Perrin stumbled back, though the wind blowing down the tunnel wasn’t strong. Just . . . steady, like a stream running into nowhere. Perrin gripped the dreamspike, then forced himself to turn away from Rand. Someone knelt on the floor nearby, her head bowed, braced as if against some great force coming from the nothingness. Moiraine? Yes, and that was Nynaeve kneeling to her right.
The veil between worlds was very thin here. If he could see Nynaeve and Moiraine, perhaps they could see or hear him.
He stepped up to Nynaeve. "Nynaeve? Can you hear me?"
She blinked, turning her head. Yes, she could hear him! But she could not see him, it seemed. She searched about, confused as she clung to the stone teeth of the floor as if for life itself.
"Nynaeve!" Perrin yelled.
"Perrin?" she whispered, looking about. "Where are you?"
"I’m going to do something, Nynaeve", he said. "I will make it impossible to create gateways into this place. If you want to Travel to or from this area, you’ll need to create your gateway out in front of the cavern. All right?"
She nodded, still looking about for him. Apparently, though the real world reflected in the wolf dream, it didn’t work the other way around. Perrin rammed the dreamspike into the ground, then activated it as Lanfear had shown him, creating the bubble of purple just around the cavern itself. He hurried back into the tunnel, emerging through a wall of purple glass to rejoin Gaul and the wolves.
"Light", Gaul said. "I was about to go search for you. Why did it take so long?"
"So long?" Perrin asked.
"You were gone at least two hours".
Perrin shook his head. "It’s the Bore playing with our sense of time. Well, at least with that dreamspike in place, Slayer will have trouble reaching Rand".
After having Slayer use the dreamspike against him, it was satisfying to turn the ter’angreal against the man. Perrin had made the protective bubble just large enough to fit inside the cavern and shelter Rand, the Bore and those with him. The placement meant all of the borders of the dome save the one here at the front were inside rock.
Slayer would not be able to jump into the middle of the cavern and strike; he would have to enter through the front. Either that, or find a way to burrow through the rock, which Perrin supposed was possible here in the wolf dream. However, it would slow him, and that was what Rand needed.
"I need you to protect this place", Perrin sent to the gathered wolves, many of whom were still licking their wounds. "Shadowkiller fights inside, hunting the most dangerous prey this world has known. We must not let Slayer reach him".
We will guard this place, Young Bull, one sent. Others gather. He will not pass us.
"Can you do this?" Perrin sent an image of wolves spaced through the Borderlands, relaying messages quickly between themselves. There were thousands upon thousands of them roaming the area.
Perrin was proud of his sending. He didn’t send it as words, or as images, but as a concept mixed with scents, with a hint of instinct. With the wolves positioned as he sent, they could send to him through the network almost instantly if Slayer returned.
We can do it, the wolves sent.
Perrin nodded, then waved to Gaul.
"We are not staying?" he asked.
"There is too much happening", Perrin said. "Time moves too slowly here. I don’t want the war to pass us by".
Besides, there was still the matter of whatever Graendal was doing.
CHAPTER 26
Considerations
"I don’t like fighting beside those Seanchan", Gawyn said softly, coming up beside Egwene.
She didn’t like it either, and she knew he would be able to sense that from her. What could she say? She couldn’t turn the Seanchan away. The Shadow had brought the Sharans to fight under its banner. Egwene, therefore, would have to use what she had. Anything she had.
Her neck itched as she crossed the field to the meeting place about a mile or so east of the ford in Arafel. Bryne had already arrayed most of her forces at the ford. Aes Sedai could be seen atop the hills just south of the ford, and large squadrons of archers and pikemen were positioned below them on the slopes. The troops were feeling fresher. The days Egwene’s force had spent retreating had relieved some of the pressure of warfare, despite attempts by the enemy to make them commit to combat.
Egwene’s chances depended on the Seanchan joining the battle and engaging the Sharan channelers. Her stomach twisted. She had once heard that in Caemlyn, unscrupulous men would throw starving dogs into a pit together and bet on which one would survive the ensuing fight. This felt the same to her. The Seanchan damane were not free women; they could not choose to fight. From what she’d seen of the Sharan male channelers, they were little more than animals themselves.
Egwene should be fighting the Seanchan with every breath, not allying with them. Her instincts rebelled as she approached the gathering of Seanchan. The Seanchan leader demanded this audience with Egwene. The Light send it would be quick.
Egwene had received reports on this Fortuona, so she knew what to expect. The diminutive Seanchan Empress stood atop a small platform, watching the battle preparations. She wore a glittering dress whose train extended a ridiculous distance behind her, carried by eight da’covale, those servants in the horribly immodest clothing. Various members of the Blood stood in groups, waiting with careful poses. Deathwatch Guards, hulking in their near-black armor, stood like boulders around the Empress.
Egwene approached, guarded by her own soldiers and much of the Hall of the Tower. Fortuona had first tried to insist that Egwene come to visit her in her camp. Egwene had, of course, refused. It had taken hours to reach an agreement. Both would come to this location in Arafel, and both would stand rather than sit so that neither could give the impression of being above the other. Still, Egwene was irritated to find the woman waiting. She’d wanted to time this meeting so they both arrived at the same moment.
Fortuona turned from the battle preparations and looked at Egwene. It appeared that many of Siuan’s reports were false. True, Fortuona did look something like a child, with that slight build and delicate features. Those similarities were minor. No child had ever had eyes so discerning, so calculating. Egwene revised her expectations. She’d imagined Fortuona as a spoiled adolescent, the product of a coddled lifetime.
"I have considered", Fortuona said, "whether it would be appropriate to speak to you in person, with my own voice".
Nearby, several of the Seanchan Blood—with their painted fingernails and partially shaved heads—gasped. Egwene ignored them. They stood near several pairs of sul'dam and damane. If she let those pairs draw her attention, her temper might get the better of her.
"I have considered myself", Egwene said, "whether it would be appropriate to speak to one such as yourself, who has committed such terrible atrocities".
"I have decided that I will speak to you", Fortuona continued, ignoring Egwene’s remark. "I think that, for the time, it would be better if I see you not as marath’damane, but as a queen among the people of this land".
"No", Egwene said. "You will see me for what I am, woman. I demand it". Fortuona pursed her lips. "Very well", she finally said. "I have spoken to damane before; training them has been a hobby of mine. To see you as such does not violate protocol, as the Empress may speak with her pet hounds".
"Then I will speak with you directly as well", Egwene said, keeping her face impassive. "For the Amyrlin judges many trials. She must be able to speak to murderers and rapists in order to pass sentence upon them. I think you would be at home in their company, though I suspect they would find you nauseating".
"I can see that this will be an uneasy alliance".
"You expected otherwise?" Egwene asked. "You hold my sisters captive. What you have done to them is worse than murder. You have tortured them, broken their wills. I wish to the Light you had simply killed them instead".
"I would not expect you to understand what needs to be done", Fortuona said, looking back toward the battlefield. "You are marath'damane. It is . . . natural for you to seek your own good, as you see it".
"Natural indeed", Egwene said softly. "This is why I insist that you see me as I am, for I represent the ultimate proof that your society and empire are built upon falsehoods. Here I stand, a woman you insist should be collared for the common good. And yet I display none of the wild or dangerous tendencies that you claim I should have. So long as I am free from your collars, I prove to every man and woman who draws breath that you are a liar". The other Seanchan murmured. Fortuona herself maintained a cool face. "You would be much happier with us", Fortuna said.
"Oh, would I?" Egwene said.
"Yes. You speak of hating the collar, but if you were to wear it and see, you would find it a more peaceful life. We do not torture our damane. We care for them, and allow them to live lives of privilege".
"You don’t know, do you?" Egwene asked.
"I am the Empress", Fortuona said. "My domination extends across seas, and the realms of my protection encompass all that humankind knows and thinks. If there are things I do not know, they are known by those in my Empire, for I am the Empire".
"Delightful", Egwene said. "And does your Empire realize that I wore one of your collars? That I was once trained by your suldam?"
Fortuona stiffened, then rewarded Egwene with a look of shock, although she covered it immediately.
"I was in Falme", Egwene said. "A damane, trained by Renna. Yes, I wore your collar, woman. I found no peace there. I found pain, humiliation, and terror".
"Why did I not know of this?" Fortuona asked loudly, turning. "Why did you not tell me?"
Egwene glanced at the collected Seanchan nobility. Fortuona seemed to be addressing one man in particular, a man in rich black and golden clothing, trimmed with white lace. He had an eyepatch over one eye, black to match, and the fingernails on both hands were lacquered to a dark—
"Mat?" Egwene sputtered.
He gave a kind of half-wave, looking embarrassed.
Oh, Light, she thought. What has he thrown himself into? She galloped through plans in her mind. Mat was imitating a Seanchan nobleman. They must not know who he really was. Could she trade something to save him? "Approach", Fortuona said.
"This man is not—" Egwene began, but Fortuona spoke over her. "Knotai", she said, "did you know that this woman was an escaped damane? You knew her as a child, I believe".
"You know who he is?" Egwene asked.
"Of course I do", Fortuona said. "He is named Knotai, but once was called Matrim Cauthon. Do not think he will serve you, marath’damane, though you did grow up together. He is the Prince of the Ravens now, a position he earned by his marriage to me. He serves the Seanchan, the Crystal Throne, and the Empress".
"May she live forever", Mat noted. "Hello, Egwene. Glad to hear you escaped those Sharans. How’s the White Tower? Still . . . white, I guess?" Egwene looked from Mat to the Seanchan Empress, then back at him again. Finally, unable to do anything else, she burst out laughing. "You married Matrim Cauthon?"