“The Hall will come when Elaida calls or she’ll hand them all penances that will make them wish they had,” Katerine sneered. “The way Jala and Merym galloped off when we saw who we’d caught, she knows by now, and I’ll wager that for this one, Elaida will drag Sitters from their beds with her own hands if she must.” Her voice grew smug, and cutting at the same time. “Perhaps she will name you to the Chair of Pardon. Would you enjoy that?”
Berisha drew herself up indignantly, shifting her shawl on her arms. In some instances, the Chair of Pardon faced the same penalty as the one she defended. Perhaps this charge required it; despite Siuan’s best efforts to complete her education, Egwene did not know.
“What I want to hear,” the Gray said after a moment, ostentatiously ignoring the women on the seat with her, “is what did you do to the harbor chain? How can it be undone?”
“It can’t be undone,” Egwene replied. “You must know that it’s cuendillar, now. Even the Power won’t break it, only strengthen it. I suppose you could sell it if you tear down enough of the harbor wall to remove it. If anyone can afford a piece of cuendillar that big. Or would want such a thing.”
This time, no one tried to stop Katerine from slapping her, and very hard, too. “Hold your tongue!” the Red snapped.
That seemed good advice unless she wanted to be slapped silly. She could taste blood in her mouth already. So Egwene held her tongue, and silence descended on the rolling coach, the others all glowing with saidar and watching each other suspiciously. It was incredible! Why had Elaida ever chosen women who clearly detested one another for tonight’s task? As a demonstration of her power, just because she could? No matter. If Elaida allowed her to live through the night, at least she could let Siuan know what had happened to her—and likely to Leane, as well. She could let Siuan know they had been betrayed. And pray that Siuan could track down the betrayer. Pray that the rebellion would not collapse. She offered a small prayer for that on the spot. It was much more important than the other.
By the time the coachman reined in the team, she had recovered enough to follow Katerine and Pritalle from the coach unaided, though her head still felt a trifle thick. She could stand, but she doubted she had the strength to run far, not that trying would achieve anything beyond being halted after a few steps. So she stood calmly beside the dark-lacquered coach and waited as patiently as the four-horse team in their harness. After all, she was harnessed, too, in a manner of speaking. The White Tower loomed over them, a thick pale shaft rearing into the night. Few of its windows were alight, but some of those were near the very top, perhaps in the rooms Elaida occupied. It was very strange. She was a prisoner and unlikely to live much longer, yet she felt she had come home. The Tower seemed to renew her vigor.
Two Tower-liveried backriders, the Flame of Tar Valon on their chests, had dismounted from the rear of the coach to unfold the steps, and they stood offering a white-gloved hand to each woman who dismounted, but only Berisha availed herself, and only because it let her reach the paving stones quickly while eyeing the other sisters, Egwene suspected. Barasine gave the fellows such looks that one gulped audibly and the other’s face grew pale. Felaana, busy trying to watch the others, merely waved the men away irritably. All five still held saidar, even here.
They were at the main rear entrance, stone-railed marble stairs descending from the second level beneath four massive bronze lanterns that cast a wide pool of flickering light, and to her surprise, a single novice stood alone at the foot of the stairs, clutching her white cloak against a slight chill in the air. She had more than half-expected Elaida to meet them in person, to gloat over her capture with a retinue of sycophants. That the novice was Nicola Treehill was a second surprise. The last place she would have thought to find the runaway was inside the White Tower itself.
By the way Nicola’s eyes widened when Egwene emerged from the coach, the novice was more startled than herself, but she dropped a neat if hasty curtsey to the sisters. “The Amyrlin says she…she is to be handed over to the Mistress of Novices, Katerine Sedai. She says that Silviana Sedai has her instructions.”
“So, it seems you’ll be birched tonight, at least,” Katerine murmured with a smile. Egwene wondered whether the woman hated her personally, or for what she represented, or simply hated everyone. Birched. She had never seen it done, but she had heard a description. It sounded extremely painful. She met Katerine’s gaze levelly, and after a moment the smile faded. The woman looked about to strike her again. The Aiel had a way of dealing with pain. They embraced it, gave themselves over to it without fighting or even trying to hold back screams. Perhaps that would help. The Wise Ones said that way the pain could be cast off without keeping its hold on you.
“If Elaida means to drag this out unnecessarily, I’ll have no more part in it tonight,” Felaana announced, frowning at everyone in sight including Nicola. “If the girl is to be stilled and executed, that should be sufficient.” Gathering her skirts, the yellow-haired sister darted past Nicola up the stairs. Actually running! The glow of saidar still surrounded her as she vanished inside.
“I agree,” Pritalle said coolly. “Harril, I think I’ll walk with you while you stable Bloodlance.” A dark, stocky man, who had come out of the darkness leading a tall bay, bowed to her. Stone-faced, he wore a Warder’s chameleon cloak that made most of him seem not to be there when he stood still and rippled with colors when he moved. Silently he followed Pritalle off into the night, but watching over his shoulder, guarding Pritalle’s back. The light remained around her, too. There was something here that Egwene was missing.
Suddenly, Nicola spread her skirts in another curtsy, deeper this time, and words burst out of her in a rush. “I’m sorry I ran away, Mother. I thought they’d let me go faster here. Areina and I thought—”
“Don’t call her that!” Katerine barked, and a switch of Air caught the novice across the bottom hard enough to make her squeal and jump. “If you’re attending the Amyrlin Seat tonight, child, get back to her and tell her I said her orders will be carried out. Now, run!”
With one last, frantic glance at Egwene, Nicola gathered her cloak and her skirts and went scrambling up the stairs so fast that twice she stumbled and nearly fell. Poor Nicola. Her hopes had surely been disappointed, and if the Tower discovered her age…. She must have lied about that to be taken in; lying was one of her several bad habits. Egwene dismissed the girl from her mind. Nicola