The Gathering Storm - By Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson Page 0,64

map softly for a moment. “I will deal with him personally,” he finally said.

CHAPTER 8

Clean Shirts

A dockmaster’s sky, it was called. Those gray clouds, blotting out the sun, temperamental and sullen. Perhaps the others—here in the camp just outside of Tar Valon—hadn’t noticed the persistent clouds, but Siuan had. No sailor would miss them. Not dark enough to promise a storm, not light enough to imply smooth waters either.

A sky like that was ambiguous. You could set out and never see a drop of rain or a hint of stormwinds. Or, with barely a moment’s notice, you could find yourself in the middle of a squall. It was deceitful, that blanket of clouds.

Most ports charged a daily fee to each vessel moored in their harbors, but on days of storm—when no fisher could make a catch—the fee would be halved, or spared entirely. On a day like this, however, when there were gloomy clouds but no proof of storms, the dockmasters would charge a full day’s rent. And so the fisher had to make a choice. Stay in the harbor and wait, or go fishing to recoup the dock fees. Most days like this didn’t turn stormy. Most days like this were safe.

But if a storm did come on a day like this, it tended to be very bad. Many of the most terrible tempests in history had sprung from a dockmaster’s sky. That’s why some fishers had another name for clouds like those. They called them a lionfish’s veil. And it had been days since the sky had offered anything different. Siuan shivered, pulling her shawl close. It was a bad sign.

She doubted many fishers had chosen to go out this day.

“Siuan?” Lelaine asked, voice tinged with annoyance. “Do hurry up. And I don’t want to hear any more superstitious nonsense about the sky. Honestly.” The tall Aes Sedai turned away and continued along the walk.

Superstitious? Siuan thought indignantly. A thousand generations of wisdom isn’t superstition. It’s good sense! But she said nothing, and hurried after Lelaine. Around her, the camp of Aes Sedai loyal to Egwene continued its daily activities, as steady as a clock’s gears. If there was one thing Aes Sedai were good at, it was creating order. Tents were arranged in clusters, by Ajah, as if to imitate the White Tower’s layout. There were few men, and most of those who passed—soldiers on errands from Gareth Bryne’s armies, grooms caring for horses—were quick to be about their duties. They were far outnumbered by worker women, many of whom had gone so far as to embroider the pattern of the Flame of Tar Valon on their skirts or bodices.

One of the only oddities about the village—if one ignored the fact that there were tents instead of rooms and wooden walkways instead of tiled hallways—was the number of novices. There were hundreds and hundreds. In fact, the number had to be over a thousand now, many more than the Tower had held in recent memory. Once the Aes Sedai were reunited, novices’ quarters that hadn’t been used in decades would have to be reopened. They might even need the second kitchen.

These novices bustled around in families, and most of the Aes Sedai tried to ignore them. Some did this out of habit; who paid attention to novices? But others did so out of displeasure. By their estimation, women aged enough to be mothers and grandmothers—indeed, many who were mothers and grandmothers—shouldn’t have been entered into the novice book. But what could be done? Egwene al’Vere, the Amyrlin Seat, had declared that it should happen.

Siuan could still sense shock in some of the Aes Sedai she passed. Egwene was to have been carefully controlled. What had gone wrong? When had the Amyrlin gotten away from them? Siuan would have taken more smug delight from those looks if she hadn’t herself worried about Egwene’s continued captivity in the White Tower. That was a lionfish’s veil indeed. Potential for great success, but also for great disaster. She hurried after Lelaine.

“What is the status of the negotiations?” Lelaine asked, not bothering to look at Siuan.

You could go to one of the sessions yourself and find out, Siuan thought. But Lelaine wanted to be seen supervising, not taking an active hand. And asking Siuan, in the open, was also a calculated move. Siuan was known as one of Egwene’s confidants and still carried some measure of notoriety for having been Amyrlin herself. The things Siuan said to Lelaine weren’t important; being seen