CHAPTER
27
Gifts
Walking back out to the great sprawl of tents, Egwene tried to get a grip on herself, but she was not sure her feet actually touched the ground. Well, she knew they did. They added their small portion to the waves of dust swept along by the hot gusting wind; coughing, she wished Wise Ones wore veils. A shawl wrapped around your head was not the same, and it was like wearing a sweat tent besides. Yet she felt as if her feet trod on air. Her brain seemed to be spinning, and not from the heat.
At first she had thought Gawyn was not going to meet her, but then he was suddenly just there as she walked through the crowds. They had spent the entire morning in the private dining room of The Long Man, holding hands and talking over tea. She was absolutely brazen, kissing him as soon as the door closed, before he so much as made a move to kiss her, even sitting on his knee once, though that had not lasted long. It made her start thinking of his dreams, about maybe slipping back into them again, about things no decent woman should be thinking at all! Not an unmarried woman, anyway. She had bounded up like a startled doe, startling him in turn.
Hastily she looked around. The tents were still half a mile off, and there was not a living soul closer. If there had been, they could not have seen her blushes. Realizing she was grinning idiotically behind the shawl, she wiped it away. Light, she had to keep a rein on herself. Forget the feel of Gawyn’s strong arms and remember why they had had so much time at The Long Man.
Threading through the crowd, she peered about, looking for Gawyn and trying with some difficulty to pretend casualness; she did not want him to think her eager, after all. Suddenly a man leaned toward her, whispering fiercely. “Follow me to The Long Man.”
She jumped; she could not help herself. It took her a moment to recognize Gawyn. He wore a plain brown coat, and a thin dustcloak hung down his back, the hood up and nearly hiding his face. He was not the only one cloaked—any but Aiel who went beyond the city walls wore one—but not many had their hoods raised in that oven heat.
She caught his sleeve firmly as he tried to slide away ahead of her. “What makes you think I’ll just go off to an inn with you, Gawyn Trakand?” she demanded, eyes narrowing. She did keep her voice down, though; no need to attract eyes to an argument. “We were going to walk. You are taking entirely too much for granted if you think for a moment—”
Grimacing, he whispered at her hurriedly. “The women I came with are looking for someone. Someone like you. They say little in front of me, but I’ve caught a word here and there. Now follow me.” Without a backward glance he strode off down the street, leaving her to follow with a lurching stomach.
The memory settled her feet firmly. The burned-over ground was nearly as hot as the city paving stones through the soles of her soft boots. She trudged through the dust, thinking furiously. Gawyn had not known much more than he told in that first exchange. He argued that it could not be her they were looking for, that she just had to be careful of her channeling and stay out of sight as much as possible. Only, he had not looked very convinced himself, not wearing a disguise. She refrained from mentioning his clothes; he was so worried that if these Aes Sedai found her she would be in all sorts of troubles, worried that he would lead them to her, so plainly unwilling to stop seeing her even if he did suggest it himself. And so convinced that what she needed was to sneak somehow back to Tar Valon and into the Tower. That, or to make her peace with Coiren and the others and return with them. Light, but she should have been angry at him, thinking he knew what was best for her better than she did, but for some reason it made her want to smile indulgently even now. For some reason she just could not think straight about him, and he seemed to creep into whatever thought she had.
Chewing her lip, she focused on the real problem. The Tower Aes Sedai. If only she could bring herself to question Gawyn; it would not be betraying him to ask just a few small questions, their Ajahs, where they went, or. . . . No! She had made that promise to herself, but breaking it would dishonor him. No questions. Only what he volunteered.
Whatever he said, she had no reason to think they were looking for Egwene al’Vere. And, she admitted reluctantly, no real reason to think they were not, only a lot of suppositions and hopes. Just because a Tower agent would not recognize Egwene al’Vere in an Aiel woman did not say that the agent had not heard the name, even heard of Egwene Sedai of the Green Ajah. She winced. From now on, she would have to be very careful in the city. More than careful.
She had reached the edge of the tents. The encampment sprawled over miles, covering the hills east of the city whether treed or not. Aiel moved among the low tents, but only a handful of gai’shain nearby. None of the Wise Ones were in sight. She had broken a promise to them. To Amys, really, but to all of them. Necessity seemed an increasingly thin reed to support her deception.
“Join us, Egwene,” a woman’s voice called. Even with her head covered, Egwene was not hard to pick out unless surrounded by girls not yet full grown. Surandha, Sorilea’s apprentice, had poked her dark golden head out of a tent and was waving to her. “The Wise Ones are meeting back among the tents, all of them, and they’ve given us all the day for ourselves. The entire day.” That was a luxury seldom offered, and not one Egwene would pass up.
Inside, women lay sprawled on cushions reading by oil lamps—the tent was closed against dust, and thus against light as well—or sat sewing or knitting or doing embroidery. Two were playing cat’s cradle. A low murmur of conversation filled the tent, and several smiled greetings. They were not all apprentices—two mothers and several first-sisters had come to visit—and the older women wore as much jewelry as any Wise One. Everyone had their blouses half-unlaced and shawls wrapped around their waists, though the trapped heat did not seem to bother them.
A gai’shain moved about refilling teacups. Something in the way he moved said he was a craftsman, not algai’d’siswai; he was still hard of face, yet a trifle softer by comparison, and maintaining a meek manner seemed less of a struggle. He wore one of those headbands naming him siswai’aman. None of the women gave it a second glance, though gai’shain were not supposed to wear anything but white.
Egwene tied her shawl around her waist and gratefully accepted water to wash her face and hands, then undid a few of her blouse laces and took a tasseled red cushion between Surandha and Estair, Aeron’s red-haired apprentice. “What are the Wise Ones meeting about?” Her mind was not on the Wise Ones. She had no intention of avoiding the city entirely—she had agreed to look in at The Long Man every morning to see whether Gawyn was there, though the smirk on the stout innkeeper’s face made her cheeks grow warm; the Light only knew what that woman thought!—but there definitely would be no more attempts to listen in at Lady Arilyn’s mansion. After leaving Gawyn she had gone near enough to sense the channeling continuing inside, but left after one quick peek around the corner. Just standing that close produced the uneasy feeling that Nesune was going to pop up behind her. &ldqu
