The Gathering Storm - By Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson Page 0,360

earning a huff. “What news have you, Siuan?”

“Well,” Siuan said, cracking the door a little wider, “Bryne moved most of his troops across the bridges, and has relieved the Tower Guard from their positions at the fortifications, sending them in—along with a number of his own squads—to help put out flareups around the city. The Seanchan set some homes on fire to cover their retreat as they fled.”

That explained the lack of troops at the barricade—that, along with the knowledge that the Hall was busy debating whether or not to raise Egwene. They likely didn’t realize how close they’d come to war.

“What do you want to do with the sisters from your camp?” Siuan asked. “They’re starting to wonder.”

“Tell them to gather in front of the Sunset Gate,” Egwene said. “Have them stand in ranks by Ajah, with Sitters in a line at the front. Once I am finished with the ceremony, I will greet them and formally accept their apology for their rebellion and welcome them back into the Tower.”

“Accept their apology?” Siuan asked incredulously.

“They rebelled against the Tower, Siuan,” Egwene said, looking at her. “Whatever the need of what they did, there is reason for apology.”

“But you were with them!”

“I no longer represent just them, Siuan,” Egwene said firmly. “I represent the Tower. The entire Tower. And the Tower needs to know that the rebels regret the division. They needn’t lie and say that they wished they had stayed, but I think it is appropriate for them to express sorrow over the hardships the division caused. I will acquit them, and we can get on with healing.”

“Yes, Mother,” Siuan said in resignation. Egwene caught sight of Tesan standing behind, the woman nodding her Taraboner-braided head at Egwene’s words.

Egwene let Lairain continue her instructions, then repeated back to her the lines she would have to say and the actions she’d have to take. When the Brown was satisfied, Egwene rose, pulled open the door and found that Siuan had left to relay her orders. Tesan stood in the hallway outside, arms folded, regarding Gawyn. He leaned against the wall a short distance away, his hand resting on the pommel of his sheathed sword.

“Your Warder?” Tesan asked of Egwene.

She regarded Gawyn, and was forced to confront a whole mess of emotions. Anger, affection, passion and regret. What a strange mix. “No,” she said. She stared Gawyn in the eyes. “What I am going to do next you cannot be part of, Gawyn. Wait here.”

He opened his mouth to object, thought better of it, then stood up stiffly and bowed. That gesture felt even more insolent than an argument would have.

Egwene sniffed softly—yet loud enough for him to hear—then allowed Tesan to lead her to the Hall of the Tower. The Hall: both a place and a group of people. For they were one, just as the Amyrlin Seat was a person, yet was also the chair in which she sat.

She stopped before the doors to the Hall, the dark wood inlaid with the silver Flame of Tar Valon, and felt her heart flutter rebelliously. Siuan suddenly appeared, with a pair of slippers, gesturing at Egwene’s riding boots. Of course; the Hall floor was delicately painted. She changed into the slippers; Siuan took her boots away. There was no need to be nervous! I’ve been here before, she thought suddenly. Not just in Salidar. In my testing. I’ve faced this door, confronted the women beyond. In my testing . . .

A gong suddenly sounded; it seemed loud enough to shake the entire Tower, ringing to warn that an Amyrlin was about to be raised. The gong rang again, then again, and those ornate doors swung open. Yes, this was a different experience entirely from the one she’d had back in that humble wooden building where she’d been raised by the Salidar Aes Sedai. In many ways, her performance in Salidar had been but a rehearsal.

The doors finished opening, and Egwene stifled a gasp. The grand, domed room beyond now had a blasted hole—a gaping emptiness—directly across from the entrance. It looked out at Dragonmount. The chamber wasn’t as damaged as some had been in the Seanchan attack; the rubble was minimal, and the destruction had barely reached past that outer wall. The raised platform still ran around the outside of the room, and the chairs it held were undamaged. Eighteen of them, in clusters of three, each painted and cushioned to declare the Ajah of its inhabitant.

The Amyrlin Seat stood by