The Gathering Storm - Robert Jordan

"Once again," Rand said, "we are not here to conquer."

Rhuarc sighed. "Then why send us, Rand al'Thor? Why not use your Aes Sedai? They understand wetlanders. This country is like an entire kingdom of children, and we are too few adults to bring them to obedience. Particularly if you forbid us to spank them."

"You can fight," Rand said, "but only when you need to. Rhuarc, this has gone beyond the ability of Aes Sedai to fix. You can do this. People are intimidated by the Aiel; they will do as you say. If we can stop the Domani war with the Seanchan, perhaps this Daughter of the Nine Moons will see that I am serious in my desire for peace. Then maybe she'll agree to meet with me."

"Why not do as you've done before?" Bael asked. "Seize the land for your own?"

Bashere nodded, glancing at Rand.

"It won't work, not this time," Rand said. "A war here would take too many resources. You spoke of this Ituralde—he's holding off the Seanchan with virtually no supplies and few men. Would you have us engage a man that resourceful?"

How thoughtful Bashere seemed, as if he were indeed considering engaging this Ituralde. Men! They were all the same. Offer them a challenge, and they'd be curious, no matter that the challenge would likely end with them spitted on a lance.

"There are few men alive like Rodel Ituralde," Bashere said. "He would be a great help to our cause, for certain. I've always wondered if I could beat him."

"No," Rand said again, looking over the map. From what Nynaeve could see, it showed troop concentrations, marked with annotations. The Aiel were an organized mess of charcoal marks across the top of Arad Do-man; Ituralde's forces were deep into Almoth Plain, fighting Seanchan. The middle of Arad Doman was a sea of chaotic black annotations, likely the personal forces of various nobles.

"Rhuarc, Bael,' Rand said. "I want you to seize the members of the Council of Merchants."

The tent was silent.

"Are you certain that is wise, boy?" Cadsuane finally asked.

"They're in danger from the Forsaken," Rand said, idly tapping the map with his fingers. "If Graendal really has taken Alsalam, then getting him back will do us no good. He'll be so far beneath her Compulsion that he'll barely have the mind of a child. She's not subtle; she never has been. We need the Council of Merchants to choose a new king. That's the only way to bring this kingdom peace and order."

Bashere nodded. "It's bold."

"We are not kidnappers," Bael said, frowning.

"You are what I say you are, Bael," Rand said quietly.

"We are still free people, Rand al'Thor," Rhuarc said.

"I will change the Aiel with my passing," Rand said with a shake of his head. "I don't know what you'll be once this is all through, but you cannot remain what you were. I will have you take up this task. Of all those who follow me, I trust you the most. If we're going to take the members of the Council without throwing this land further into war, I will need your cunning and stealth. You can prowl into their palaces and manors as you infiltrated the Stone of Tear."

Rhuarc and Bael regarded one another, sharing a frown.

"Once you take the Council of Merchants," Rand continued, apparently unconcerned about their worries, "move the Aiel into the cities where those merchants ruled. Make sure those cities don't degenerate. Restore order as you did in Bandar Eban. From there, begin hunting bandits and enforcing the law. Supplies will soon arrive from the Sea Folk. Take cities on the coast first, then move inland. Within a month's time, the Domani should be flowing toward you, rather than running away from you. Offer them safety and food, and order will take care of itself."

A surprisingly rational plan. Rand really did have a clever mind, for a man. There was a lot of good in him, perhaps the very soul of a leader, if he could keep his temper in check.

Rhuarc continued to rub his chin. "It would help if we had some of your Saldaeans, Davram Bashere. Wetlanders do not like following Aiel. If they can pretend that wetlanders are in charge, then they will be more likely to come to us."

Bashere laughed. "We'll also make nice targets. As soon as we seize a few members of the merchant council, the rest will send assassins after us for certain!"

Rhuarc laughed as if he thought that a grand joke. The Aiel sense of humor was its own sort of oddity. "We will keep you alive, Davram Bashere. If we do not, we will stuff you and set you on that horse of yours, and you will make a grand quiver for their arrows!"

Bael laughed loudly at this, and the Maidens by the doors began another round of handtalk.

Bashere chuckled, though he didn't seem to understand the humor either. "You sure this is what you want to do?" he asked Rand.

Rand nodded. "Divide some of your forces, send them with Aiel groups as Rhuarc decides."

"And what of Ituralde?" Bashere asked, looking back at the map. "There won't be peace for long once he realizes we've invaded his homeland."

Rand tapped the map softly for a moment. "I will deal with him personally," he finally said.

CHAPTER 8

Clean Shirts

Adockmaster's sky, it was called. Those gray clouds, blotting out the sun, temperamental and sullen. Perhaps the others—here in the camp just outside of Tar Valon—hadn't noticed the persistent clouds, but Siuan had. No sailor would miss them. Not dark enough to promise a storm, not light enough to imply smooth waters either.

A sky like that was ambiguous. You could set out and never see a drop of rain or a hint of stormwinds. Or, with barely a moment's notice, you could find yourself in the middle of a squall. It was deceitful, that blanket of clouds.

Most ports charged a daily fee to each vessel moored in their harbors, but on days of storm—when no fisher could make a catch—the fee would be halved, or spared entirely. On a day like this, however, when there were gloomy clouds but no proof of storms, the dockmasters would charge a full day's rent. And so the fisher had to make a choice. Stay in the harbor and wait, or go fishing to recoup the dock fees. Most days like this didn't turn stormy. Most days like this were safe.

But if a storm did come on a day like this, it tended to be very bad. Many of the most terrible tempests in history had sprung from a dock-master's sky. That's why some fishers had another name for clouds like those. They called them a lionfish's veil. And it had been days since the sky had offered anything different. Siuan shivered, pulling her shawl close. It was a bad sign.

She doubted many fishers had chosen to go out this day.

"Siuan?" Lelaine asked, voice tinged with annoyance. "Do hurry up. And I don't want to hear any more superstitious nonsense about the sky. Honestly." The tall Aes Sedai turned away and continued along the walk.

Superstitious? Siuan thought indignantly. A thousand generations of-wisdom isn't superstition. It's good sense! But she said nothing, and hurried after Lelaine. Around her, the camp of Aes Sedai loyal to Egwene continued its daily activities, as steady as a clock's gears. If there was one thing Aes Sedai were good at, it was creating order. Tents were arranged in clusters, by Ajah, as if to imitate the White Tower's layout. There were few men, and most of those who passed—soldiers on errands from Gareth Bryne's armies, grooms caring for horses—were quick to be about their duties. They were far outnumbered by worker women, many of whom had gone so far as to embroider the pattern of the Flame of Tar Valon on their skirts or bodices.

One of the only oddities about the village—if one ignored the fact that there were tents instead of rooms and wooden walkways instead of tiled hallways—was the number of novices. There were hundreds and hundreds. In fact, the number had to be over a thousand now, many more than the Tower had held in recent memory. Once the Aes Sedai were reunited, novices' quarters that hadn't been used in decades would have to be reopened. They might even need the second kitchen.

These novices bustled around in families, and most of the Aes Sedai tried to ignore them. Some did this out of habit; who paid attention to novices? But others did so out of displeasure. By their estimation, women aged enough to be mothers and grandmothers—indeed, many who were mothers and grandmothers—shouldn't have been entered into the novice book. But what could be done? Egwene al'Vere, the Amyrlin Seat, had declared that it should happen.

Siuan could still sense shock in some of the Aes Sedai she passed. Egwene was to have been carefully controlled. What had gone wrong? When had the Amyrlin gotten away from them? Siuan would have taken more smug delight from those looks if she hadn't herself worried about Egwene's continued captivity in the White Tower. That was a lionfish's veil indeed. Potential for great success, but also for great disaster. She hurried after Lelaine.

"What is the status of the negotiations?" Lelaine asked, not bothering to look at Siuan.

You could go to one of the sessions yourself and find out, Siuan thought. But Lelaine wanted to be seen supervising, not taking an active hand. And asking Siuan, in the open, was also a calculated move. Siuan was known as one of Egwene's confidants and still carried some measure of notoriety for having been Amyrlin herself. The things Siuan said to Lelaine weren't important; being seen saying them, however, increased the woman's influence in camp.

"They don't go well, Lelaine," Siuan said. "Elaida's emissaries never promise anything, and seem indignant any time we raise important topics, like reinstating the Blue Ajah. I doubt they have any real authority from Elaida to make binding agreements."

"Hmm," Lelaine said thoughtfully, nodding to a group of novices. They bobbed into curtsies. In a shrewd decision, Lelaine had begun talking very acceptingly of the new novices.

Romanda's dislike of them was well known; now that Egwene was gone, Romanda had begun to imply that once reconciliation was achieved, this "foolishness" with the aged novices would have to be dealt with swiftly. However, more and more of the other sisters were seeing Egwene's wisdom. There was great strength among the new novices, and not a few would be raised to Accepted the moment the White Tower was achieved. Recently—by offering tacit acceptance of these women—Lelaine had given herself yet another tie to Egwene.

Siuan eyed the retreating family of novices. They had curtsied to Lelaine almost as quickly and as deferentially as they would have to the Amyrlin. It was becoming clear that, after months at a stalemate, Lelaine was winning the battle against Romanda for superiority.

And that was a very large problem.

Siuan didn't dislike Lelaine. She was capable, strong-willed and decisive. They had been friends once, though their relationship had changed drastically with Siuan's changed position.

Yes, she might say she liked Lelaine. But she didn't trust the woman, and she particularly didn't want to see her as Amyrlin. In another era, Lelaine would have done well in the position. But this world needed Egwene, and—friendship or not—Siuan couldn't afford to let this woman displace the rightful Amyrlin. And she had to make certain Lelaine wasn't taking action to prevent Egwene's return.

"Well," Lelaine said, "we shall have to discuss the negotiations in the Hall. The Amyrlin wants them to continue, so we certainly can't let them stop. Yet there must be a way to make them effective. The Amyrlin's desires must be seen to, wouldn't you say?"