Leane examined the red wax seal on the end of one of the small cylinders, no larger than her own finger joint, then broke it open with a thumbnail when she was satisfied it had not been tampered with. The rolled paper inside she extracted with a slim ivory pick. “Nearly as bad as Trollocs, Mother,” she said almost as soon as she began reading. “Mazrim Taim has escaped.”
“Light!” Siuan barked. “How?”
“This only says he was taken away by stealth in the night, Mother. Two sisters are dead.”
“The Light illumine their souls. But we've little time to mourn the dead while the likes of Taim are alive and ungentled. Where, Leane?”
“Denhuir, Mother. A village east of the Black Hills on the Maradon Road, above the headwaters of the Antaeo and the Luan.”
“It had to be some of his followers. Fools. Why won't they know when they are beaten? Choose out a dozen reliable sisters, Leane...” The Amyrlin grimaced. “Reliable,” she muttered. “If I knew who was more reliable than a silverpike, I'd not have the problems I do. Do the best you can, Leane. A dozen sisters. And five hundred of the guards. No, a full thousand.”
“Mother,” the Keeper said worriedly. “The Whitecloaks —”
“ — would not try to cross the bridges if I left them unwatched entirely. They would be afraid of a trap. There is no telling what is going on up there, Leane. I want whoever I send to be ready for anything. And Leane... Mazrim Taim is to be gentled as soon as he is taken again.”
Leane's eyes opened wide with shock. “The law.”
“I know the law as well as you, but I will not risk having him freed again ungentled. I'll not risk another Guaire Amalasan, not on top of every thing else.”
“Yes, Mother,” Leane said faintly.
The Amyrlin picked up the second bone cylinder and snapped it in two with a sharp crack to get the message out. “Good news at last,” she breathed, a smile blooming on her face. “Good news. 'The sling has been used. The shepherd holds the sword.' ”
“Rand?” Min asked, and Siuan nodded.
“Of course, girl. The Stone has fallen. Rand al'Thor, the shepherd, has Callandor. Now I can move. Leane, I want the Hall of the Tower convened this afternoon. No, this morning.”
“I don't understand,” Min said. “You knew the rumors were about Rand. Why are you calling the Hall now? What can you do that you could not before?”
Siuan laughed like a girl. “What I can do now is tell them right out that I have received word from an Aes Sedai that the Stone of Tear has fallen and a man has drawn Callandor. Prophecy fulfilled. Enough of it for my purpose, at least. The Dragon is Reborn. They'll flinch, they'll argue, but none can oppose my pronouncement that the Tower must guide this man. At last I can involve myself with him openly. Openly for the most part.”
“Are we doing the right thing, Mother?” Leane said abruptly. “I know... If he has Callandor, he must be the Dragon Reborn, but he can channel, Mother. A man who can channel. I only saw him once, but even then there was something strange about him. Something more than being ta'veren. Mother, is he so very different from Taim when it comes down to it?”
“The difference is that he is the Dragon Reborn, daughter,” the Amyrlin said quietly. “Taim is a wolf, and maybe rabid. Rand al'Thor is the wolfhound we will use to defeat the Shadow. Keep his name to yourself, Leane. Best not to reveal too much too soon.”
“As you say, Mother,” the Keeper said, but she still sounded uneasy.
“Off with you now. I want the Hall assembled in an hour.” Siuan thoughtfully watched the taller woman go. “There may be more resistance than I would wish,” she said when the door clicked shut.
Min looked at her sharply. “You don't mean....”
“Oh, nothing serious, child. Not as long as they don't know how long I have been involved with the al'Thor boy.” She looked at the slip of paper again, then dropped it onto the table. “I could wish Moiraine had told me more.”
“Why didn't she say more? And why have we not heard from her before this?”
“More questions with you. That one you must ask Moiraine. She has always gone her own way. Ask Moiraine, child.”
Sahra Covenry worked the hoe in desultory fashion, frowning at the tiny sprouts of threadleaf and hensfoot poking up in the rows of cabbages and beets. It was not that Mistress Elward was a harsh taskmistress — she was no more stern than Sahra's mother, and certainly easier that Sheriam — but Sahra had not gone to the White Tower to end up back on a farm hoeing vegetables with the sun barely up. Her white novice dresses were packed away; she wore brown wool her mother might have sewn, the skirt tied up to her knees to keep it out of the dirt. It
was all so unfair. She had not done anything.
Wriggling her bare toes in the turned soil, she glared at a stubborn hensfoot and channeled, meaning to burn it out of the ground. Sparks flashed around the leafy sprout, and it wilted. Hurriedly she sliced the thing out of the dirt and her mind. If there was any fairness in the world, Lord Galad would come to the farm while out hunting.
Leaning on the hoe, she lost herself in a daydream of Healing Galad's injuries, received in a fall from his horse — not his fault, of course; he was a wonderful horseman — and him lifting her up in front of him on his saddle, declaring he would be her Warder — she would be Green Ajah, of course — and...“Sahra Covenry?”
Sahra jumped at the sharp voice, but it was not Mistress Elward. She curtsied as best she could, with her skirts gathered up. “The day's greeting, Aes Sedai. Have you come to take me back to the Tower?”
The Aes Sedai moved closer, not caring that her skirts dragged through the dirt of the vegetable patch. Despite the summer warmth of the morning, she wore a cloak, the hood pulled up to shadow her face. “Just before you left the Tower, you took a woman to the Amyrlin Seat. A woman calling herself Elmindreda.”