The Gathering Storm - By Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson Page 0,312

for her. This will provide a perfect distraction, Gareth! We can go in and grab her before anyone is the wiser.”

He eyed her.

“What?”

“You gave your word not to rescue her, Siuan.” Light, but it felt nice to hear him use her name!

Focus! she scolded herself. “That doesn’t matter now. She’s in danger and needs help.”

“She doesn’t want help,” Bryne said sternly. “We need to make certain our own force is safe. The Amyrlin is confident that she can care for herself.”

“I thought I could care for myself too,” Siuan said. “And look where it got me.” She shook her head, glancing toward the distant spire of Tar Valon. She could just faintly see a burst of light along the spire, illuminating it briefly. “When Egwene speaks of the Seanchan, she always shivers. Very little upsets her—not the Forsaken, not the Dragon Reborn. Gareth, you don’t know what the Seanchan do to women who can channel.” She met his eyes. “We need to go for her.”

“I will not be a party to this,” he said stubbornly.

“Fine,” Siuan spat. Fool man! “Go take care of your men. I think I know someone who will help me.” She stalked away, heading toward a tent just inside the palisade.

Egwene steadied herself against the wall of the hallway as the entire Tower shook again. The very stones quivered. Flakes of mortar crumbled down from the ceiling, and a loose tile fell from the wall and shattered into a dozen shards on the floor. Nicola screamed, and clutched at Egwene.

“The Dark One!” Nicola wailed. “The Last Battle! It’s come!”

“Nicola!” Egwene snapped, straightening up. “Control yourself. This isn’t the Last Battle. It’s the Seanchan.”

“Seanchan?” Nicola said. “But I thought they were just a rumor!”

Fool girl, Egwene thought, hurrying down a side hallway. Nicola scuttled after her, carrying her lamp. Egwene’s memory served her correctly, and the next hallway was at the edge of the Tower, giving her a window to the outside. She waved Nicola to the side, then risked a glance out into the darkness.

Sure enough, dark, winged forms flapped in the sky. Those were too big to be raken. To’raken, then. They swooped, weaves spinning around many of them, glowing and vibrant to Egwene’s eyes. Blasts of fire sprang into existence, lighting pairs of women riding on the backs of the to’raken. Damane and sul’dam.

Portions of the Tower’s wings below were alight with flames, and to her horror, Egwene saw several gaping holes directly in the sides of the Tower. To’raken clutched the side of the Tower, climbing up like bats clinging to a wall, unloading soldiers and damane into the building. As Egwene watched, a to’raken leapt free of the side of the Tower, the height allowing it to forgo its normal running start. The creature wasn’t as graceful as one of the smaller raken, but its handler did a masterful job of directing it back into the air. The creature flew right by Egwene’s window, the wind of its passing blowing back her hair. Egwene faintly heard screaming as the to’raken swept past. Terrified screaming.

It wasn’t a full-scale attack—it was a raid! A raid to capture marath’damane! Egwene pulled to the side as a blast of fire shot by the window and hit the wall a short distance away. She could hear rock crumble, and the Tower shook violently. Dust and smoke exploded down a side passage off the hallway.

Soldiers would soon follow. Soldiers and sul’dam. With those leashes. Egwene shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. The cool, seamless metal. The nausea, the degradation, the panic, despair, and—shamefully—guilt at not serving her mistress to the best of her abilities. She remembered the haunted look of an Aes Sedai as she was broken. Most of all, she remembered her own terror.

The terror of realizing that she would be like the others, eventually. Just another slave, happy to serve.

The Tower shook. Fire flashed in the distant hallways accompanied by shouts and wails of despair. She could smell smoke. Oh, Light! Could this really be? She wouldn’t go back. She wouldn’t let them leash her again. She had to run! She had to hide, flee, escape . . .

No!

She pushed herself upright.

No, she would not flee. She was Amyrlin.

Nicola huddled beside the wall, whimpering. “They’re coming for us,” the girl whispered. “Oh Light, they’re coming!”

“Let them come!” Egwene roared, opening herself to the Source. Blessedly, enough time had passed to dull the forkroot slightly, and she was able to grab a faint trickle of the Power.