One of the men ducked his head in a sort of half-bow. His nose was not only crooked, the tip was missing. “Uh . . . he is gone now . . . uh. . . . Mistress. Can we go too?”
It was true; the skinny man had used her interference to vanish. She felt a flash of contempt. Running because he feared to face four. How could he bear the shame? Light, she was doing it again.
She opened her mouth to say that of course they could—and nothing came out. They took her silence for assent, or maybe excuse, and hurried away, but she barely noticed them go. She was too busy staring at the back of a mounted party making its way up the street.
She did not recognize the dozen or so green-cloaked soldiers forcing a path through the crowd, but who they escorted was a different matter. She could only see the backs of the women—five or six, she thought, between the soldiers—just parts of their backs, but that was more than enough. Much more. The women wore light dustcloaks, pale linen in shades of brown, and Egwene found herself staring right at what seemed to be a pure white disc embroidered on the back of one of those cloaks. Only the stitching picked out the white Flame of Tar Valon from the border signifying the White Ajah. She caught a glimpse of green, of red. Red! Five or six Aes Sedai, riding toward the Royal Palace, where a copy of the Dragon banner waved fitfully atop a stepped tower alongside one of Rand’s crimson flags bearing the ancient Aes Sedai symbol. Some called that the Dragon banner, and others al’Thor’s banner, or even the Aiel banner, and a dozen other names besides.
Wriggling through the crowd, she followed them maybe twenty paces, then stopped. A Red sister—at least one Red that she had seen—had to mean this was the long-expected embassy from the Tower, the one Elaida had written would escort Rand to Tar Valon. More than two months since that letter arrived by a hard-riding courier; this party must have left not long behind.
They would not find Rand—not unless he had slipped in unannounced; she had decided that he had somehow rediscovered the Talent called Traveling, but that put her no closer to knowing how it was done—yet whether they found Rand or not, they must not find Egwene. The best she could expect was to be hauled up short as an Accepted out of the Tower with no full sister to oversee her, and that could be expected only if Elaida really was not hunting for her. Even then they would haul her back to Tar Valon, and Elaida; she had no illusions that she could resist five or six Aes Sedai.
With a last look after the receding Aes Sedai, she gathered her skirts and began to run, dodging between people, sometimes caroming off them, ducking under the noses of teams pulling wagons or carriages. Angered shouts followed her. When she at last dashed through one of the tall square-arched city gates, the hot wind hit her in the face. Unhindered by buildings, it carried sheets of dust that made her cough, but she kept running, all the way back to the Wise One’s low tents.
To her surprise a sleek gray mare, saddle and bridle worked and fringed with gold, stood outside Amys’ tent, in the charge of a gai’shain who kept his eyes down except when patting the spirited animal. Ducking inside, she found the rider, Berelain, sipping tea with Amys and Bair and Sorilea, all stretched out on bright, tasseled cushions. A white-robed woman, Rodera, knelt to one side, meekly waiting to refill cups.
“There are Aes Sedai in the city,” Egwene said as soon as she was inside, “heading toward the Sun Palace. It must be Elaida’s embassy to Rand.”
Berelain rose gracefully; Egwene had to admit, if grudgingly, that the woman was graceful. And her riding dress was decently cut, for even she was not fool enough to go riding in the sun in her usual garb. The others rose with her. “I must return to the palace, it seems,” she sighed. “The Light knows how they will feel about no one there to greet them. Amys, if you know where Rhuarc is, could you send a message for him to meet me?”
Amys nodded, but Sorilea said, “You should not depend on Rhuarc so much, girl. Rand al’Thor gave Cairhien to you to tend. Let most men have a finger, and they will have the whole hand before you know. Let a clan chief have a finger, and he will have the entire arm.”
“It is true,” Amys murmured. “Rhuarc is the shade of my heart, but it is true.”
Pulling slim riding gloves from behind her belt, Berelain began tugging them on. “He reminds me of my father. Too much so, sometimes.” For an instant she grimaced ruefully. “But he gives very good advice. And he knows when to loom, and how much. I think even Aes Sedai must be impressed by Rhuarc staring at them.”
Amys laughed in her throat. “He is impressive. I will send him to you.” She kissed Berelain lightly on the forehead and each cheek.
Egwene stared; that was how a mother kissed her son or daughter. What was going on between Berelain and the Wise Ones? She could not ask, of course. Such a question would be shaming to her and to the Wise Ones. To Berelain too, though Berelain would not know it, and Egwene would not mind shaming Berelain until her hair fell out.
As Berelain turned to leave the tent, Egwene put a hand on the woman’s arm. “They must be handled carefully. They’ll not be friendly toward Rand, but the wrong words, a wrong move, could make them open enemies.” That was true enough, but not what she needed to say. She would rather have her tongue torn out than ask a favor of Berelain.
“I have dealt with Aes Sedai before, Egwene Sedai,” the other woman said dryly.
Egwene refrained from drawing a deep breath. It had to be done, but she would not let this woman see how hard it was. “Elaida means no good to Rand, no more than a weasel means to a chicken, and these Aes Sedai are Elaida’s. If they learn of an Aes Sedai on Rand’s side, here where they can reach her, she might just disappear one day soon after.” Looking into Berelain’s unreadable face, she could not make herself say more.
After a long moment, Berelain smiled. “Egwene Sedai, I will do whatever I can for Rand.” Both smile and tone of voice . . . insinuated.
“Girl,” Sorilea said sharply, and for a wonder, spots of color bloomed in Berelain’s cheeks.
Not looking at Egwene, Berelain said in a carefully neutral voice, “I would appreciate it if you did not tell Rhuarc.” In fact, she was not looking at anyone, but she tried to ignore Egwene’s presence.
“We will not,” Amys put in quickly, leaving Sorilea with her mouth open. “We will not.” The repetition was directed at Sorilea with a blend of firmness and asking, and at last the eldest Wise One nodded, if somewhat grudgingly. Berelain actually sighed with relief befor
