New Spring: The Novel

Moiraine did look at the sun, sitting low in the west, and she was not so sure. It was six miles back to the Tower, the last of it through streets that would be just as crowded come nightfall as they had been that morning. Excuses would not be admitted.

Frowning, Steler opened his mouth, but abruptly the leathery-faced woman who had given them wine was right in front of him with six or seven others, all gray-haired or graying, crowding him and forcing him back. 'You leave those girls be,' the lean woman shouted at him. 'You hear me?'

More women came running from every direction, until Steler was surrounded ten-deep, and his Guardsmen as well. Half the women seemed to be screaming and shaking fists, while the rest scowled in sullen silence and gripped the hilts of their belt knives. The anvils went still once more, the blacksmiths watching the crowd of women closely and hefting their hammers. Young men, boys really, began to gather, all hot-eyed and angry. Some had their belt knives drawn. Light, they were going to have a riot.

'Write!' Siuan commanded. 'They won't hold him long. Your name?' she demanded of the woman in front of her.

Moiraine wrote. The women waiting to give their names seemed to agree with Siuan. There were no more arguments. By this time, they knew the questions and spilled out the answers as soon as they came in front of her, some so quickly that she had to ask them to start over. When Steler and his men finally managed to push through the women encircling them without doing anything that would have brought the men and boys still in the camp running, Moiraine was blowing on the last name to dry the ink, and Siuan was hastily straightening her hair with her carved blackwood comb.

The bannerman's face was grim behind the steel bars of his faceguard, but all he said was 'We'll need a bit of luck, now.'

He led them out of the camp at a trot, with the horses' hooves flinging clods of snow and Siuan bouncing in her saddle so badly that he assigned men to ride on either side of her and keep her from falling. Clinging desperately to the tall pommel of her saddle, she grimaced at them, but she did not order them away. Moiraine realized that Siuan had never asked for the ointment; she was going to have more need of it than ever. After half a mile, Steler slowed to a walk, but only for another half-mile, and then he picked up the trot again. Only the two soldiers kept Siuan in the saddle. Moiraine started to protest, but a glance at Siuan's determined face-and another at the sun-held her quiet. Siuan would take days to forgive her calling attention to how badly she rode.

She might never forgive her if she caused them to be called to Merean's study for being late.

That was the pace Steler kept all the way back to the city, trot then walk, trot then walk, and Moiraine suspected he would have maintained it there if not for the crowded streets. A walk was the best they could manage in that throng. The sun was just a low dome of red-gold atop the walls of the Tower grounds when they rode into the yard of the West Stable. Grooms came out to take Arrow and Siuan's mount, along with a sour-faced young under-lieutenant who scowled up at Steler even as he returned the bannerman's salute, an arm laid across the chest.

'You're the last,' he growled, sounding as if he wanted an excuse to lash out at anyone who was handy. 'Did they cause problems?'

Helping a groaning Siuan dismount, Moiraine held her breath.

'No more than lambs,' Steler replied, and she exhaled. Stepping down from his horse, the bannerman turned to his men. 'I want the horses rubbed down and the tack oiled before anybody even thinks of supper. You know why I'm looking at you, Malvin.'

Moiraine inquired of the young officer what they should do with the lap-desks. He glared at her before saying, 'Leave them where they are. They'll be collected.' And he stalked off so quickly that his cloak flared behind him.

'Why is he so angry?' she wondered aloud.

Steler glanced at the Guardsmen leading their animals into the stable, then answered in a voice too low for them to hear. 'He wanted to go fight the Aiel.'

'I don't care whether the fool man wanted to be a hero,' Siuan said sharply. She was leaning on Moiraine, who suspected that only her arm around the other woman's waist was keeping her upright. 'I want a hot wash and my bed, never mind supper.'

'That sounds lovely,' Moiraine breathed. Except the part about supper, anyway. She thought she could eat a whole sheep!

Siuan managed to walk on her own, but she hobbled, tight-jawed and clearly suppressing groans. She refused to let Moiraine carry her scrip, though. Siuan never gave in to pain. She never gave in to anything. When they reached their gallery in the Accepted's quarters, thoughts of hot water vanished. Katerine was waiting.

'About time,' she said, huddling in her banded cloak. 'I thought I'd freeze to death before you got back.' A sharp-faced woman with a mass of wavy black hair that hung to her waist, she could have an acid tongue. With novices and other Accepted, she could. With Aes Sedai, she was milder than milk-water, all obsequious smiles. 'Merean wants you in her study, Moiraine.'

'Why does she want us?' Siuan demanded. 'It isn't full sunset even now.'

'Oh, Merean always tells me her reasons, Siuan. And it's just Moiraine this time, not you. Well, you've been told, and I want my supper and my bed. We have to do this whole miserable thing over again tomorrow, starting at sunrise. Who'd have thought I'd rather stay in and study than go for a ride in the countryside?'

Siuan frowned at Katerine's back as the other woman flounced away. 'One day she'll cut herself with that tongue. Do you want me to come with you, Moiraine?'

Moiraine wanted nothing more. She had not done anything, not lately, yet a summons to Merean's study was never good. Many of the novices and Accepted visited that room to cry on Merean's shoulder when homesickness or the strain of learning grew too great. A summons was another matter entirely. But she shook her head and handed her cloak and scrip to Siuan. 'The jar of ointment is in there. It is very good for soreness.' Her friend's face lit up.

'I could still come with you. I don't need salving that badly.'

'You can barely walk. Go on. Whatever Merean wants, I am sure she will not keep me long.' Light, she hoped Merean had not uncovered some prank she thought safely hidden. But if so, at least Siuan would escape punishment. In her present state, she could not have borne that.

The study of the Mistress of Novices lay on the other side of the Tower, near the novices' quarters and one level below the Amyrlin's study, on a wide hallway where the floor tiles were red and green and the runner blue. Moiraine took a deep breath in front of the plain door between two bright wall hangings and patted her hair, wishing she had taken time to use her brush, then knocked twice, firmly. Merean told everyone not to tap like mice in the wainscoting.

'Come,' a voice inside called.

Taking another deep breath, Moiraine went in.

Unlike the Amyrlin's study, Merean's was rather small and quite plain, the walls paneled in dark wood, the furniture sturdy and completely unadorned for the most part. Moiraine suspected that women who had been Accepted a hundred years ago would recognize everything in the room. Maybe two hundred years ago. The narrow tea-table beside the door, lightly carved on the legs in a strange pattern, might well have been older than that, and one wall held a mirror, its frame spotted with faded fragments of gilding. Against the opposite wall stood a narrow cabinet that she avoided looking at. The strap and the switch were kept in there, along with a slipper that was worse in a way.

To her surprise, Merean was on her feet rather than seated behind her writing table. She was tall-Moiraine's head only reached Merean's plump chin-with hair that was more gray than not, gathered at the nape of her neck, and a motherly look to her that almost overwhelmed the agelessness of her features. That was one reason most of the young women in training felt comfortable weeping on Merean's shoulder despite her having made them weep herself often enough. She was also kind and gentle and understanding. So long as you did not break the rules. Merean had a positive Talent for finding out what you most wanted to keep hidden.

'Sit down, child,' she said gravely.

Moiraine warily seated herself on the stool in front of the writing table. It had to be bad news of some sort. But what?

'There is no way to make this easy, child. King Laman was killed yesterday, along with both of his brothers. Remember that we are all threads in the Pattern, and the Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills.'