The Gathering Storm - By Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson Page 0,137

was a legend. One did not enter the presence of such a creature—one of the most evil beings ever to live—and not feel at least a measure of awe.

Measure of awe. . . .

“That’s our mistake,” Cadsuane whispered. She blinked, then turned and opened the door into the room.

Semirhage stood in the center of the small chamber. She had been retied in Air, the weaves likely woven the moment that she’d dropped her tray. The brass platter lay discarded, the beans soaking juice into the aged wooden boards. This room had no window; it had been a storage chamber at one point, converted into a “cell” to hold the Forsaken. Sarene—dark hair in beaded braids, beautiful face surprised at the intrusion—sat in a chair before Semirhage. Her Warder, Vitalien, broad-shouldered and ashen-faced, stood in the corner.

Semirhage’s head was not bound, and her eyes flicked toward Cadsuane.

Cadsuane had committed herself; she had to confront the woman now. Fortunately, what she planned didn’t require much delicacy. It all came back to a single question. How would Cadsuane break herself? The solution was easy, now that it occurred to her.

“Ah,” Cadsuane said with a no-nonsense attitude. “I see that the child has refused her meal. Sarene, release your weaves.”

Semirhage raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth to scoff, but as Sarene released her weaves of Air, Cadsuane grabbed Semirhage by the hair and—with a casual sweep of her foot—knocked the woman’s legs out from beneath her, dropping her to the floor.

Perhaps she could have used the Power, but it felt right to use her hands for this. She prepared a few weaves, though she probably wouldn’t need them. Semirhage, though tall, was a woman of willowy build, and Cadsuane herself had always been more stout than she was slim. Plus, the Forsaken seemed utterly dumbfounded at how she was being treated.

Cadsuane knelt down with one knee on the woman’s back, then shoved her face forward into the spilled food. “Eat,” she said. “I don’t approve of wasted food, child, particularly during these times.”

Semirhage sputtered, releasing a few phrases that Cadsuane could only assume were oaths, though she didn’t recognize any of them. The meanings were likely lost in time. Soon, the oaths subsided and Semirhage grew still. She didn’t fight back. Cadsuane wouldn’t have either; that would only hurt her image. Semirhage’s power as a captive came from the fear and respect that the Aes Sedai gave her. Cadsuane needed to change that.

“Your chair, please,” she said to Sarene.

The White stood, looking shocked. They had tried all measure of torture available to them under al’Thor’s requirements, but each of those had betrayed esteem. They were treating Semirhage as a dangerous force and a worthy enemy. That would only bolster her ego.

“Are you going to eat?” Cadsuane asked.

“I will kill you,” Semirhage said calmly. “First, before all of the others. I will make them listen to you scream.”

“I see,” Cadsuane replied. “Sarene, go tell the three Sisters outside to come in.” Cadsuane paused, thoughtful. “Also, I saw some maids cleaning rooms on the other side of the hallway. Fetch them for me as well.”

Sarene nodded, rushing from the room. Cadsuane sat in the chair, then wove threads of Air and picked Semirhage up. Elza and Erian glanced into the room, looking very curious. Then they entered, Sarene following. A few moments later, Daigian entered with five servants: three Domani women in aprons, one spindly man, his fingers brown with stain from recoating logs, and a single serving boy. Excellent.

As they entered, Cadsuane used her threads of Air to turn Semirhage around across her knee. And then she proceeded to spank the Forsaken.

Semirhage held out at first. Then she began to curse. Then she began to sputter out threats. Cadsuane continued, her hand beginning to hurt. Semirhage’s threats turned to howls of outrage and pain. The serving girl with the food returned in the middle of it, adding even more to Semirhage’s shame. The Aes Sedai watched with slack jaws.

“Now,” Cadsuane said after a few moments, breaking into one of Semirhage’s howls of pain. “Will you eat?”

“I’ll find everyone you’ve ever loved,” the Forsaken said, tears in her eyes, “I’ll feed them to each other while you watch. I’ll—”

Cadsuane “tsk”ed and began again. The crowd in the room watched in amazed silence. Semirhage began to cry—not from the pain, but from the humiliation. That was the key. Semirhage could not be defeated by pain or by persuasion—but destroying her image, that would be more terrible