The Path of Daggers (59 page)

“A question of war cannot be shelved,” Egwene said in a carrying tone. “It must be answered before any question called after it. That is the law.”

Quick, questioning glances passed between Sitters.

“Is that so?” Janya said finally. Squinting thoughtfully, she twisted on her bench to address the woman next to her. “Takima, you remember everything you read, and I’m sure I remember you saying you had read the Law of War. Is that what it says?”

Egwene held her breath. The White Tower had sent soldiers to any number of wars over the last thousand years, but always in response to a plea for help from at least two thrones, and it always had been their war, not the Tower’s. The last time the Tower itself actually declared war had been against Artur Hawkwing. Siuan said that now only a few librarians knew much more than that there
was
a Law of War.

Short, with long dark hair to her waist and skin the color of aged ivory, Takima often reminded people of a bird, tilting her head in thought. Now she looked like a bird that wanted to take flight, shifting on her seat, adjusting her shawl, unnecessarily straightening her cap of pearls and sapphires. “It is,” she said finally, and clamped her mouth shut.

Egwene quietly started breathing again.

“It seems,” Romanda said in a clipped tone, “that Siuan Sanche has been teaching you well. Mother. How speak you in support of declaring war? On a woman.” She sounded as if she were trying to push something disagreeable out of her way, and she dropped onto her seat waiting for it to depart.

Egwene nodded graciously anyway, and rose. She met the Sitters’ gazes one by one, levelly, firmly. Takima avoided her eyes. Light, the woman knew! But she had not said anything. Would she hold silent long enough? It was too late to change plans.

“Today we find ourselves confronted by an army, led by people who doubt us. That army would not be there otherwise.” Egwene wanted to put passion into her voice, to let it burst out, but Siuan had advised utter coolness, and finally she had agreed. They needed to see a woman in control of herself, not a girl being ridden by her heart. The words came from her heart, though. “You heard Arathelle say she did not want to become entangled in Aes Sedai affairs. Yet they were willing to bring an army into Murandy and stand in our way. Because they are not certain who we are, or what we are about. Did any of you feel that they truly believe you are Sitters?” Malind, round-faced and fierce-eyed, shifted on her bench among the Greens, and so did Salita, twitching her yellow-fringed shawl, though her dark face managed to hide any expression. Berana, another Sitter chosen in Salidar, frowned thoughtfully. Egwene did not mention the reaction to her as Amyrlin; if that thought was not already in their heads, she did not want to plant it.

“We’ve listed Elaida’s crimes to countless nobles,” she went on. “We’ve told them we intend to remove her. But they doubt. They think that maybe—maybe—we are what we say. And maybe there’s a trick in our words. Perhaps we are only Elaida’s hand, weaving some elaborate scheme. Doubt leaves people floundering. Doubt gave Pelivar and Arathelle the nerve to stand before Aes Sedai and say, ‘You cannot go further.’ Who else will stand in our way, or interfere, because they aren’t certain, and uncertainty leads them to act in a cloud of confusion? There’s only one way for us to dispel their confusion. We have already done everything else. Once we declare ourselves at war with Elaida, there can be no doubts. I don’t say that Arathelle and Pelivar and Aemlyn will march away as soon as we do so, but they and everyone else will know who we are. No one will dare again to show doubt so openly when you say you are the Hall of the Tower. No one will dare stand in our way, meddling in the affairs of the Tower through uncertainty and ignorance. We have walked to the door and put our hands on the latch. If you are afraid to walk through, then you all but ask the world to believe that you are nothing but Elaida’s puppets.”

She sat, surprised at how calm she felt. Beyond the two rows of Sitters, sisters outside stirred, putting their heads together. She could imagine the excited murmurs that Aledrin’s ward blocked off. Now if only Takima kept her mouth shut long enough.

Romanda grunted impatiently, and stood only long enough to say, “Who stands for declaring war against Elaida?” Her gaze returned to Lelaine, and her cold, smug smile returned. It was clear what she considered important, once this nonsense was done with.

Janya rose immediately, the long brown fringe on her shawl swaying. “We might as well,” she said. She was not supposed to speak, but her set jaw and sharp gaze dared anyone to call her down. She was not normally so forceful, but as usual, her words nearly tripped over one another. “Mending what the world knows won’t be any harder than it is for this. Well? Well? I don’t see the point of waiting.” On the other side of Takima, Escaralde nodded and stood.

Moria all but bounded to her feet, frowning down at Lyrelle, who gathered her skirts as if to rise, then hesitated and looked at Lelaine questioningly. Lelaine was too busy frowning across the carpets at Romanda to notice.

Among the Greens, Samalin and Malind stood together, and Faiselle looked up with a jerk. A stocky, copper-skinned Domani, Faiselle was not a woman startled by much, but she looked startled now, her square face swinging wide-eyed from Samalin to Malind and back.

Salita rose, carefully adjusting the yellow fringe of her shawl and just as carefully avoiding Romanda’s sudden frown. Kwamesa stood, and then Aledrin, drawing Berana up by her sleeve. Delana twisted completely around on her bench, peering at the sisters outside. Even in silence the spectators’ excitement communicated itself in constant shifting, heads going together, eyes darting toward the Sitters. Delana rose slowly, both hands pressed to her middle, looking ready to sick up on the spot. Takima grimaced and stared at her hands on her knees. Saroiya studied the other two White Sitters, tugging at her ear the way she did when deep in thought. But no one else moved to stand.

Egwene felt bile rising in her own throat. Ten. Just ten. She had been so sure. Siuan had been so sure. Logain alone should have been enough, given their ignorance of the law involved. Pelivar’s army and Arathelle refusing to admit that they
were
Sitters should have primed them like a pump.

“For the love of the Light!” Moria burst out. Rounding on Lyrelle and Lelaine, she planted her fists on her hips. If Janya’s speaking had gone against custom, this tied it in a knot. Displays of anger were strictly forbidden in the Hall, but Moria’s eyes blazed, and her Illianer accent was thick with it. “Why do you wait? Elaida did steal the stole and the staff! Elaida’s Ajah did make Logain a false Dragon, and only the Light knows how many other men! No woman in the history of the Tower did ever deserve this declaration more! Stand, or hold silent from now about your
resolve
to remove her!”

Lelaine did not quite stare, but by her expression you might have thought she had found herself attacked by a sparrow. “This is hardly worth a vote, Moria,” she said in a tight voice. “We will speak later about decorum, you and I. Still, if you need a demonstration of resolve. . . .” With a sharp sniff, she rose, and gave a jerk of her head that pulled Lyrelle to her feet like strings. Lelaine seemed surprised that it did not pull up Faiselle and Takima, too.

Far from standing, Takima grunted as if struck. Disbelief bright on her face, she ran her eyes along the women on their feet, obviously counting. And then did it again. Takima, who remembered
everything
the first time.

Egwene breathed deep in relief. It was done. She could hardly believe. After a moment, she cleared her throat, and Sheriam actually jumped.

Green eyes as big as teacups, the Keeper cleared her throat, too. “The lesser consensus standing, war is declared against Elaida do Avriny a’Roihan.” Her voice was none too steady, but it sufficed. “In the interest of unity, I ask for the greater consensus to stand.”

Faiselle half-moved, then clenched her hands in her lap. Saroiya opened her mouth, then closed it without speaking, her face troubled. No one else stirred.

“You won’t get it,” Romanda said flatly. The sneer she directed across the pavilion at Lelaine was as good as a statement of why she, at least, would not stand. “Now that little business is finished, we can go on with—”

“I don’t think we can,” Egwene cut in. “Takima, what does the Law of War say about the Amyrlin Seat?” Romanda was left with her mouth hanging open.

Takima’s lips writhed. The diminutive Brown looked more than ever a bird wishing to take flight. “The Law . . . .” she began, then took a deep breath and sat up straight. “The Law of War states, ‘As one set of hands must guide a sword, so the Amyrlin Seat shall direct and prosecute the war by decree. She shall seek the advice of the Hall of the Tower, but the Hall shall carry out her decrees with all possible speed, and for the sake of unity, they shall. . . .” She faltered, and had to visibly force herself to go on. “. . . they shall and must approve any decree of the Amyrlin Seat regarding prosecution of the war with the greater consensus.”

A long silence stretched. Every eye seemed to be goggling. Turning abruptly, Delana vomited onto the carpets behind her bench. Kwamesa and Salita both climbed down and started toward her, but she waved them off, plucking a scarf from her sleeve to wipe her mouth. Magla and Saroiya and several others still seated looked as though they might follow her example. No others who had been chosen in Salidar, though. Romanda appeared ready to bite through a nail.

“Very clever,” Lelaine said at last in clipped tones, and after a deliberate pause, added, “Mother. Will you tell us what the great wisdom of your vast experience tells you to do? About the war, I mean. I want to make myself clear.”

“Let me make myself clear, too,” Egwene said coldly. Leaning forward, she fixed the Blue Sitter sternly. “A certain degree of respect is
required
toward the Amyrlin Seat, and from now on, I
will
have it, daughter. This is no time for me to have to unchair you and name a penance.” Lelaine’s eyes crept wider and wider with shock. Had the woman really believed everything would continue as before? Or after so long not daring to show more than the tiniest backbone, had Lelaine simply believed she had none? Egwene really did not want to unchair her; the Blues would almost certainly return the woman, and she still had to deal with the Hall on matters that could not be convincingly disguised as part of the war against Elaida.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a smile pass across Romanda’s lips at seeing Lelaine set down. Small profit if all she did was raise Romanda’s stock with the others. “That holds for everyone, Romanda,” she said. “If need be, Tiana can find two birches as easily as one.” Romanda’s smile vanished abruptly.

“If I may speak, Mother,” Takima said, rising slowly. She attempted a smile, but she still looked decidedly ill. “I myself think you have begun well. There may be benefits to stopping here a month. Or longer.” Romanda’s head jerked around to stare at her, but for once, Takima did not appear to notice. “Wintering here, we can avoid worse weather farther north, and also plan carefully—”

“There’s an end to delays, daughter,” Egwene cut in. “No more dragging our feet.” Would she be another Gerra, or another Shein? Either was still possible. “In one month, we will Travel from here.” No; she was Egwene al’Vere, and whatever the secret histories would say of her faults and virtues, the Light only knew, but they would be hers, not copies of some other woman’s. “In one month, we will begin the siege of Tar Valon.”

This time, the silence was broken only by the sound of Takima weeping.

Elayne hoped that the journey to Caemlyn would go smoothly, and in the beginning, it seemed to do so. She thought that even as she and Aviendha and Birgitte sat bone-weary and huddled in the rags that remained of their clothing, filthy with dirt and dust and the blood of the injuries they had received when the gateway exploded. In two weeks at most, she would be ready to present her claims to the Lion Throne. There on the hilltop, Nynaeve Healed their numerous hurts and spoke barely a word, certainly not berating them. Surely that was a pleasant sign, if unusual. Relief at finding them alive battled worry on her face.