Page 238 of The Gathering Storm (The Wheel of Time 12)

“Yes,” Egwene said. “Over two hundred total, some from each Ajah. Some seventy among us here in this camp. I have the names.” She had returned in the night to fetch Verin’s books from her room. They were now safely hidden in her tent, invisible. “I propose that we arrest them, though it will be difficult, as we will have to seize all of them as simultaneously as possible.” Their greatest advantage, beyond surprise, was going to be the inherently distrusting nature of the Black Ajah. Verin and other sources had indicated that few sisters in the Black knew more than a handful of other names. There was an entire write-up in the book about Black Ajah organization, and their system of groups known as “hearts” that had minimal interaction to keep them hidden. Hopefully, that very system would slow their realizing what was happening.

The Sitters looked daunted. “First,” Egwene said, “we will claim that we need to spread important news to every Sister, but can’t let it be overheard by the soldiers in camp. We’ll call the sisters into this pavilion by Ajah—it’s big enough to hold about two hundred people. I’ll distribute to each of you the names of all the Black sisters. When each Ajah enters, I’ll repeat to them what I told you and tell them they’re all going to have to reswear on the Oath Rod. We’ll be ready to seize Black sisters who try to escape. We’ll tie them up and deposit them in the audience tent.” That smaller tent was connected to the side of the Hall, and could be closed off so that entering sisters wouldn’t see the captives.

“We’ll have to do something about Warders,” Lelaine said grimly. “Let them come in with their sisters, I suppose, and be prepared to seize them.”

“Some of them will be Darkfriends,” Egwene said. “But not all. And I don’t know which ones.” Verin had had some notes about this, but not many, unfortunately.

“Light, what a mess,” Romanda muttered.

“It must be done,” haughty Berana said with a shake of her head.

“And it must be done quickly,” Egwene said. “So that the Black sisters don’t have time to escape. I’ll warn Lord Bryne to create a perimeter of archers and sisters we trust to stop any trying to escape, just in case. But that will only work for those too weak to make gateways.”

“We mustn’t let it come to that,” Lelaine said. “A war inside the camp itself . . .”

Egwene nodded.

“And what of the White Tower?” Lelaine said.

“Once we have cleansed ourselves,” Egwene said, “then we can do what must be done to reunify the Aes Sedai.”

“You mean—”

“Yes, Lelaine,” Egwene said. “I mean to begin an assault on Tar Valon by this evening. Pass the word and tell Lord Bryne to prepare his men. The news will serve to distract the Black members among us, and will make them less likely to notice what we are doing.”

Romanda glanced at Sheriam and Moria, hanging in the air at the side of the tent, both weeping openly, mouths bound with gags of Air. “It must be done. I put forth a motion before the Hall to take the action the Amyrlin has suggested.”

The tent grew still. Then, slowly, each women rose to give consensus. It was unanimous.

“Light preserve us,” Lelaine whispered. “And forgive us for what we are about to do.”

My thoughts exactly, Egwene added.

CHAPTER 44

Scents Unknown

“Tarwin’s Gap is the place that makes the most sense!” Nynaeve argued.

She and Rand rode on an overgrown road in the open grassland of Maredo, accompanied by a crowd of Aiel. Nynaeve was the only Aes Sedai there; Narishma and Naeff rode near the back of the group, looking sullen. Rand had forced their Aes Sedai to stay behind. He seemed particularly determined to assert his independence from them, lately.

Nynaeve was astride a pure white mare named Moonlight, appropriated from Rand’s stable in Tear. It still seemed odd that he would have his own stable at all, let alone one in each of the major cities of the world.

“Tarwin’s Gap,” Rand said, shaking his head. “No. The more I think about it, the more I realize that we don’t want to fight there. Lan is doing me a favor. If I can coordinate an assault alongside his own, I can gain great advantage. But I don’t want to distract my armies with the Gap. It would be a waste of resources.”

A waste of resources? The Gap was where Lan was heading, like an arrow loosed from a Two Rivers longbow. Heading there to die! And Rand said helpi

ng was a waste? Wool-headed fool!

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to calm down. If only he would argue, rather than speaking in that distant way he had recently adopted. He seemed so emotionless, but she had seen the beast get free and roar at her. It was coiled inside him, and if he didn’t let his emotions out soon, they would devour him from the inside.

But how to make him see reason? She had prepared argument after argument—each of them distinctly reasoned and calmly explained—during their time in Tear. Rand had ignored all of them, spending the last two days meeting with his generals and planning strategy for the Last Battle.

Each day brought Lan one step closer to a fight he couldn’t win. Each day made her more anxious; several times, she’d nearly abandoned Rand and ridden for the north. If Lan was going to fight an impossible battle, then she longed to be at his side. But she stayed. Light take Rand al’Thor, she stayed. What good would it do to help Lan, only to let the world fall into Shadow because of a stubborn sheepherder’s stubborn . . . stubbornness!

She gave her braid a solid yank. The jeweled bracelets and rings on her hands glittered in the faint sunlight—the sky was cloudy, of course, just as it had been for weeks. Everyone tried to ignore how unnatural that was, but Nynaeve could still feel that storm building to the north.

Such a short time left until Lan reached the Gap! Light send that he was slowed down by the Malkieri who had come to support him in his ride. Light send that he was not alone. Thinking of him, riding into the Blight, facing the army of Shadowspawn who infested his homeland. . . .