The Gathering Storm - By Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson Page 0,328

burning warrior, a hero called by the Horn. They won’t dare face me again. She almost fell asleep, but being jostled by Gawyn’s steps kept her awake. Barely.

“Ho!” She distantly heard Siuan’s voice. “What’s this? Light, Egwene! Where did you get this? This is the most powerful one in the Tower!”

“What is it, Siuan?” Bryne’s voice asked.

“Our way out,” Siuan said distantly. Egwene sensed something. Channeling. Powerful channeling. “You asked about sneaking back out with all the activity in the courtyard? Well, with this, I’m strong enough for Traveling. Let’s go collect those soldiers with the boats and hop back to camp.”

No! Egwene thought, clawing through her drowsiness, forcing her eyes open. I’m winning, don’t you see? If I offer leadership now, when the rubble is being cleared, they’ll see me as Amyrlin for certain! I have to stay! I have to—

Gawyn carried her through the gateway, leaving the hallways of the White Tower behind.

Saerin finally let herself sit. The gathering room that was her center of operations had also become a room for separating and Healing the wounded. Yellow and Brown sisters moved down the lines of soldiers, servants, and other sisters, focusing on the worst cases first. There were a frightful number of dead, including over twenty Aes Sedai so far. But the Seanchan had withdrawn, as Saerin had predicted. Thank the light for that.

Saerin herself sat at the far northwestern corner of the room, beneath a fine painting of Tear in spring, perched on a short stool and accepting reports as they came. The wounded groaned and the room smelled of blood and of healall, which was used on those whose wounds didn’t demand immediate Healing. The room also smelled of smoke. That was ever-present tonight. More and more soldiers approached her, handing in reports of damage and casualties. Saerin didn’t want to read further, but it was better than listening to those groans. Where under the Light was Elaida?

Nobody had seen anything of the Amyrlin during the battle, but much of the upper Tower had been cut off from the lower portions. Hopefully, the Amyrlin and the Hall could be gathered soon to present a strong leadership in the crisis.

Saerin accepted another report, then raised her eyebrows at what it said. Only three novices in Egwene’s group of over sixty had died? And only one sister out of some forty she had gathered? Ten Seanchan channelers captured, over thirty raken blown from the air? Light! That made Saerin’s own efforts seem downright amateur by comparison. And this was the woman Elaida kept trying to insist was simply a novice?

“Saerin Sedai?” a man’s voice asked.

“Hmm?” she asked, distracted.

“You should hear what this Accepted has to say.”

Saerin looked up, realizing that the voice belonged to Captain Chubain. He had his hand on the shoulder of a young Arafellin Accepted with blue eyes and a plump round face. What was her name? Mair, that was it. The poor child looked ragged. Her face sported a number of cuts and some scrapes that would likely bruise. Her Accepted dress was ripped on the sleeve and shoulder.

“Child?” Saerin asked, glancing at Chubain’s worried face. What was wrong?

“Saerin Sedai,” the girl whispered, curtsying, then wincing at the action. “I. . . .”

“Spit it out, child,” Saerin demanded. “This isn’t a night for dawdling.”

Mair looked down. “It’s the Amyrlin, Saerin Sedai. Elaida Sedai. I was attending her tonight, taking transcriptions for her. And. . . .”

“And what?” Saerin said, feeling a growing chill.

The girl started crying. “The entire wall burst in, Saerin Sedai. The rubble covered me; I think they thought I was dead. I couldn’t do anything! I’m sorry!”

Light intercede! Saerin thought. She can’t be saying what I think she is. Can she?

Elaida awoke to a very odd sensation. Why was her bed moving? Rippling, undulating. So rhythmic. And that wind! Had Carlya left the window open? If so, the maid would be beaten. She’d been warned. She’d been—

This was not her bed. Elaida opened her eyes and found herself looking down at a dark landscape hundreds of feet below. She was tied to the back of some strange beast. She couldn’t move. Why couldn’t she move? She reached for the Source, then felt a sudden, sharp pain, as though she had suddenly been beaten on every inch of her body with a thousand rods.

She reached up, dazed, feeling the collar at her throat. There was a dark figure riding in the saddle next to her; no lanterns lit the woman’s face,