The Dragon Reborn - By Robert Jordan Page 0,93

of them acknowledged the presence of Egwene and the other two by so much as a glance.

Despite the outward calm of the women around the table, Egwene thought she saw signs of uncertainty. A tightness to Anaiya’s mouth. A slight frown on Alanna’s darkly beautiful face. The cool-eyed woman kept smoothing her pale blue dress over her thighs without seeming to realize what she was doing.

An Aes Sedai Egwene did not know set a plain, polished wooden box, long and narrow, on the table and opened it. From its nest in the red silk lining, the Amyrlin took out a white, fluted wand the length of her forearm. It could have been bone, or ivory, but was neither. No one alive knew what it was made of.

Egwene had never seen the wand before, but she recognized it from a lecture Anaiya had given the novices. One of the few sa’angreal, and perhaps the most powerful, that the Tower possessed. Sa’angreal had no power of their own, of course—they were merely devices for focusing and magnifying what an Aes Sedai could channel—but with that wand, a strong Aes Sedai might be able to crumple the walls of Tar Valon.

Egwene clutched Nynaeve’s hand on one side and Elayne’s on the other. Light! They’re not sure they can Heal him, even with a sa’angreal—with that sa’angreal! What chance would we have had? We’d probably have killed him, and ourselves, too. Light!

“I will meld the flows,” the Amyrlin said. “Be careful. The Power needed to break the bond with the dagger and Heal its damage is very close to what could kill him. I will focus. Attend.” She held the wand straight out in front of her in both hands, above Mat’s face. Still unconscious, he shook his head and tightened a fist on the dagger’s hilt, muttering something that sounded like a denial.

A glow appeared around each Aes Sedai, that soft, white light that only a woman who could channel could see. Slowly the lights spread, until that which seemed to emanate from one woman touched that which came from the woman beside her, merged with it, till there was only one light, a light that, to Egwene’s eyes, diminished the lamps to nothing. And in that brightness was a stronger light still. A bar of bone-white fire. The sa’angreal.

Egwene fought the urge to open herself to saidar and add her flow to the tide. It was a pull so strong she was about to be jerked off her feet. Elayne tightened her hold on her hand. Nynaeve took a step toward the table, then stopped with an angry shake of her head. Light, Egwene thought, I could do it. But she did not know what it was she could do. Light, it’s so strong. It’s so—wonderful. Elayne’s hand was trembling.

On the table, Mat thrashed in the middle of the glow, jerking this way, then that, muttering incomprehensibly. But he did not loosen his hold on the dagger, and his eyes remained closed. Slowly, ever so slowly, he began to arch his back, muscles straining till he shook. Still he fought and bucked, until finally only his heels and his shoulders touched the table. His hand on the dagger sprang open and, quivering, crept back from the hilt; was forced, fighting, from the hilt. His lips skinned away from his teeth in a snarl, a grimace of pain, and his breath came in forced grunts.

“They are killing him,” Egwene whispered. “The Amyrlin is killing him! We have to do something.”

Just as softly, Nynaeve said, “If we stop them—if we could stop them—he’ll die. I do not think I could handle half that much of the Power.” She paused as if she had just heard her own words—that she could channel half of what ten full Aes Sedai did with a sa’angreal—and her voice grew even fainter. “Light help me, I want to.”

She fell silent abruptly. Did she mean that she wanted to help Mat, or that she wanted to channel that flow of Power? Egwene could feel that urge in herself, like a song that compelled her to dance.

“We must trust them,” Nynaeve said in an intense whisper, finally. “He has no other chance.”

Suddenly Mat shouted, loud and strong. “Muad’drin tia dar allende caba’drin rhadiem!” Arched and struggling, eyes squeezed shut, he bellowed the words clearly. “Los Valdar Cuebiyari! Los! Carai an Caldazar! Al Caldazar!”

Egwene frowned. She had learned enough to recognize the Old Tongue, if not to understand more than a few