Page 200 of The Gathering Storm (The Wheel of Time 12)

Somehow.

CHAPTER 38

News in Tel’aran’rhiod

“Egwene, see reason,” Siuan said, faintly translucent because of the ter’angreal ring she had used to enter Tel’aran’rhiod. “What good can you do, rotting in that cell? Elaida will see that you’re never let free, not after what you said you did at that dinner.” Siuan shook her head. “Mother, sometimes you just have to face truth. You can only repair a net so many times before you need to toss the thing aside and weave a new one.”

Egwene sat on a three-legged stool in the corner of the room, the front part of a cobbler’s shop. She’d chosen the location at random, just in case, eschewing a location in the White Tower itself. The Forsaken knew that Egwene and the others walked the World of Dreams.

With Siuan, Egwene could be more relaxed, more her real self. The two of them both understood that Egwene was now the Amyrlin and Siuan her lesser, but at the same time, they shared a bond. A camaraderie due to the station they both had filled. That bond, strangely, had turned into something akin to friendship.

At the moment, Egwene was nearly ready to strangle her friend. “We’ve been over this,” she said firmly. “I cannot flee. Each day I spend imprisoned—but do not break—is another blow to Elaida’s rule. If I disappear before her trial, it will undermine everything we’ve worked for!”

“The trial will be a sham, Mother,” Siuan said. “And if it isn’t, the punishment will be light. From what you’ve told me, she didn’t break any bones when she beat you—why, she didn’t break the skin.”

That was true. Egwene’s bleeding had been from broken glass, not Elaida’s stripes.

“Even a formal censure from the Hall will undermine her,” Egwene said. “My resistance, my refusal to break my imprisonment, means something. The Sitters themselves come to visit me! If I were to flee, it would look as though I’d given in to Elaida.”

“Didn’t she declare you a Darkfriend?” Siuan asked pointedly.

Egwene hesitated. Yes, Elaida had done that. But she didn’t have proof for it.

Tower law was intricate, and sorting out the proper punishments and interpretations could be complicated. The Three Oaths would have prevented Elaida from using the One Power as a weapon, and so Elaida must have thought that what she was doing wasn’t a violation. Either she had gone farther than she’d planned, or she saw Egwene as a Darkfriend. She could argue for either position to defend herself; the latter would relieve her of the most guilt, but the former would be much easier to prove.

“She could succeed at having you convicted,” Siuan said, apparently thinking along the same lines. “You would be slated for execution. What then?”

“She won’t succeed. She hasn’t any proof that I am a Darkfriend, and so the Hall will never allow it.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

Egwene hesitated. “Very well. If the Hall decides that I am to be executed, I will let you get me out. But not until then, Siuan. Not until then.”

Siuan snorted. “You might not have an opportunity, Mother. If Elaida cows them, she will act quickly. The woman’s punishments can be swift as a stormwind, take you unaware. I know that for certain.”

“If that happens,” Egwene said pointedly, “my death would be a victory. Elaida would be the one who gave up, not I.”

Siuan shook her head, muttering, “Stubborn as a mooring post.”

“We are finished with that discussion, Siuan,” Egwene said sternly.

Siuan sighed, but said nothing further. She seemed to have too much nervous energy to sit, and ignored the stool on the other side of the room, instead going to stand by the shop window to Egwene’s right.

The cobbler’s salesroom showed signs of great traffic. A stout counter divided the room in half, the wall behind pocketed with dozens of shoe-sized nooks. At times, most of these were stuffed with sturdy work shoes of leather or canvas, laces hanging down the front or buckles gleaming in the phantom light of Tel’aran’rhiod. Yet each time Egwene glanced at the wall, the shoes had shifted, some vanishing, others appearing. They must not stay long in their cubbyholes in the real world, for they left only vague images behind in the world of dreams.

The front half of the shop was crowded with stools for customers to use. The shoes on the back wall were of different designs and patterns, along with test shoes for sizing. A person came into the shop, tried on the sizing shoes, then picked a style. The cobbler—or, likely, his assistants—would then craft a pair for later pickup. The wide glass windows at the front proclaimed the name of the co

bbler in white painted letters to be Naorman Mashinta, and a smaller number “three” had been painted beside the name. This was the third generation of Mashintas to run the shop. Not uncommon at all among townsfolk. In fact, the part of Egwene that was still influenced by the Two Rivers found it odd that anyone would consider leaving their parent’s trade for another, unless they were a third or fourth child.

“Now that we’ve dealt with the obvious,” Egwene said, “what news is there?”

“Well,” Siuan said, leaning on the window and staring out at the eerily empty Tar Valon street. “An old acquaintance of yours recently arrived in camp.”

“Really?” Egwene asked absently. “Who?”

“Gawyn Trakand.”

Egwene started. That was impossible! Gawyn had sided with Elaida’s faction during the rebellion. He wouldn’t have come over to the rebel side. Had he been captured? But that wasn’t how Siuan had phrased it.