The Gathering Storm - By Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson Page 0,334

Doman.”

Rand nodded. He’d originally intended to set Darlin in Arad Doman so he could pull Aiel and Asha’man out for placement elsewhere. He turned, glancing back at the crowds, absently realizing why there were so many foreigners among them. Most of the nationals had been recruited for the army, and now stood in ranks inside the Stone.

Perhaps the people in the square and on the streets hadn’t been there to cheer Rand’s arrival. Perhaps they thought they were cheering their departing armies off to victory.

“You have done well, King Darlin,” Rand said. “It’s about time someone in Tear learned to obey orders. I know your men are impatient, but they will have to wait a short time longer. Make rooms for me in the Stone and see to quartering Bashere’s soldiers and the Aiel.”

Darlin’s confusion deepened. “Very well. Are we not needed in Arad Doman, then?”

“What Arad Doman needs, nobody can give,” Rand said. “Your forces will be coming with me.”

“Of course, my Lord. And . . . where will we be marching?”

“To Shayol Ghul.”

CHAPTER 43

Sealed to the Flame

Egwene sat quietly in her tent, hands in her lap. She controlled her shock, her burning anger and her incredulity.

Plump, pretty Chesa sat silently on a cushion in the corner, sewing embroidery on the hem of one of Egwene’s dresses, looking as content as a person could be, now that her mistress had returned. The tent was secluded, set in its own grove within the Aes Sedai camp. Egwene had allowed no attendants besides Chesa this morning. She had even turned away Siuan, who had undoubtedly come to offer some kind of apology. Egwene needed time to think, to prepare, to deal with her failure.

And it was a failure. Yes, it had been forced on her by others, but those others were her followers and friends. They would know her anger for their part in this fiasco. But first she needed to look inward, to judge what she should have done better.

She sat in her wooden chair, high-backed, with scrollwork patterns across the armrests. Her tent was as she had left it, desk orderly, blankets folded, pillows stacked in the corner, obviously kept dusted by Chesa. Like a museum used to instruct children of days past.

Egwene had been as forceful as possible with Siuan during their meetings in Tel’aran’rhiod, and yet they’d still come against her wishes. Perhaps she had been too secretive. It was a danger—secrecy. It was what had pulled down Siuan. The woman’s time as head of the Blue Ajah’s eyes-and-ears had taught her to be parsimonious with information, doling it out like a stingy employer on payday. If the others had known the importance of Siuan’s work, perhaps they wouldn’t have decided to work against her.

Egwene ran her fingers along the smooth, tightly woven pouch she wore tied to her belt. Inside was a long, thin item, retrieved secretly from the White Tower earlier in the morning.

Had she fallen into the same trap as Siuan? It was a danger. She had been trained by Siuan, after all. If Egwene had explained in more detail how well her work in the White Tower was going, would the others have stayed their hands?

It was a difficult line to walk. There were many secrets that an Amyrlin had to hold. To be transparent would be to lose her edge of authority. But with Siuan herself, Egwene should have been more forthcoming. The woman was too accustomed to taking action on her own. The way she had kept that dream ter’angreal against the Hall’s knowledge and wishes was an indication of that. Yet Egwene had approved of that, unconsciously encouraging Siuan to defy authority.

Yes, Egwene had made mistakes. She could not lay all the blame on Siuan, Bryne and Gawyn. She had likely made other mistakes as well; she would need to look at her own actions in more detail later.

For now, she turned her attention to a greater problem. Disaster had struck. She’d been pulled from the White Tower on the brink of success. What was to be done? She did not get up and pace in thought. To pace was to show nervousness or frustration, and she had to learn to be reserved at all times, lest she unwittingly fall into bad habits. So she remained seated, arms on the hand rests, wearing a fine silken gown of green with yellow patterns on the bodice.

How odd it felt to be in that skirt. How wrong. Her white dresses, though forced