The Gathering Storm - By Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson Page 0,322

shouted.

Saerin turned to find four Red sisters entering the room. Notasha was wearing a white dress bloodied up the left side, though if the blood was her own, she’d been Healed. Katerine’s mass of long black hair was frazzled and tangled with chips of stone. The other two women wore ripped dresses, faces soiled with ash.

“How dare they strike here!” Katerine continued, crossing the room. Soldiers ducked out of her way, and several less-influential sisters who had gathered at Saerin’s order suddenly found things to do at the corners of the room. Distant booms sounded, like the noises of an Illuminator’s display.

“They dare because they have the means and the desire, obviously,” Saerin replied, shoving down her annoyance and maintaining her calm. With difficulty. “So far, the strike has proven remarkably effective.”

“Well, I’m assuming command here,” Katerine growled. “We need to scour the Tower and eliminate each of them!”

“You will not take command,” Saerin said firmly. Insufferable woman! Calm, remain calm. “Nor will we go on the offensive.”

“And you will dare stop me?” Katerine snarled, the glow of saidar a burning light around her. “A Brown?”

Saerin raised an eyebrow. “Since when did the Mistress of Novices outrank a Sitter in the Hall, Katerine?”

“I—”

“Egwene al’Vere predicted this,” Saerin said, grimacing. “We can assume, therefore, that the other things she told us about the Seanchan are true. The Seanchan seize women who can channel and use them as weapons. They have brought no ground force; it would be near impossible to march them this far through hostile territory anyway. That means this is a raid, intended to seize as many sisters as possible.

“The battle has already stretched long for a raid, perhaps because we’ve done such a poor job of resisting that they feel they can take their time. Either way, we need to form a unified front and hold our ground. Once the battle goes more roughly for them, they will withdraw. We are in no position whatsoever to ‘scour the Tower’ and force them out.”

Katerine hesitated, considering that. Another boom sounded outside.

“Where do those keep coming from?” Saerin asked in annoyance. “Haven’t they made enough holes?”

“That wasn’t directed at the Tower, Saerin Sedai!” called one of the soldiers at the room’s doorway, standing just outside in the garden.

He’s right, Saerin realized. The Tower didn’t shake. It didn’t the time before, either. “What are they firing on? People down below?”

“No, Aes Sedai!” the guard said. “I think it was a blast thrown from within the Tower, launched from one of the upper floors out at the flying creatures.”

“Well, at least someone else is fighting back,” Saerin said. “Where was it launched from?”

“I didn’t see,” the soldier said, still watching the skies. “Light, there it goes again! And again!” Red and yellow reflected from the smoke above, bathing the garden in light barely visible through the door and windows. Raken screamed in pain.

“Saerin Sedai!” Captain Chubain said, turning from a group of wounded soldiers. Saerin hadn’t seen them enter; she’d been too caught up with Katerine. “These men are down from the upper levels. It appears that there’s a second rallying point for the defense, and it’s doing very well. The Seanchan are breaking off their attack below to focus there.”

“Where?” Saerin asked eagerly. “Specifically?”

“The twenty-second, Aes Sedai. Northeastern quarter.”

“What?” Katerine asked. “The Brown Ajah sections?”

No. That was what had been there before. Now, with the swapping of the Tower’s corridors, that area of the Tower was . . . “The novices’ quarters?” Saerin said. That seemed even more ridiculous. “How in the world. . . .” She trailed off, eyes widening slightly. “Egwene.”

Each faceless Seanchan that Egwene struck down seemed to be Renna in her mind’s eye. Egwene stood at an open hole in the side of the White Tower, wind pulling at her white dress, tugging at her hair, howling as if in accompaniment to her rage.

Her anger was not out of control. It was cold and distilled. The Tower was burning. She had Foretold this, she had Dreamed it, but the reality was far worse than she had feared. If Elaida had prepared for the event, the damage would have been much less. But there was no point in longing for what had not been.

Instead, she directed her anger—the anger of justice, the wrath of the Amyrlin. She blasted to’raken after to’raken from the air. They were much less maneuverable than their smaller cousins. She must have felled a dozen by now, and her actions had drawn the attention