, the only way to survive stilling for long was to find something else to fill your life, to fill the hole left
by the One Power. For Siuan and Leane that something was running their networks of agents, and more
importantly, trying to convince the Aes Sedai here in Salidar to support Rand al'Thor as the Dragon Reborn without
letting any of the Aes Sedai know what they were doing. The question was whether that was enough. The bitterness
on Siuan's face, and the delight on Leane's as the bracelet snapped shut, said that maybe nothing could ever be.
"Oh, yes." Leane had a brisk, clipped way of speaking. Except when talking to men, anyway; she was Domani,
after all, and of late making up for time lost in the Tower. "Yes, she really is stunned, isn't she? Beginning to
control it now, though." For a few moments she sat silently, considering the woman on the stool. Marigan stared
back warily. At last, Leane shrugged. "I cannot touch the Source, either. And I tried to make her feel a fleabite on
her ankle. If it had worked, she would have had to show something." That was the other trick of the bracelet; you
could make the woman wearing the necklace feel physical sensations. Only the sensations— there was no mark
whatever you did, no real damage— but the feel of a sound switching or two had sufficed to convince Marigan that
cooperation was her best choice. That and the alternative, a quick trial followed by execution.
Despite her failure, Leane watched closely as Nynaeve undid the bracelet and refastened it on her own wrist. It
seemed that she, at least, had not given up completely on channeling again one day.
Regaining the Power was wonderful. Not as wonderful as drawing saidar herself, being filled with it, but even
touching the Source through the other woman was like redoubling the life in her veins. To hold saidar inside was to
want to laugh and dance with pure joy. She supposed that one day she would become used to it; full Aes Sedai
must. Balanced against that, linking with Marigan was a small price. "Now that we know there's a chance," she
said, "I think— "
The door banged open, and Nynaeve was on her feet before she knew it. She never thought of using the Power; she
would have screamed if her throat had not closed tight. She was not the only one, but she hardly noticed Siuan and
Leane leaping up. The fear cascading through the bracelet seemed an echo of her own.
The young woman who shut the splintery wooden door behind her took no notice of the commotion she had caused.
Tall and straight in an Accepted's banded white dress, with sun-gold curls nestled on her shoulders, she looked
spitting mad. Even with her face tight with anger and dripping sweat she somehow managed to look beautiful,
though; it was a knack Elayne had. "Do you know what they're doing? They are sending an embassy to ... to
Caemlyn! And they refuse to let me go! Sheriam forbade me to mention it again. Forbade me even to speak of it!"
"Did you never learn to knock, Elayne?" Straightening her chair, Nynaeve sat down again. Fell, really; relief
weakened her knees. "I thought you were Sheriam." Just the thought of discovery cored out her middle.
To her credit, Elayne blushed and apologized immediately. Then spoiled it by adding, "But I don't see why you
were so goosey. Birgitte is still outside, and you know she would warn you if anyone else came close. Nynaeve,
they must let me go."
"They must do nothing of the kind," Siuan said gruffly. She and Leane were seated again, too. Siuan sat up straight,
as always, but Leane sagged back, as flimsy as Nynaeve's knees. Marigan was leaning against the wall, breathing
hard, eyes closed and hands pressed hard against the plaster. Relief and stark terror surged through the bracelet in
alternating jolts.
"But— "
Siuan did not allow Elayne another word. "Do you think Sheriam, or any of the others, will let the Daughter-Heir of
Andor fall into the hands of the Dragon Reborn? With your mother dead— "
"I don't believe that!" Elayne snapped.
"You don't believe Rand killed her," Siuan went on relentlessly, "and that's a different thing. I don't, either. But if
Morgase were alive, she would come forward and acknowledge him the Dragon Reborn. Or, if she believed him a
false Dragon in spite of the proof, she'd be organizing resistance. None of my eyes-and-ears have heard a whisper
of either. Not just in Andor, but not here in Altara and not in Murandy."
"They have," Elayne forced in. "There's rebellion in the west."
"Against Morgase. Against. If it's not a rumor, too." Siuan's voice was flat as a planed board. "Your mother is dead,
girl. Best to admit as much and get your weeping done."
Elayne's chin rose, a very annoying habit she had; she was the picture of icy arrogance, though most men seemed to
find it attractive for some reason. "You complain continually over how long it is taking to get in touch with all of
your agents," she said coolly, "but I will set aside whether you can have heard all there is to hear. Whether my
mother is alive or not, my place is in Caemlyn, now. I am Daughter-Heir."
Siuan's loud snort made Nynaeve jump. "You've been Accepted long enough to know better." Elayne had as much
potential as had been seen in a thousand years. Not as much as Nynaeve, if she ever learned to channel at will, but
still enough to make any Aes Sedai's eyes light up. Elayne's nose wrinkled— she knew very well that if she had
already been on the Lion Throne, the Aes Sedai still would have gotten her away for training, by asking if possible,
by stuffing her into a barrel if necessary— and she opened her mouth, but Siuan did not even slow down. "True,
they'd not mind you taking the throne sooner than later; there hasn't been a Queen who was openly Aes Sedai in far
too long. But they won't let you go until you're a full sister, and even then, because you are Daughter-Heir and will
be Queen soon, they won't let you near the Dragon bloody Reborn until they know how far they can trust him.
Especially since this ... amnesty of his." Her mouth twisted sourly around the word, and Leane grimaced.
Nynaeve's tongue curdled, too. She had been brought up to fear any man who could channel, fated to go mad and,
before the Shadow-tainted male half of the Source killed him horribly, bring terror to everyone around him. But
Rand, whom she had watched grow up, was the Dragon Reborn, born both as a sign that the Last Battle was coming
and to fight the Dark One in that battle. The Dragon Reborn; humanity's only hope— and a man who could
channel. Worse, reports were that he was trying to gather others like him. Of course, there could not be many. Any
Aes Sedai would hunt down one of those— the Red Ajah did little else— but they found few, far fewer than once,
according to the records.
Elayne was not about to give up, though. That was one admirable thing about her; she would not give up if her head
were on the block and the axe descending. She stood there with her chin up, facing Siuan's stare, which Nynaeve
often found hard to do. "There are two clear reasons why I should go. First, whatever has happened to my mother,
she is missing, and as Daughter-Heir, I can calm the people and assure them the succession is intact. Second, I can
approach Rand. He trusts me. I would be far better than anyone the Hall chooses."
The Aes Sedai here in Salidar had chosen their own Hall of the Tower, a Hall-in-exile, as it were. They were
supposed to be mulling over the choice of a new Amyrlin Seat, a rightful Amyrlin to challenge Elaida's claim to the
title and the Tower, but Nynaeve had not seen much sign of it.
"So kind of you to sacrifice yourself, child," Leane said dryly. Elayne's expression did not change, yet she colored
furiously; few outside this room knew, and no Aes Sedai, but Nynaeve had no doubt that 'Elayne's first act in
Caemlyn would be to get Rand alone and kiss him within an inch of his life. "With your mother ... missing ... if
Rand al'Thor has you, and Caemlyn, he has Andor, and the. Hall won't let him have any more of Andor than they
have to, or anywhere else if they can help it. He carries Tear and Cairhien in his pocket, and the Aiel as well, it
seems. Add Andor, and Murandy and Altara— with us in it— fall if he sneezes. He is growing too powerful, too
fast. He might decide he doesn't need us. With Moiraine dead, there's no one near him we can trust."
That made Nynaeve wince. Moiraine was the Aes Sedai who had brought her and Rand out of the Two Rivers and
changed their lives. Her and Rand and Egwene and Mat and Perrin. She had wanted for so long to make Moiraine
pay for what she had done to them that losing her was like losing a piece of herself. But Moiraine was dead in
Cairhien, taking Lanfear with her; she was fast becoming a legend among the Aes Sedai here, the only Aes Sedai to
have killed one of the Forsaken, much less two. The only good thing Nynaeve could find in it, much as it shamed to
find any good, was that now Lan was freed from being Moiraine's Warder. If she could ever find him.
Siuan took up immediately where Leane left off. "We can't afford to let the boy go sailing off with no guidance at
all. Who knows what he might do? Yes, yes, I know you're ready to argue for him, but I don't care to hear it. I'm
trying to balance a live silverpike on my nose, girl. We can't let him grow too strong before he accepts us, and yet
we don't dare hold him back too much. And I'm trying to keep Sheriam and the others convinced they should
support him when half the Hall secretly don't want anything to do with him, and the other half think in their heart of
hearts that he should be gentled, Dragon Reborn or not. In any case, whatever your arguments, I suggest you heed
Sheriam. You won't change any minds, and Tiana doesn't have enough novices here to keep her busy."
Elayne's face tightened angrily. Tiana Noselle, a Gray sister, was Mistress of Novices here in Salidar. An Accepted
had to step considerably further out of line to be sent to Tiana than did a novice, but by the same token, the visit
was always that much more shaming and painful. Tiana might show a little kindness to a novice, if only a little; she
felt Accepted should know better, and made sure they felt the same long before they left her small cubbyhole of a
study.
Nynaeve had been studying Siuan, and now something popped into her head. "You knew all about this ... embassy,
or whatever it is ... didn't you? You two always have your heads together with Sheriam and her little circle." The
Hall might have all the supposed authority until they chose an Amyrlin, but Sheriam and the handful of other Aes
Sedai who had first organized the arrivals in Salidar still kept the real control of things. "How many are they
sending, Siuan?" Elayne gasped; plainly she had not thought of this. That showed how upset she was. Usually she
caught nuances Nynaeve missed.
Siuan denied nothing. Since being stilled she could lie like a wool merchant, but when she decided to be open, she
was as open as a slap in the face. "Nine. 'Enough to do honor to the Dragon Reborn'— fish guts! an embassy to a
king is seldom more than three!— 'but not enough to frighten him.' If he's learned enough to be frightened."
"You had better hope he has," Elayne said coldly. "If he hasn't, then nine may be eight too many."
Thirteen was the dangerous number. Rand was strong, perhaps as strong as any man since the Breaking, but
thirteen Aes Sedai linked could overwhelm him, shield him from saidin, and take him prisoner. Thirteen was the
number assigned when a man was gentled, though Nynaeve had begun to think the assignment more custom than
requirement. Aes Sedai did a good many things because they always had.
Siuan's smile was far from pleasant. "I wonder why no one else thought of that? Think, girl! Sheriam does, and so
does the Hall. Only one will go near him at first, and no more after that than he's comfortable with. But he'll know
nine came, and somebody will certainly tell him what an honor that is."
"I see," Elayne said in a small voice. "I should have known one of you would think of it. I'm sorry." That was
another good thing about her. She could be stubborn as a cross-eyed mule, but when she decided she was wrong,
she admitted it as nicely as any village woman. Most unusual for a noble.
"Min will be going too," Leane said. "Her ... talents may be useful to Rand. The sisters won't know that part, of
course. She can keep her secrets." As if that were the important thing.
"I see," Elayne said again, flatly this time. She made an effort to brighten her tone, a miserable failure. "Well, I see
you're busy with ... with Marigan. I did not mean to disturb you. Please, don't let me interrupt." She was gone
before Nynaeve could open her mouth, the door banging shut behind her.
Angrily, Nynaeve rounded on Leane. "I thought Siuan was the mean one of you, but that was vicious!"
It was Siuan who answered. "When two women love the same man, it means trouble, and when the man is Rand
al'Thor.... The Light knows how sane he still is, Or what course they might send him off on. If there's any
hair-pulling and clawing to be done, let them do it now, here."
Without thought, Nynaeve's hand found her braid and jerked it back over her shoulder. "I ought to...." Trouble was,
there was little she could do, and nothing to make any difference. "We'll go on from where we left off when Elayne
came in. But, Siuan.... If you ever do something like that to her again," or to me, she thought, "I'll make you sorry
you— Where do you think you're going?" Siuan. had scraped back her chair and risen, and after a glance, Leane did
the same.
"We have work," Siuan said curtly, already heading for the door.
"You promised to make yourself available, Siuan. Sheriam told you to." Not that Sheriam thought it any less a
waste of time than Siuan, but Nynaeve and Elayne had earned rewards, and a certain amount of indulgence. Like
Marigan to be their maid, to give them more time for Accepted's studies.
Siuan gave her an amused look from the door. "Maybe you'll complain to her? And explain how you do your
research? I want time with Marigan this evening; I have some more questions."
As Siuan left, Leane said sadly, "It would be nice, Nynaeve, but we have to do what we can do. You could try
Logain." Then she was gone, too.
Nynaeve scowled. Studying Logain had taught her even less than studying the two women. She was no longer
certain she could learn anything from him at all. Anyway, the last thing she wanted was to Heal a gentled man. He
made her nervous in any case.
"You bite at one another like rats in a sealed box," Marigan said. "On the evidence, your chances are not very good.
Perhaps you should consider ... other options,"
"Hold your filthy tongue!" Nynaeve glared at her. "Hold it, the Light burn you!" Fear still oozed through the
bracelet, but something else as well, something almost too feeble to exist. A faint spark of hope, perhaps. "The
Light burn you," she muttered.
The woman's real name was not Marigan, but Moghedien. One of the Forsaken, trapped with her own overweening
pride and held prisoner in the midst of Aes Sedai. Only five women in the world knew, none Aes Sedai, but
keeping Moghedien secret was purest necessity. The Forsaken's crimes made her execution as sure as the sun
rising. Siuan agreed; for every Aes Sedai who counseled waiting, if any did, ten would demand immediate justice.
Into an unmarked grave with her would go all her knowledge from the Age of Legends, when things undreamed of
today were done with the Power. Nynaeve was not sure she believed half of what the woman told her of that Age.
She certainly understood less than half.
Digging information out of Moghedien was not easy. Sometimes it was like Healing; Moghedien had never been
interested in much that could not advance her, preferably by shortcuts. The woman was hardly likely to reveal the
truth, but Nynaeve suspected she had been some sort of swindler or the like before swearing her soul over to the
Dark One. Sometimes she and Elayne just did not know the questions to ask. Moghedien seldom volunteered
anything, that was certain. Even so, they had learned a great deal, and passed most on to the Aes Sedai. As results
of their researches and studies as Accepted, of course: They had gained a lot of credit.
She and Elayne would have kept knowledge of her to themselves if they could, but Birgitte had known from the
start, and Siuan and Leane had to be told. Siuan had known enough of the circumstances that led to Moghedien's
capture to demand a full explanation, and had the leverage to obtain one. Nynaeve and Elayne knew some of Siuan
and Leane's secrets; they seemed to know all of her and Elayne's except the truth about Birgitte. It made for a
precarious balance, with the advantage to Siuan and Leane. Besides, bits of Moghedien's revelations concerned
supposed Darkfriend plots and hints of what the other Forsaken might be up to. The only way to pass those on was
to make them seem to have come from Siuan and Leane's agents. Nothing about the Black Ajah— hidden deep and
long denied— though that interested Siuan most. Darkfriends disgusted her, but the very idea of Aes Sedai
swearing themselves to the Dark One was enough to screw Siuan's anger to an icy rage. Moghedien claimed to have
been afraid to go near any Aes Sedai, and that was believable enough. Fear was a permanent part of the woman. No
wonder she had hidden in the shadows enough to be called the Spider. All in all, she was a treasure trove too
valuable to give to the headsman, yet most Aes Sedai would not see it so. Most Aes Sedai might refuse to touch or
trust anything learned from her.
Guilt and revulsion stabbed Nynaeve, not for the first time. Could any amount of knowledge justify keeping one of
the Forsaken from justice? Turning her in meant punishment, probably dreadful, for everyone involved, not just
herself, but Elayne and Siuan and Leane. Turning her in meant Birgitte's secret would come out. And all that
knowledge lost. Moghedien might know nothing of Healing, but she had given Nynaeve a dozen hints of what was
possible, and there had to be more in her head. With those to guide her, what might she discover eventually?
Nynaeve wanted a bath, and it had nothing to do with the heat. "We will talk about the weather," she said bitterly.
"You know more about controlling weather than I do." Moghedien sounded weary, and an echo slid through the
bracelet. There had been enough questions on the subject. "All I know is that what is happening is the Great— the
Dark One's work." She had the nerve to smile ingratiatingly at the slip. "No mere human is strong enough to change
that."
It took effort for Nynaeve not to grind her teeth. Elayne knew more about working weather than anyone else in
Salidar, 'and she said the same. Including the Dark One part, though any but a fool would know that, with the heat
so strong when it should be coming on for snow, with no rain and the streams drying. "Then we'll talk about using
different weaves to Heal different illnesses." The woman said that took more time than what was done now, but all
the strength for it came from the Power, not from the patient and the woman channeling. Of course, she said men
had actually been better at some kinds of Healing, and Nynaeve was not about to believe that. "You must have seen
it done at least once."
She settled down to bore away for nuggets in the dross. Some knowledge was worth a great deal. She just wished
she did not feel that she was digging through slime.
Elayne did not hesitate once she was outside, only waved to Birgitte and went on. Birgitte, her golden hair in an
intricate waist-long braid, was playing with two small boys while she kept watch in the narrow alley, her bow
propped against a leaning fence beside her. Or trying to play with them. Jaril and Seve stared at the woman in her
odd wide yellow trousers and short dark coat, but they showed no more reaction than that. They never did, and they
never spoke. They were supposed to be "Marigan's" children. Birgitte was happy playing with them, and a touch
sad; she always liked playing with children, especially little boys, and she always felt that way when she did.
Elayne knew it as well as she knew her own feelings.
If she had thought Moghedien had anything to do with their condition.... But the woman claimed they were as they
had been when she picked them up for her disguise in Ghealdan, orphans in the street, and some of the Yellow
sisters said they had simply seen too much in the riots in Samara. Elayne could believe it from what she herself had
encountered there. The Yellow sisters said time and care would help them; Elayne hoped it was so. She hoped she
was not allowing the one responsible to escape justice.
She did not want to think about Moghedien now. Her mother. No, she definitely did not want to think about her.
Min. And Rand. There had to be some way to handle this. Barely seeing Birgitte's return nod, she hurried up the
alley and out onto the main street of Salidar beneath a cloudless, broiling midday sky.
For' years Salidar had stood abandoned, before Aes Sedai fleeing Elaida's coup began to gather there, but now fresh
thatch topped the houses, most of which showed considerable new repairs and patches, and the three large stone
buildings that had been inns. One, the largest, was called the Little Tower by some; that was where the Hall met.
Only what was necessary had been done, of course; cracked glass filled many windows, or none. More important
matters were afoot than repointing stonework or painting. The dirt streets were filled to bursting. Not just with Aes
Sedai, of course, but Accepted in banded dresses and scurrying novices in pure white, Warders moving with the
deadly grace of leopards whether lean or bulky, servants who had followed Aes Sedai from the Tower, even a few
children! And soldiers.
The Hall here was preparing to enforce its claims against Elaida by arms if necessary, just as soon as they chose a
true Amyrlin Seat. The distant clang of hammers, cutting through the crowds' murmur from forges outside the
village, spoke of horses being shod, armor being mended. A square-faced man, his dark hair heavy with gray, went
riding slowly down the street in a buff-colored coat and battered breastplate. Picking his way through the crowd, he
eyed marching clusters of men with long pikes on their shoulders, or bows. Gareth Bryne had agreed to recruit and
lead the Salidar Hall's army, though Elayne wished she knew the full how and why. Something to do with Siuan
and Leane, though what, she could not imagine, since he ran both women ragged, especially Siuan, fulfilling some
oath Elayne did not have the straight of either. Just that Siuan complained bitterly about having to keep his room
and his clothes clean on top of her other duties. She complained, but she did it; it must have been a strong oath.
Bryne's eyes passed across Elayne with barely a hesitation. He had been coolly polite and distant since she arrived
in Salidar, though she had known him since her cradle. Until less than a year ago he had been Captain-General of
the Queen's Guards, in Andor. Once, Elayne had thought he and her mother would marry. No, she was not going to
think of her mother! Min. She had to find Min and talk.
No sooner had she begun to weave through the crowded dusty street, though, than two Aes Sedai found her. There
was no choice but to stop and curtsy, while the throng streamed around them. Both women beamed. Neither
sweated a drop. Pulling a handkerchief from her sleeve to dab at her face, Elayne wished she had already been
taught that particular bit of Aes Sedai lore. "Good day, Anaiya Sedai, Janya Sedai."
"Good day, child. Do you have any more discoveries for us today?" As usual, Janya Frende spoke as though there
was no time to get the words out. "Such remarkable strides you've made, you and Nynaeve, especially for
Accepted. I still don't see how Nynaeve does it, when she has so many difficulties with the Power, but I must say
I'm delighted." Unlike most Brown sisters, often absentminded beyond their books and studies, Janya Sedai was
quite neat, every short dark hair tidy around the ageless face that marked Aes Sedai who had worked long with the
Power. But the slender woman's appearance did hint at her Ajah. Her dress was plain gray, and stout wool—
Browns seldom thought of clothes as more than decent covering— and even when she was talking to you, she wore
a little frown, as though squinting in thought about something else entirely. She would have been pretty without
that frown. "That way of wrapping yourself in light to become invisible. Remarkable. I'm sure someone will find
how to stop the ripples, so you can move about with it. And Carenna is quite excited over that little eavesdropping
trick of Nynaeve's. Naughty of her, to think of that, but useful. Carenna thinks she sees how to adapt it to talk to
someone at a distance. Think of it. To talk with someone a mile away! Or two, or even— " Anaiya touched her arm,
and she cut off, blinking at the other Aes Sedai.
"You are making great strides, Elayne," Anaiya said calmly. The bluff-faced woman was always calm. "Motherly"
was the word to describe her, and comforting usually, though Aes Sedai features made putting an age to her
impossible. She was also one of the small circle around Sheriam who held the real power in Salidar. "Greater than
any of us expected, truly, and we expected much. The first to make a ter'angreal since the Breaking. That is
remarkable, child, and I want you to know that. You should be very proud."
Elayne stared at the ground in front of her toes. Two waist-high boys went dodging by through the crowd, laughing.
She wished no one were close enough to hear this. Not that any of the passersby gave them a second glance. With
so many Aes Sedai in the village, not even novices curtsied unless an Aes Sedai addressed them, and everyone had
errands that needed to be done yesterday.
She did not feel proud at all. Not with all of their "discoveries" coming from Moghedien. There had been a good
many, beginning with "inverting," so a weave could not be seen by any but the woman who had woven it, yet they
had not passed everything on. How to hide your ability to channel, for one. Without that, Moghedien would have
been unmasked in hours— any Aes Sedai within two or three paces of a woman could sense whether she could
channel— and if they learned how to do that, they might learn how to penetrate it. And how to disguise yourself;
inverted weaves made "Marigan" look nothing at all like Moghedien.
Some of what the woman knew was just too repulsive. Compulsion, for instance, bending people's will, and a way
to implant instructions so the recipient would not even remember the orders when he carried them out. Worse
things. Too repulsive, and maybe too dangerous to trust anyone with. Nynaeve said they had to learn them in order
to learn how to counter them, but Elayne did not want to. They were keeping so many secrets, telling so many lies
to friends and people on their side, that she almost wished she could take the Three Oaths on the Oath Rod without
waiting to be raised Aes Sedai. One of those bound you to speak no word that was not true, bound you as though a
part of your flesh.
"I haven't done as well as I might with the ter'angreal, Anaiya Sedai." That, at least, was hers and hers alone. The
first had been the bracelet and necklace— a fact kept well hidden, needless to say— but they were an altered copy
of a nasty invention, the a'dam, that the Seanchan left behind when their invasion was driven into the sea at Falme.
The plain green disc that allowed someone not strong enough to work the invisibility trick— not many were— had
been her idea from the first. She had no angreal or sa'angreal to study, so they had been impossible to make so far,
and even after her ease in copying the Seanchan device, ter'angreal had not proven as easy as she had thought. They
used the One Power instead of magnifying it, used it for one specific purpose, to do one thing. Some could even be
used by people who could not channel, even men. They should have been simpler. Maybe they were, in function,
but not simple to make.
Her modest statement unleashed a torrent from Janya. "Nonsense, child. Absolute nonsense. Why, I've no doubt
that as soon as we are back in the Tower and can test you properly and put the Oath Rod in your hand, you'll be
raised to the shawl as well as the ring. No doubt. You really are fulfilling all the promise that was seen in you. And
more. No one could have expected— " Anaiya touched her arm again; it seemed a set signal, because once more
Janya stopped and blinked.
"No need to swell the child's head too far," Anaiya said. "Elayne, I'll have no sulking out of you. You should have
outgrown that long since." The mother could be firm as well as kindly. "I won't have you pouting over a few
failures, not when your success was so wonderful." Elayne had made five tries at the stone disc. Two did nothing,
and two made you appear blurry, as well as sick to your stomach. The one that worked had been the third attempt.
More than a few failures in Elayne's book. "Everything you've done is wonderful. You, and Nynaeve, too."
"Thank you," Elayne said. "Thank you both. I'll try not to be sulky." When an Aes Sedai said you were sulky, the
one thing you did not do was tell her you were not. "Will you excuse me, please? I understand the embassy to
Caemlyn is leaving today, and I want to say goodbye to Min."
They let her go, of course, though Janya might have taken half an hour to do so without Anaiya there. Anaiya eyed
Elayne sharply— she surely knew all about the words with Sheriam— but said nothing. Sometimes an Aes Sedai's
silences were as loud as words.
Thumbing the ring on the third finger of her left hand, Elayne darted on at a near trot, eyes focused far enough
ahead that she could claim not to have seen anyone else who tried to stop her for congratulations. It might work,
and it might mean a visit to Tiana; indulgences for good work only went so far. Right that moment, she would
much prefer Tiana to praise she did not deserve.
The gold ring was a serpent biting its own tail, the Great Serpent, a symbol of Aes Sedai, but worn by Accepted
too. When she donned the shawl, fringed in the color of the Ajah she selected, she would wear it on the finger she
chose. It would be the Green Ajah for her, of necessity; only Green sisters had more than one Warder, and she
wanted to have Rand. Or as much of him as she could, at least. The difficulty was that she had already bonded
Birgitte, the first woman ever to become a Warder. That was why she could sense Birgitte's feelings, how she knew
Birgitte had gotten a splinter in her hand that morning. Only Nynaeve knew about the bond. Warders were for full
Aes Sedai; for an Accepted who overstepped that bound, no indulgences in the world would save her hide. For
them it had been necessity, not whim— Birgitte would have died, else— but Elayne did not think that would make
any difference. Breaking a rule with the Power could be fatal for yourself and others; to set that firmly in your
mind, Aes Sedai seldom let anyone get away with breaking any rule for any reason.
There was so much subterfuge here in Salidar. Not just Birgitte, and Moghedien. One of the Oaths kept an Aes
Sedai from lying, but what was not spoken of did not have to be lied over. Moiraine had known how to weave a
cloak of invisibility, maybe the same one they learned from Moghedien; Nynaeve had seen Moiraine do it once,
before Nynaeve knew anything of the Power. No one else in Salidar had known, though. Or admitted to it, anyway.
摘要：

LordofChaos-Book6ofTheWheelofTime,ByRobertJordanPrologueTheFirstMessageDemandredsteppedoutontotheblackslopesofShayolGhul,andthegateway,aholeinreality'sfabric,winkedoutofexistence.Above,roilinggraycloudshidthesky,aninvertedseaofsluggishashenwavescrashingaroundthemountain'shiddenpeak.Below,oddlightsfl...

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