It took Thom and Juilin three trips to bring the ironbound wooden chests up, grumbling all the while, the way men did, about having to haul them up the narrow stairs at the rear of the inn. They were muttering about being made to sleep in the stables, too, when they brought in the first one between them — it had leafshaped hinges; the bulk of their money and valuables were in the bottom of that, including the recovered ter'angreal — but one glance at the room and they shared a look and shut their mouths. About that, at least.
“We're going to see what we can learn in the common room,” Thom said once the last chest was jammed in. Barely enough space remained to reach the washstand.
“And maybe take a walk around the village,” Juilin added. “Men talk when there's as much dislike as I saw in the street.”
“That will be very good,” Elayne said. They did so want to think they had more to do than haul and carry. It had been so in Tanchico — and Mardecin, of course — and might well be again, but hardly here. “Do be careful not to get into any trouble with the Whitecloaks, now.” A longsuffering look passed between them, just as if she had not seen both with bruised and bleeding faces after jaunts for information, but she forgave them, and smiled at Thom. “I cannot wait to hear what you learn.”
“In the morning,” Nynaeve said firmly. She was looking away from Elayne so hard that she might as well have been glowering at her. “If you disturb us before then for less than Trollocs, you'll learn the reason why.”
The glance that passed between the two men spoke volumes — it made Nynaeve's eyebrows rise sharply — but once she had reluctantly handed over a few coins, they left agreeing to let the women sleep untroubled.
“If I cannot even speak to Thom,” Elayne began when they were gone, but Nynaeve cut her off.
“I am not having them walk in on me asleep in my shift.” She was awkwardly undoing the buttons down the back of her dress. Elayne went to help her, and she said, “I can manage. You get the ring out for me.”
With a sniff, Elayne pulled up her skirt to reach the small pocket she had sewn to the underside. If Nynaeve wanted to be peevish, let her; she would not respond even if Nynaeve began ranting again. There were two rings in the pocket. She left the golden Great Serpent she had been given on being raised to Accepted, and took out the stone ring.
All flecks and stripes of red and blue and brown, it was just too large to fit a finger, and flattened and twisted besides. Odd as it seemed, the ring had only one edge; a finger drawn along that edge would circle inside and out before coming back to where it began. It was a ter'angreal, and what it did was allow access to Tel'aran'rhiod, even for someone who did not have the Talent that Egwene and the Aiel dreamwalkers shared. All that was needed was to sleep with it next to your skin. Unlike the two ter'angreal they had recovered from the Black Ajah, it did not require channeling. For all Elayne knew, even a man might be able to use it.
Clad only in her linen shift, Nynaeve threaded the ring onto the leather thong with Lan's signet and her own Great Serpent, then reknotted and hung it back around her neck before lying down atop one of the beds. Carefully tucking the rings in next to her skin, she settled her head on the pillows.
“Is there time before Egwene and the Wise Ones get there?” Elayne asked. “I can never reason out what hour it is in the Waste.”
“There is time unless she comes early, which she won't. The Wise Ones keep her on a very short leash. It will do her good, in the long run. She was always headstrong.” Nynaeve opened her eyes, looking right at her — at her! — as if that could stand for her as well.
“Remember to tell Egwene to let Rand know that I am thinking of him.” She was not going to let the woman start a row. “Tell her to... tell him that I love him, and only him.” There. She had it out.
Nynaeve rolled her eyes in what was really a most offensive way. “If you wish me to,” she said dryly, snuggling herself into the pillows.
As the other woman's breathing began to slow, Elayne pushed one of the chests against the door and sat on it to wait. She always hated waiting. It would serve Nynaeve right if she went down to the common room. Thom would probably still be there, and... And nothing. He was supposed to be her coachman. She wondered whether Nynaeve had thought of that before agreeing to be the maid. With a sigh, she leaned back against the door. She did hate waiting.
Chapter 14
(Dream Ring)
Meetings.
The effects of the ring ter'angreal did not startle Nynaeve anymore. She was in the place she had been thinking of when sleep closed in, the great chamber in Tear called the Heart of the Stone, within the massive fortress called the Stone of Tear. The gilded standlamps were unlit, but pale light seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, to simply be, all around her, fading into dim shadows in the distance. At least it was not hot; it never seemed hot or cold in Tel'aran'rhiod.
Huge redstone columns ran off in every direction, the vaulted dome far above lost in dim shadows along with more golden lamps hanging on golden chains. The pale floorstones beneath her feet were worn; the High Lords of Tear had come to this chamber — in the waking world, of course — only when their law and custom demanded, but they had come ever since the Breaking of the World. Centered beneath the dome was Callandor, apparently a glittering sword made of crystal, driven half its length into the stone of the floor. Just as Rand had left it.
She did not go near Callandor. Rand claimed to have woven traps around it with saidin, traps that no woman could see. She expected they would be nasty — the best of men could be vicious when they tried to be devious — nasty and just as primed for a woman as for the men who might use that sa'angreal. He had meant to guard it against those in the Tower as much as the Forsaken. Aside from Rand himself, the one who touched Callandor might die or worse.
That was a fact of Tel'aran'rhiod. What was in the waking world was here, too, although the reverse was not always so. The World of Dreams, the Unseen World, reflected the waking world, if sometimes in odd ways, and perhaps other worlds as well. Verin Sedai had told Egwene that there was a pattern woven of worlds, of the reality here and others, just as the weaving of people's lives made up the Pattern of the Ages. Tel'aran'rhiod touched them all, yet few could enter except accidentally, for unknowing moments, during their own mundane dreams. Dangerous moments for those dreamers, though they never knew it unless they were very unlucky. Another fact of Tel'aran'rhiod was that what happened to the dreamer here happened in the waking world, too. To die in the World of
