“I know that,” Elayne said quietly. She paused, then went on. “When Andor goes to war, the First Prince of the Sword commands the army, but the Queen rides with them, too. Seven hundred years ago, at the Battle of Cuallin Dhen, the Andormen were being routed when Queen Modrellein rode, alone and unarmed, carrying the Lion banner into the midst of the Tairen army. The Andormen rallied and attacked once more, to save her, and won the battle. That is the kind of courage expected of the Queen of Andor. If I have not learned to control my fear yet, I must before I take my mother's place on the Lion Throne.” Suddenly her somber mood vanished in a giggle. “Besides, do you think I would pass up an adventure so I could scrub pots?”
“You will do that anyway,” Nynaeve told her, “and hope that everyone thinks that is all you are doing. Now listen carefully.”
Elayne listened, and her mouth slowly dropped open as Nynaeve unfolded what the Amyrlin Seat had told them, and the task she had laid on them, and the attempt on their lives. She shivered over the Gray Man, and read the document the Amyrlin had given Nynaeve with a look of wonder, then returned it, murmuring, “I wish I could have that when I face Mother next.” By the time Nynaeve finished, though, her face was a picture of indignation.
“Why, that's like being told to go up in the hills and find lions, only you do not know whether there are any lions, but if there are, they may be hunting you, and they may be disguised as bushes. Oh, and if you find any lions, try not to let them eat you before you can tell where they are.”
“If you are afraid,” Nynaeve said, “you can still stand aside. It will be too late, once you've begun.”
Elayne tossed her head back. “Of course I am afraid. I am not a fool. But not afraid enough to quit before I have even started.”
“There is something else, too,” Nynaeve said. “I am afraid the Amyrlin may mean to let Mat die.”
“But an Aes Sedai is supposed to Heal anyone who asks.” The DaughterHeir seemed caught between indignation and disbelief. “Why would she let Mat die? I cannot believe it! I will not!”
“Nor can I!” Egwene gasped. She could not have meant that! The Amyrlin couldn't let him die! “All the way here Verin said that the Amyrlin would see he was Healed.”
Nynaeve shook her head. “Verin said the Amyrlin would 'see to him.' That is not the same thing. And the Amyrlin avoided saying yes or no when I asked her. Maybe she has not made her mind up.”
“But why?” Elayne asked.
“Because the White Tower does what it does for its own reasons.” Nynaeve's voice made Egwene shiver. “I do not know why. Whether they help Mat live or let him die depends on what serves their ends. None of the Three Oaths says they have to Heal him. Mat is just a tool, in the Amyrlin's eyes. So are we. She will use us to hunt the Black Ajah, but if you break a tool so it cannot be fixed, you don't weep over it. You just get another one. Both of you had best remember that.”
“What are we going to do about him?” Egwene asked. “What can we do?”
Nynaeve went to her wardrobe and rummaged in the back of it. When she came out, she had a striped cloth bag of herbs. “With my medicines — and luck — perhaps I can Heal him myself.”
“Verin could not,” Elayne said. “Moiraine and Verin together could not, and Moiraine had an angreal. Nynaeve, if you draw too much of the One Power, you could burn yourself to a cinder. Or just still yourself, if you are lucky. If you can call that luck.”
Nynaeve shrugged. “They keep telling me I have the potential to be the most powerful Aes Sedai in a thousand years. Perhaps it is time to find out whether they are right.” She gave a tug to her braid.
It was plain that however brave Nynaeve's words, she was afraid. But she won't let Mat die even if it means risking death herself. “They keep saying we're all three so powerful — or will be. Maybe, if we all try together, we can divide the flow among us.”
“We have never tried working together,” Nynaeve said slowly. “I am not sure I know how to combine our abilities. Trying could be almost as dangerous as drawing too much of the Power.”
“Oh, if we are going to do it,” Elayne said, climbing off the bed, “let's do it. The longer we talk of it, the more frightened I will become. Mat is in the guest rooms. I do not know which one, but Sheriam told me that much.”
As if to put period to her words, the door banged open, and an Aes Sedai entered as though it were her room, and they the interlopers.
Egwene made her curtsy deep, to hide the dismay on her face.
Chapter 17
(Flame of Tar Valon)
The Red Sister
Elaida was a handsome woman rather than beautiful, and the sternness on her face added maturity to her ageless Aes Sedai features. She did not look old, yet Egwene could never imagine Elaida as having been young. Except for the most formal occasions, few Aes Sedai wore the vineembroidered shawl with the white teardrop Flame of Tar Valon large on the wearer's back, but Elaida wore hers, the long red fringe announcing her Ajah. Red slashed her dress of creamcolored silk, too, and red slippers peeked under the edge of her skirts as she moved into the room. Her dark eyes watched them as a bird's eyes watched worms.
“So all of you are together. Somehow, that does not surprise me.” Her voice made no more pretense than her bearing did; she was a woman of power, and ready to wield it if she decided it was necessary, a woman who knew more than those she spoke to. It was much the same for a queen as for a novice.
“Forgive me, Elaida Sedai,” Nynaeve said, dropping another curtsy, “but I was about to go out. I have much to catch up in my studies. If you will forgive —”
“Your studies can wait,” Elaida said. “They have waited long enough already, after all.” She plucked the cloth bag out of Nynaeve's hands and undid the strings, but after one glance inside, she tossed it on the floor. “Herbs. You are not a village Wisdom any longer, child. Trying to hold on to the past will only hold you back.”
“Elaida Sedai,” Elayne said, “I —”
“Be silent, novice.” Elaida's voice was cold and soft, as silk wrapped around steel is soft. “You may have broken a bond between Tar Valon and Caemlyn that has lasted three thousand years. You will speak when spoken to.” Elayne's eyes examined the floor in front of her toes. Spots of color burned in her cheeks. Guilt, or a