Elayne took a step forward. “You will see that doesn’t happen.” It was not a question or a request. There was a sharp light in her blue eyes, and a bared dagger in her hand.
“I will do the best I can. Rhuarc is giving him bodyguards.”
Elayne seemed to see the dagger for the first time, and gave a start. The blade vanished. “You must teach me whatever Amys is teaching you, Egwene. It is disconcerting to have things appear and disappear, or suddenly realize I’m wearing different clothes. It just happens.”
“I will. When I have time.” She had been in Tel’aran’rhiod too long already. “Elayne, if I am not here when we are supposed to meet next, don’t worry. I will try, but I may not be able to come. Be sure to tell Nynaeve. If I do not come, check every night thereafter. I won’t be more than one or two late, I’m sure.”
“If you say so,” Elayne said doubtfully. “It will surely take weeks to find out if Liandrin and the others are in Tanchico or not. Thom seems to think the city will be very confused.” Her eyes went to Callandor, driven half its length into the floor. “Why did he do that, do you think?”
“He said it will hold the Tairens to him. As long as they know it’s there, they have to know he is coming back. Maybe he knows what he is talking about. I hope so.”
“Oh. I thought … perhaps he … was angry about … something.”
Egwene frowned at her. This sudden diffidence was not like Elayne at all. “Angry about what?”
“Oh, nothing. It was just a thought. Egwene, I gave him two letters before leaving Tear. Do you know how he took them?”
“No, I don’t. Did you say something you think might have angered him?”
“Of course not.” Elayne laughed gaily; it sounded forced. Her dress was suddenly dark wool, stout enough for a hard winter. “I would have to be a fool to write things to make him angry.” Her hair sprang up in all directions, like a crazed crown. She was not aware of it. “I am trying to make him love me, after all. Just trying to make him love me. Oh, why can’t men be simple? Why do they have to cause such difficulties? At least he’s away from Berelain.” The wool became silk again, cut even lower than before; her hair made shimmers on her shoulders to shame the gown’s sheen. She hesitated, nibbling her lower lip. “Egwene? If you find the chance, would you tell him I meant what I said in—Egwene? Egwene!”
Something snatched Egwene. The Heart of the Stone dwindled into blackness as if she were being hauled away by the scruff of her neck.
With a gasp, Egwene started awake, heart pounding, staring up the low roof of the night-darkened tent over her head. Only a little moonlight crept in at the open sides. She lay under her blankets—the Waste was as cold at night as it was hot during the day, and the brazier that exuded the sweetish smell of dried dung burning gave little warmth—beneath her blankets right where she had lain down to sleep. But what had pulled her back?
Abruptly she became aware of Amys, sitting cross-legged beside her, cloaked in shadows. The Wise One’s murk-shrouded face seemed as dark and forboding as the night.
&
nbsp; “Did you do that, Amys?” she said angrily. “You have no right to just haul me about. I am Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah …” The lie came easily to her lips now. “ … and you have no right—”
Amys cut her off with a grim voice. “Beyond the Dragonwall, in the White Tower, you are Aes Sedai. Here, you are an ignorant pupil, a fool child crawling through a den of vipers.”
“I know I said I would not go to Tel’aran’rhiod without you,” Egwene said, trying to sound reasonable, “but—”
Something seized her ankles, hauled her feet into the air; blankets tumbled away, her shift dropped to bunch in her armpits. Upside down, she hung with her face level with that of Amys. Furious, she opened herself to saidar—and found herself blocked.
“You wanted to go off alone,” Amys hissed softly. “You were warned, but you had to go.” Her eyes seemed to glow in the dark, brighter and brighter. “Never a care for what might be waiting. There are things in dreams to shatter the bravest heart.” Around eyes like blue coals, her face melted, stretched. Scales sprouted where skin had been; her jaws thrust out, lined with sharp teeth. “Things to eat the bravest heart,” she growled.
Screaming, Egwene battered vainly at the shield holding her from the True Source. She tried to beat at that horrible face, at the thing that could not be Amys, but something gripped her wrists, stretched her taut and quivering in midair. All she could do was shriek as those jaws closed around her face.
Screaming, Egwene sat up, clutching at her blankets. With an effort she managed to snap her mouth shut, but she could do nothing about the shudders that racked her. She was in the tent—or was she? There was Amys, cross-legged in the shadows, glowing with saidar—or was it she? Desperately, she opened herself to the Source, and nearly howled when she found the barrier again. Tossing the blankets aside, she scrambled across the layered rugs on hands and knees, scattered her neatly folded clothes with both hands. She had a belt knife. Where was it? Where? There!
“Sit down,” Amys said acerbically, “before I dose you for vapors and fidgets. You will not like the taste.”
Egwene twisted around on her knees, the short knife held in both hands; they would have trembled if not clutched together around the hilt. “Is it really you this time?”
“I am myself, now and also then. Sharp lessons are the best lessons. Do you mean to stab me?”
Hesitating, Egwene sheathed the knife. “You have no right to—”
“I have every right! You gave me your word. I did not know Aes Sedai could lie. If I am to teach you, I must know you will do as I say. I will not watch a pupil of mine cut her own throat!” Amys sighed; the glow around her vanished, and so did the barrier between Egwene and saidar. “I cannot shield you any longer. You are far stronger than I. In the One Power, you are. You very nearly battered down my shield. But if you cannot keep your word, I do not know that I want to instruct you.”
“I will keep my word, Amys. I promise I will. But I have to meet with my friends, in Tel’aran’rhiod. I promised them, too. Amys, they might need my help, my advice.” Amys’s face was not easy to make out in the darkness, but Egwene did not see any softening. “Please, Amys. You’ve taught me so much already. I think I could find them wherever they are, now. Please, don’t stop when there is so much yet for me to learn. Whatever you want me to do, I will.”
“Braid your hair,” Amys said in a flat tone.
“My hair?” Egwene said uncertainly. It would certainly be no inconvenience, but why? She wore it loose now, falling below her shoulders, yet it was not that long ago that she had almost burst with pride on the day the Women’s Circle back home had said she was old enough to put her hair in a braid like the one Nynaeve still wore. In the Two Rivers, a braid said you were old enough to be considered a woman.