She still hadn’t found Gareth Bryne, but that wasn’t unexpected. He moved about. Silviana was hunting him, and should have word soon. Aes Sedai had been sent to take the wounded to Mayene. The sun drooped low in the sky, like an eyelid that refused to stay open. Egwene’s hands shook as she held her cup. She could still hear the battle. It seemed that the Trollocs would fight into the night, grinding the human armies against the river.
Distant shouts rose like the calls of an angry crowd, but the explosions from the channelers had slowed.
She turned to Gawyn. He didn’t seem tired at all, though he was strangely pale. Egwene sipped her tea and silently cursed him. It was unfair, but she wasn’t concerned with fairness right now. She could grumble at her Warder. That was what they were for, wasn’t it?
A breeze blew through camp. She was a few hundred paces east of the ford, but she smelled blood in the air. Nearby, a squad of archers drew their bows at their commander’s call, launching a volley of arrows. A pair of black-winged Draghkar plummeted moments later, hitting the ground with dull thuds just beyond camp. More would come, as it grew dark and they had an easier time hiding against the sky.
Mat. She felt strangely sick thinking about him. He was such a blowhard. A carouser, leering at every pretty woman he met. Treating her like a painting and not a person. He… he…
He was Mat. Once, when Egwene had been around thirteen, he’d jumped into the river to save Kiem Lewin from drowning. Of course, she hadn’t been drowning. She’d merely been dunked under the water by a friend, and Mat had come running, throwing himself into the water to help. The men of Emond’s Field had made sport of him for months about that.
The next spring, Mat had pulled Jer al’Hune from the same river, saving the boy’s life. People had stopped making fun of Mat for a while afterward.
That was how Mat was. He’d grumbled and muttered all winter about how people made sport of him, insisting that next time, he’d just let them drown. Then the moment he’d seen someone in danger, he’d gone splashing right back in. Egwene could remember gangly Ma
t stumbling from the river, little Jer clinging to him and gasping, a look of pure terror in his eyes.
Jer had gone down without making a sound. Egwene had never realized that could happen. People who started to drown didn’t yell, or sputter, or call for help. They just slipped under the water, when everything seemed fine and peaceful. Unless Mat was watching.
He came for me in the Stone of Tear, she thought. Of course, he’d also tried to save her from the Aes Sedai, unwilling to believe she was Amyrlin.
So which was this? Was she drowning or not?
How much do you trust Matrim Cauthon? Min had asked. Light. I do trust him. Fool that I am, I do. Mat could be wrong. He often was wrong.
But when he was right, he saved lives.
Egwene forced herself to stand. She wavered, and Gawyn came to her side. She patted him on the arm, then stepped away from him. She would not let the army see its Amyrlin so weak that she had to lean against someone for support. “What reports do we have from the other battlefronts?”
“Not much, today,” Gawyn said. He frowned. “In fact, it’s been rather silent.”
“Elayne was supposed to fight at Cairhien,” Egwene said. “It was an important battle.”
“She might be too occupied to send word.”
“I want you to send a messenger by gateway. I need to know how that battle is going.”
Gawyn nodded, hurrying off. After he was gone, Egwene walked at a steady pace until she found Silviana, who was talking with a pair of Blue sisters.
“Bryne?” Egwene asked.
“In the mess tent,” Silviana said. “I only just had word. I sent a runner to tell him to stay put until you arrived.”
“Come.”
She walked over to the tent, the largest shelter in camp by far, and spotted him as she entered. Not eating, but standing beside the cook’s travel table with his maps spread out. The table smelled of onions, which had probably been cut there time and time again. Yukiri had a gateway open in the floor to look down on the battlefield. She closed it as Egwene arrived. They didn’t leave it open long, not with the Sharans watching for it and preparing weaves to send through it.
Egwene whispered very quietly to Silviana, “Gather the Hall of the Tower. Bring back any Sitters you can find. Get them all here, to this tent, as soon as you can.”
Silviana nodded, her face betraying no hint of the confusion she likely felt. She hastened off and Egwene sat down in the tent.
Siuan wasn’t there—she was likely helping with Healing again. That was good. Egwene wouldn’t have wanted to attempt this with Siuan glaring at her. As it was, she worried about Gawyn. He loved Bryne like a father, and already his anxiety streamed through their bond.
She would have to approach this very delicately, and she didn’t want to start until the Hall had arrived. She couldn’t accuse Bryne, but she couldn’t ignore Mat. He was a scoundrel and a fool, but she trusted him. Light help her, but she did. She’d trust him with her life. And things had been going oddly on the battlefield.
The Sitters gathered relatively quickly. They had charge of the war effort, and they met together each evening to get reports and tactical explanations from Bryne and his commanders. Bryne didn’t seem to think it odd that they came to him now; he kept at his work.
Many of the women did give Egwene curious looks as they entered. She nodded to them, trying to convey the weight of the Amyrlin Seat.