Egwene gave a grudging nod. “I suppose it is.”
“But, Aes Sedai,” Ellisor protested, “at least go to the Andor bank. The war, Aes Sedai. Brigands, and every sort of ruffian, and the soldiers not much better. The very wreck under our bow shows the sort of men they are.”
“We have not seen a living soul on the Cairhien side,” Nynaeve said, “and in any case, we are far from defenseless, Captain. And I will not walk fifteen miles when I can walk six.”
“Of course, Aes Sedai.” Ellisor really was sweating, now. “I did not mean to suggest... Of course you are not defenseless, Aes Sedai. I did not mean to suggest it.” He wiped his face furiously, but it still glistened.
Nynaeve opened her mouth, glanced at Egwene, and seemed to change what she had intended to say. “I am going below for my things,” she told the air halfway between Egwene and Elayne, then turned on Ellisor. “Captain, make your rowboat ready.” He bowed and scurried away even before she turned for the hatch, and was shouting for men to put the boat over the side before she was below.
“If one of you says 'up,' ” Elayne murmured, “the other says 'down.' If you do not stop it, we may not reach Tear.”
“We will reach Tear,” Egwene said. “And sooner once Nynaeve realizes she is not the Wisdom any longer. We are all” — she did not say Accepted; there were two many men hurrying about — “on the same level, now.” Elayne sighed.
In short order the rowboat had ferried them ashore, and they were standing on the bank with walking staffs in hand, their belongings in bundles on their backs, and hung about them in pouches and scripts. Rolling grassland and scattered copses surrounded them, though the hills were forested a few miles in from the river. The sweeps on the Blue Crane were cutting up froth, but failing to budge the vessel. Egwene turned and started south without another glance. And before Nynaeve could take the lead.
When the others caught up to her, Elayne gave her a reproving look. Nynaeve walked staring straight ahead. Elayne told Nynaeve what Egwene had said about Mat and a Gray Man, but the older woman listened in silence and only said, “He'll have to look after himself,” without pausing in her stride. After a time, the DaughterHeir gave up trying to make the other two talk, and they all walked in silence.
Clumps of trees close along the riverbank soon hid the Blue Crane, thick growths of wateroak and willow. They did not go through the copses, small as they were, for anything at all might be hiding in the shadows under their branches. A few low bushes grew scattered between the thickets here close to the river, but they were too sparse to hide a child much less a brigand, and they were widely spaced.
“If we do see brigands,” Egwene announced, “I am going to defend myself. There is no Amyrlin looking over our shoulders here.”
Nynaeve's mouth thinned. “If need be,” she told the air in front of her, “we can frighten off any brigands the way we did those Whitecloaks. If we can find no other way.”
“I wish you would not talk of brigands,” Elayne said. “I would like to reach this village without—”
A figure in brown and gray rose from behind a bush standing by itself almost in front of them.
Chapter 38
(Serpent and Wheel)
Maidens of the Spear
Egwene embraced saidar before the scream was well out of her mouth, and she saw the glow around Elayne, too. For an instant she wondered if Ellisor had heard their screams and would send help; the Blue Crane could not be more than a mile upriver. Then she was dismissing the need for help, already weaving flows of Air and Fire into lightning. She could almost still hear their yelling.
Nynaeve was simply standing there with her arms crossed beneath her breasts and a firm expression on her face, but Egwene was not sure whether that was because she was not angry enough to touch the True Source, or because she had already seen what Egwene was just now seeing. The person facing them was a woman no older than Egwene herself, if somewhat taller.
She did not let go of saidar. Men were sometimes silly enough to think a woman was harmless merely because she was a woman; Egwene had no such illusions. In a corner of her mind she noted that Elayne was no longer surrounded by the glow. The DaughterHeir must still harbor foolish notions. She was never a Seanchan prisoner.
Egwene did not think many men would be stupid enough to think the woman in front of them was not dangerous, even though her hands were empty and she wore no visible weapon. Bluegreen eyes and reddish hair cut short except for a narrow tail that hung to her shoulders; soft, laced kneeboots and closefitting coat and breeches all in the shades of earth and rock. Such coloring and clothing had been described to her once; this woman was Aiel.
Looking at her, Egwene felt a sudden odd affinity for the woman. She could not understand it. She looks like Rand's cousin, that's why. Yet even that feeling — almost of kinship — could not stifle her curiosity. What under the Light are Aiel doing here? They never leave the Waste; not since the Aiel War. She had heard all of her life how deadly Aiel were — these Maidens of the Spear no less than the members of the male warrior societies — but she felt no particular fear and, indeed, some irritation at having been afraid. With saidar feeding the One Power into her, she had no need to fear anyone. Except maybe a fully trained sister, she admitted. But certainly not one woman, even if she is Aiel.
“My name is Aviendha,” the Aiel woman said, “of the Bitter Water sept of the Taardad Aiel.” Her face was as flat and expressionless as her voice. “I am Far Dareis Mai, a Maiden of the Spear.” She paused a moment, studying them. “You have not the look in your faces, but we saw the rings. In your lands, you have women much like our Wise Ones, the women called Aes Sedai. Are you women of the White Tower, or not?”
For a moment Egwene did feel unease. We? She looked around them carefully, but saw no one behind any bush within twenty paces.
If there were others, they had to be in the next thicket, more than two hundred paces ahead, or in the last one, twice that distance behind. Too far to threaten. Unless they have bows. But they would have to be good with them. Back home, in the competitions at Bel Tine and Sunday, only the best bowmen shot at any distance much beyond two hundred paces.
But she still felt better knowing she could hurl a lightning bolt at anyone who tried such a shot.
“We are women of the White Tower,” Nynaeve said calmly. She was very obvious in not looking around for other Aiel. Even Elayne was peering about. “Whether you would consider any of us wise is another matter,” Nynaeve went on. “What do you want of us?”
Aviendha smiled. She was really quite lovely, Egwene realized; the grim expression had masked it. “You talk as the Wise Ones do. To the point, and small suffering of fools.” Her smile faded, but her voice remained calm. “One of us lies gravely hurt, perhaps dying. The Wise Ones often heal those who would surely die without them, and I have heard Aes Sedan can do more. Will you aid her?”
Egwene almost shook her head in confusion. A friend of hers is dying? She sounds as if she is asking if we'll lend her a cup of barley flour!
“I will help her if I can,” Nynaeve said slowly. “I cannot make promises, Aviendha. She may die despite anything I can do.”