The Gathering Storm

intricate wards.'

'Not intricate enough,' al'Thor said, turning away from her. He still stood by that darkened window, looking out over the camp.

The room fell silent. Narishma had been asking quietly after Min's health, but he fell silent when al'Thor stopped speaking. Rand obviously felt that Cadsuane was responsible for the male a'dam being stolen, but that was preposterous. She had prepared the best ward she knew, but who knew what knowledge the Forsaken had for getting past wards?

How had al'Thor survived? And what of the other contents of that box? Did al'Thor now have the access key, or had the statuette been taken by Semirhage? Did Cadsuane dare ask? The silence continued. 'What are you waiting for?' she finally asked with all the bravado she could summon. 'Do you expect an apology from me?'

'From you?' al'Thor asked. There was no humor in his voice, just the same cold evenness. 'No, I suspect that I could sooner extract an apology from a stone than from you.'

'Then—'

'You are exiled from my sight, Cadsuane,' he said softly. 'If I see your face again after tonight, I will kill you.'

'Rand, no!' Min said, standing up beside the bed. He didn't turn toward her.

Cadsuane felt an immediate stab of panic, but shoved it aside with her anger. 'What?' she demanded. 'This is foolishness, boy. I. . . .'

He turned, and again that gaze of his made her trail off. There was a danger to it, a shadowy cast to his eyes that struck her with more fear than she'd thought her aging heart could summon. As she watched, the air around him seemed to warp, and she could almost think that the room had grown darker.

'But. . . .' She found herself stuttering. 'But you don't kill women. Everyone knows it. You can hardly put the Maidens into danger for fear of them getting hurt!'

'I have been forced to revise that particular inclination,' al'Thor said. 'As of tonight.'

'But—'

'Cadsuane,' he said softly, 'do you believe that I could kill you? Right here, right now, without using a sword or the Power? Do you believe that if I simply willed it, the Pattern would bend around me and stop your heart? By ... coincidence?'

Being ta'veren didn't work that way. Light! It didn't, did it? He couldn't bend the very Pattern to his will, could he?

And yet, meeting his eyes, she did believe. Against all logic, she looked in those eyes and knew that if she didn't leave, she would die.

She nodded slowly, hating herself, strangely weak.

He turned away from her, looking back out the window. 'Be certain that I do not see your face. Ever again, Cadsuane. You may go now.'

Dazed, she turned—and from the corner of her eye, she saw a deep darkness emanating from al'Thor, warping the air even further. When she glanced back, it was gone. With gritted teeth, she left.

'Prepare yourselves and your armies,' al'Thor said to those who remained, voice echoing in the room behind. 'I intend to be gone by week's end.'

Cadsuane raised a hand to her head and leaned against the hallway wall outside, heart thumping, hand sweating. Before, she had been working against a stubborn but good-hearted boy. Someone had taken that child and replaced him with this man, a man more dangerous than any she had ever met. Day by day, he was slipping away from them.

And at the moment, she hadn't a blasted clue what to do about it.

CHAPTER 24 A New Commitment

Exhausted from two days of riding, Gawyn sat atop Challenge on a low hill southwest of Tar Valon. This countryside should have been green with spring's arrival, but the hillside before him bore only scraggly dead weeds, slain by the winter snows. Tufts of yew and blackwood poked up here and there, breaking the brown landscape. He counted more than a few stands that were now populated only by stumps. A war camp devoured trees like hungry woodgnarls, using them for arrows, fires, buildings and siege equipment.

Gawyn yawned—he'd pushed hard through the night. Bryne's war camp was well dug in here, and was a bustle of motion and activity. An army this large spawned organized chaos at best. A small band of mounted cavalry could travel light, as Gawyn's Younglings had; a force like that could grow to several thousand and remain lean. Expert horsemen, like the Saldaeans, were said to manage larger bands of seven or eight thousand while keeping their mobility.

But a force like the one below was a different beast entirely. It was an enormous, sprawling thing, in the shape of an enormous bubble with a smaller camp at its center; that probably held the Aes Sedai. Bryne also had forces occupying all of the bridge towns on both sides of the River Erinin, effectively cutting off the island from ground supply.

The army squatted near Tar Valon like a spider eyeing a butterfly hovering just outside of its web. Lines of troops rode in and out patrolling, purchasing food, running messages. Do2ens upon dozens of squads, some mounted, others walking. Like bees leaving the hive while others swarmed back in. The eastern side of the main camp was crowded with a mishmash of shanties and tents, the normal riffraff of camp followers that collected around an army. Near by, just inside the main war-camp boundary, a wooden palisade—perhaps fifty yards across—rose in a tall ring. Probably a command post.

Gawyn knew he had been seen by Bryne's scouts as he approached, yet none had stopped him. They probably wouldn't unless he tried to ride away. A single man—wearing a decent gray cloak and trousers, with a lacing shirt of white—wasn't of much interest. He could be a sell-sword, coming to ask for a place in the ranks. He could be a messenger from a local lord, sent to complain about a group of scouts. He could even be a member of the army. While many of those in Bryne's force wore uniforms, many others just wore a simple yellow band on their coatsleeves, not yet able to pay for proper insignia to be sewn on.

No, a single man approaching the army was not a danger. A single man riding away from it, however, was cause for alarm. A man coming to the camp could be friend, foe or neither. A man who inspected the camp then rode away was almost certainly a spy. So long as Gawyn didn't leave before making his intentions known, Bryne's outriders would be unlikely to bother him.

Light, but he could use a bed. He'd spent a restless two nights, sleeping only a couple of hours during each one, wrapped in his cloak. He felt irritable and cranky, partially just at himself for refusing to go to an inn, lest he be chased by the Younglings. He blinked bleary eyes, and spurred Challenge down the incline. He was committed now.

No. He'd been committed the moment he'd left Sleete behind in Dorian. By now, the Younglings knew of their leader's betrayal. Sleete wouldn't allow them to waste time searching. He'd tell them what he knew. Gawyn wished he could convince himself that they'd be surprised, but he'd received more than one frown or look of confusion regarding the way he spoke of Elaida and the Aes Sedai.

The White Tower didn't deserve his allegiance, but the Younglings— he could never go back to them, now. It itched at him; this was the first time his wavering had been revealed to a large group. Nobody knew that he'd helped Siuan escape, nor was it widespread knowledge that he'd dallied with Egwene.

Yet leaving had been the right thing to do. For the first time in months, his actions matched his heart. Saving Egwene. That was something he could believe in.

He approached the outskirts of camp, keeping his face impassive. He hated the idea of working with the rebel Aes Sedai almost as much as he had hated abandoning his men. These rebels were no better than Elaida. They