The Path of Daggers (The Wheel of Time, #8)

by Robert Jordan

Mayener

Murandy,

Silviana

Neheran

Saerin

Vinchova?”

“The Maidens out there didn’t tell me you were in here. They hardly said a word at all. Light, they looked ready to veil at the sight of me.” “Maybe they are upset,” she said calmly. “Maybe they wondered where you were. The way I did. Maybe they wondered whether you were hurt, or sick, or cold.” The way I did, she thought bitterly. The man looked confused! “I wrote to you,” he said slowly, and she sniffed. “Twice! With Asha’man to deliver your letters, you wrote twice, Rand al’Thor. If you call it writing!”

“How do you know when a woman wants to kill you?” Rand mused. “When she knows your name?” Dobraine did not sound as if he were joking. Rand tilted his head thoughtfully, then nodded.

“You castigate us?” she snapped in tones as frosty as her eyes were hot. She was Aes Sedai as the child Min had seen them, regal above queens, powerful above powers. “You were present in the beginning, ta’veren, and you twisted them as you wanted them. You could have had them all kneeling to you! But you left! They were not pleased to know they had been dancing for a ta’veren. Somewhere, they learned to weave shields, and before you were well off their ship, Rafela and I were shielded. So we could not take advantage with the Power, they said. More than once, Harine threatened to hang us in the rigging by our toes until we came to our senses, and I for one believe she meant it! Feel lucky that you have the ships you want, Rand al’Thor. Harine would have given you a handful! Feel lucky she didn’t want your new boots and that ghastly throne of yours as well! Oh, by the by, she formally acknowledged you as the Coramoor, may you get a bellyache from it!”

“Let someone know you need them, Min, and they have a hold on you. A leash, to pull you where they want. I won’t put a halter on my own neck for any Aes Sedai. Not for anyone!” Slowly his fists unclenched. “You, I need, Min,” he said simply. “Not for your viewings. I just need you.”

Daigian Moseneillin

“What do you mean about Callandor?” “It is flawed,” she replied curtly, “lacking the buffer that makes other sa’angreal safe to use. And it apparently magnifies the taint, inducing wildness of the mind. So long as a man is using it, anyway. The only safe way for you to use The Sword That Is Not a Sword, the only way to use it without the risk of killing yourself, or trying to do the Light alone knows what insanity, is linked with two women, and one of them guiding the flows.” Trying not to hunch his shoulders, he strode away from her. So it had been not just the wildness of saidin around Ebou Dar that had killed Adley. He had murdered the man the moment he sent Narishma for the thing.

Rosoinde,

Sarainya

“I am Elayne Trakand,” she announced loudly, surprised at how calm she sounded. Her voice carried, and across the great plaza people turned from staring at her companions to stare at her. The ancient formula rolled from her tongue. “In the name of House Trakand, by right of descent from Ishara, I have come to claim the Lion Throne of Andor, if the Light wills it so.” The gates opened wide.

Arymilla

Arathelle,

“I mean to bond him my Warder,” she said, and went on before the other woman could more than blink in astonishment. “I also hope to marry him. Those things have nothing to do with the Lion Throne, however. The very first thing I intend . . .” As she went on, Dyelin began to laugh. Elayne wished she knew whether it was from delight over her plans or because Dyelin saw her own path to the Lion Throne being made smooth. At least she knew what she faced, now.

Shiaine

“The Dragon Reborn is a man, Fedwin,” she said. “And like any man, he’s sulking because he thinks a woman doesn’t want to see him again.” Goggling, the boy jerked as if she had goosed him. Rand stopped to scowl at her sullenly. All that kept her from laughing was knowing that he was hiding pain as real as any stab wound. That, and the sure knowledge that he would be as hurt if she had done what had been done. Not that she would ever have the chance to rip down his banners, but the point applied.

“The Green is the Battle Ajah,” Beldeine told him proudly, and despite smudges on her cheeks and dark circles beneath her eyes, she did look a Queen of Battles. But then, Saldaean women seemed to find that second nature. “When you go to Tarmon Gai’don, the Green must be there. I will follow, if you will accept me.” Light, she was going to bond an Asha’man as a Warder! How . . . ? No; it was not important now. “What we did was logical at the time.” Sarene’s tightly held cool serenity slipped into clear worry, and she shook her head. “I say that to explain, not to exculpate. Circumstances have changed. For you, the logical course might seem to . . .” She drew a decidedly unsteady breath. Images and auras; a tempestuous love affair, of all things! The woman was ice, however beautiful. And there was nothing useful in knowing some man would melt her! “To send us back to captivity,” she went on, “or even execute us. For me, logic says I must serve you.” Nesune tilted her head, and her nearly black eyes seemed to be trying to store away every scrap of him. One red-and-green aura spoke of honors, and fame. A huge building appeared above her head and vanished. A library she would found.

Among all of those images spilling around Rand and the women, suddenly an aura flashed, blue and yellow tinged with green, encompassing them all. And Min knew its meaning. She gasped, half in surprise, half in relief. “They will serve you, each in her fashion, Rand,” she said hurriedly. “I saw it.”

In ragged unison, five more Aes Sedai swore under the Light and by their hope of salvation to serve the Dragon Reborn faithfully until the Last Battle had come and gone. Nesune delivered the words as though examining each one, Sarene as if stating a principle of logic, Elza wearing a wide, victorious smile, but they all swore. How many Aes Sedai would he gather around him?

It was as if a huge hammer had smashed into the Sun Palace. And had they been in there, instead of going to see Cadsuane . . . Min shivered.

You won’t win, he told Lews Therin. If I die, I’ll die me!

Below, Dashiva stood looking about, licking his lips uncertainly. Gedwyn and Rochaid were with him! Lews Therin chittered of killing. “. . . telling you I felt nothing,” Gedwyn was saying. “He’s dead!” And Dashiva saw Rand, at the head of the stairs. The only warning he had was the sudden snarl that contorted Dashiva’s face.

Rand slipped out of the chamber grimacing. He was very good at frightening people who could not harm him. Very good at destroying. To destroy, or be destroyed, Lews Therin laughed. When that’s your choice, is there a difference?

He searched through the Palace for hours without finding a sign of Dashiva or the others. The corridors and great halls, even the kitchens, were empty of people. He found nothing, and learned nothing. No. He realized that he had learned one thing. Trust was a knife, and the hilt was as sharp as the blade. Then he found pain.

She could still remember the horror when she realized the boy “guarding” her now had the mind of a small child. The sadness remained, too—Light, he was only a boy! it was not right!—but she hoped Rand still had him shielded. It had not been easy, talking Fedwin into playing with those wooden blocks instead of pulling stones out of the walls with the Power to make a “big tower to keep you safe in.” And then she had sat guarding him until Rand came. Oh, Light, she wanted to cry. For Rand even more than Fedwin.

“Sleep, Fedwin,” Rand murmured. It did seem that the boy was going to sleep. His eyes closed. His chest rose and fell more slowly. Slower. Until it stopped. The smile never left his lips. “A little something in the wine,” Rand said softly as he laid Fedwin down. Min’s eyes burned, but she would not cry. She would not!

“You can cry, Rand al’Thor. You won’t melt if you cry!” “I don’t have time for tears, either, Min,” he said gently.

When he firmly told her she was not coming with him this morning, she had not raised a single word of protest! She even smelled . . . pleased! Among other things, including startled. And how could she be pleased and angry at the same time? Not a scrap of it had showed on her face, but his nose never lied. Somehow, it seemed that the more he learned about women, the less he knew!

A commanding man was wonderful, so long as he did not come to believe he could always command.

Parelean,

“This is not right, Shaido,” Chiad mumbled angrily. “She does not follow ji’e’toh,” Bain barked. “You cannot make her gai’shain.”

She was too stunned to fight. Parelean dead, Arrela and Lacile captive, and Alliandre, and Maighdin. Light, someone had to warn Perrin about Masema. Someone. It seemed a final blow. Here she was, shivering and gritting her teeth to keep them from chattering, trying her best to pretend that she was not stark naked and bound, on her way to an uncertain captivity. All of that, and she had to hope that that slinking cat—that pouting trull!—Berelain, had managed to escape so she could reach Perrin. Alongside everything else, that seemed the worst of all.

The swirling snow beyond the gateway was too thick to see far, yet Egwene imagined that she could make out the Shining Walls of Tar Valon, and the White Tower itself. “It has begun, Mother,” Sheriam said, sounding almost surprised. “It has begun,” Egwene agreed. And the Light willing, soon Elaida would fall.

Across the nations the stories spread like spiderweb laid upon spiderweb, and men and women planned the future, believing they knew truth. They planned, and the Pattern absorbed their plans, weaving toward the future foretold.