The Gathering Storm - By Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson Page 0,316

the soldiers alive,” Bryne said. “I could run a thousand leagues and never want for breath. I could stand against a hundred foes at once and laugh at them all.”

She rolled her eyes. Men! She had given him a deeply personal and emotional connection to another person—the likes of which even husbands and wives would never know—and all he could think about was how much better he might have become at swordplay!

“Siuan!” a voice called. “Siuan Sanche!”

She turned. Gawyn, riding a black gelding, approached. Another horse trotted behind him—a shaggy brown mare. “Bela!” Siuan exclaimed.

“Is she suitable?” Gawyn said, sounding slightly out of breath. “Bela was once Egwene’s horse, I recall, and the stablemaster said she was the most placid he had.”

“She’ll do just fine,” Siuan said, turning back to Bryne. “You said you had two requirements?”

“I’ll tell you the second at a later time.” Bryne still sounded a little breathless.

“That’s rather ambiguous.” Siuan folded her arms. “I don’t like giving an open promise.”

“Well, you’ll have to do it anyway,” Bryne said, meeting her eyes.

“Fine, but it had better not be indecent, Gareth Bryne.”

He frowned.

“What?”

“It’s odd,” he said, smiling. “I can sense your emotions now. For instance I could tell. . . .” He cut off, and she could sense him growing just faintly embarrassed.

He can tell that I half want him to demand something indecent of me! Siuan realized, aghast. Bloody ashes! She felt herself blushing. This was going to be very inconvenient. “Oh, for the Blessed Light. . . . I agree to your terms, you lout. Get moving! We have to go.”

He nodded. “Let me prepare my captains to take charge in case the fight spills out of the city. I’ll bring a guard of my best hundred with us. That should be small enough to get in, assuming this gate really is passable.”

“It will be,” she said. “Go!”

He actually saluted her, his face straight, but she could sense his inward grin—and he likely knew it. Insufferable man! She turned to Gawyn, who sat his gelding, looking confused.

“What’s happening?” Gawyn asked.

“We don’t have to go in alone.” Siuan took a deep breath, then steeled herself as she climbed up into Bela’s saddle. Horses couldn’t be trusted, not even Bela, though she was better than most. “That means our chances of surviving long enough to take Egwene just improved. Which is fortunate, since after what we’re about to do, she’ll undoubtedly want the privilege of killing us personally.”

Adelorna Bastine ran through the hallways of the White Tower. For once, she rued the enhanced senses that holding the Power offered. Scents seemed more crisp to her, but all she could smell were burning wood and dying flesh. Colors were more vibrant, and all she could see were the ashen scars of broken stone where lashes or balls of flame had fallen. Sounds were more crisp, but all she heard were screams, curses, and the raucous calls of those horrible beasts in the air.

She scrambled down a darkened hallway, her breath coming in gasps, until she reached an intersection. She pulled to a stop, putting a hand to her breast. She had to find resistance. Light, they couldn’t all have fallen, could they? A pocket of Greens had stood with her and fought. She had seen Josaine die as a weave of Earth had destroyed the wall beside her and had seen Marthera captured with some kind of metal leash around her neck. Adelorna didn’t know where her Warders were. One was wounded. Another lived. The last . . . the last she didn’t want to think about. Light send that she could at least reach the wounded Talric soon.

She pulled herself to her feet, wiping blood from her forehead where a chip of stone had grazed her. There were just so many of the invaders, with their strange helmets and women used as weapons. And they were so skilled with those deadly weaves! Adelorna felt ashamed. The Battle Ajah indeed! The Greens with her had stood only minutes before being defeated.

Breathing heavily, she continued down the hallway. She stayed away from the outer edge of the Tower, where the invaders were most likely to be found. Had she lost the ones who had been chasing her? Where was she? The twenty-second level? She’d lost count of the stairwells she’d fled through.

She froze; she sensed channeling coming from her right. That could mean invaders, or it could mean sisters. She hesitated, but gritted her teeth. She was the Captain-General of