Robert Jordan - The Gathering Storm

• Название: The Gathering Storm
• Автор: Robert Jordan
• Издательство: Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
• Жанр: Фэнтези
• Год: 2009
• ISBN: 978-0-7653-0230-4

The final volume of the Wheel of Time, A Memory of Light, was partially written by Robert Jordan before his untimely passing in 2007. Brandon Sanderson, New York Times bestselling author of the Mistborn books, was chosen by Jordan’s editor—his wife, Harriet McDougal—to complete the final book. The scope and size of the volume was such that it could not be contained in a single book, and so Tor proudly presents The Gathering Storm as the first of three novels that will make up A Memory of Light. This short sequence will complete the struggle against the Shadow, bringing to a close a journey begun almost twenty years ago and marking the conclusion of the Wheel of Time, the preeminent fantasy epic of our era.

In this epic novel, Robert Jordan’s international bestselling series begins its dramatic conclusion. Rand al’Thor, the Dragon Reborn, struggles to unite a fractured network of kingdoms and alliances in preparation for the Last Battle. As he attempts to halt the Seanchan encroachment northward—wishing he could form at least a temporary truce with the invaders—his allies watch in terror the shadow that seems to be growing within the heart of the Dragon Reborn himself.

Egwene al’Vere, the Amyrlin Seat of the rebel Aes Sedai, is a captive of the White Tower and subject to the whims of their tyrannical leader. As days tick toward the Seanchan attack she knows is imminent, Egwene works to hold together the disparate factions of Aes Sedai while providing leadership in the face of increasing uncertainty and despair. Her fight will prove the mettle of the Aes Sedai, and her conflict will decide the future of the White Tower—and possibly the world itself.

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass. What was, what will be, and what is, may yet fall under the Shadow.

---

"We could just have Meidani order you to penance," said Seaine the White.

"She won't do such a thing," Egwene said. "She accepts my authority as Amyrlin."

The other sisters glanced at Meidani. Egwene held her breath. Meidani managed a nod, though she looked horrified to be defying the others. Egwene released a quiet breath of thanks.

Saerin looked surprised, but curious. Yukiri, still standing with her arms folded, was not so easily dissuaded. "That's meaningless. We'll just order her to send you to penance."

"Will you?" Egwene said. "I thought that you told me that the fourth oath was meant to restore unity, to keep her from fleeing to Elaida with your secrets. Now you would use that oath like a cudgel, forcing her to become your tool?"

That brought silence to the room.

"This is why an oath of obedience is a terrible idea," Egwene said. "No woman should have this much power over another. What you have done to these others is only one step shy of Compulsion. I'm still trying to decide if this abomination is in any way justified; the way you treat Meidani and the others will likely sway that decision."

"Must I repeat myself?" Yukiri snapped, turning to the others. "Why are we wasting time clucking with this girl like hens left to the range? We need to make a decision!"

"We're speaking with her because she seems determined to make herself a nuisance," Saerin said curtly, regarding Egwene. "Sit down, Yukiri. I will deal with the child."

Egwene met Saerin's eyes, heart thumping. Yukiri sniffed, then seated herself, finally seeming to remember that she was Aes Sedai as she calmed her expression. This group was under a great deal of pressure. If it became known what they were doing. . . .

Egwene kept her eyes on Saerin. She'd assumed that Yukiri was in charge of the group—she and Saerin were near in power, and many Browns were docile. But that had been a mistake; it was too easy to prejudge someone based on their Ajah.

Saerin leaned forward, speaking firmly. "Child, we must have your obedience. We cannot swear you to the Oath Rod, and I doubt you'd make an oath of obedience anyway. But you cannot continue this charade of being the Amyrlin Seat. We all know how often you take penance, and we all know what little good it is doing. So let me try something that I assume nobody else has tried with you: reason."

"You may speak your mind," Egwene said.

The Brown sniffed in response. "All right. For one thing, you can't be Amyrlin. With that forkroot, you can barely channel!"

"Is the Amyrlin Seat's authority, then, in her power to channel?" Egwene asked. "Is she nothing more than a bully, obeyed because she can force others to do as she demands?"

"Well, no," Saerin said.

"Then I don't see why my having been given forkroot has anything to do with my authority."

"You've been demoted to novice."

"Only Elaida is foolish enough to assume one can remove an Aes Sedai's rank." Egwene said. "She should never have been allowed to assume she had that power in the first place."

"If she didn't assume it," Saerin said, "then you would be dead, girl."

Egwene met Saerin's eyes again. "Sometimes, I feel it would be better to be dead than to see what Elaida has done to the women of this Tower."

That brought silence to the room.

"I must say," Seaine said quietly, "your claims are completely irrational. Elaida is the Amyrlin because she was raised properly by the Hall. Therefore, you can't be Amyrlin."

Egwene shook her head. "She was 'raised' after a shameful and unorthodox removal of Siuan Sanche from the seat. How can you call Elaida's position 'proper' in the face of that?" Something occurred to her, a gamble, but it felt right. "Tell me this. Have you interrogated any women who are currently Sitters? Have you found any Blacks among them?"

While Saerin's eyes remained even, Seaine glanced away, troubled. There! Egwene thought.

"You have," Egwene said. "It makes sense. If I were a member of the Black, I'd try very hard to get one of my fellow Darkfriends named as a Sitter. From there they can manipulate the Tower best. Now tell me this. Were any of these Black Sitters among those who raised Elaida? Did any of them stand to depose Siuan?"

There was silence.

"Answer me," Egwene said.

"We found a Black among the Sitters," Doesine finally said. "And . . . yes, she was one of those who stood to depose Siuan Sanche." Her voice was somber. She'd realized what Egwene was getting at.

"Siuan was deposed by the bare minimum number of Sitter required," Egwene said. "One of them was Black, making her vote invalid. You stilled and deposed your Amyrlin, murdering her Warder, and you did it unlawfully."

"By the Light," Seaine whispered. "She's right."

"This is pointless," Yukiri said, standing again. "If we begin second-guessing, trying to confirm which Amyrlins might have been raised by members of the Black, then we'd have reason to suspect every Amyrlin who ever held the seat!"

"Oh?" Egwene asked. "And how many of them were raised by a Hall filled by only the exact minimum number of currently sitting members? This is only one reason why it was a grave mistake to unseat Siuan this way. When I was raised, we made certain that every Sitter in the city was aware of what was happening."

"False Sitters," Yukiri said, pointing. "Given their places unlawfully!"

Egwene turned toward her, glad they couldn't hear her nervously pounding heart. She had to remain in control. She had to. "You call us false, Yukiri? Which Amyrlin would you rather follow? The one who has been making novices and Accepted out of Aes Sedai, banishing an entire Ajah, and causing divisions in the Tower more dangerous than any army that ever assaulted it? A woman who was raised partially through the help of the Black Ajah? Or would you rather serve the Amyrlin who is trying to undo all of that?"

"Surely you're not saying that you think we served the Black in raising Elaida," Doesine said.

"I think we all are serving the interests of the Shadow," Egwene said sharply, "so long as we allow ourselves to remain divided. How do you imagine the Black reacted to the near-secret deposing of an Amyrlin Seat, followed by a division among the Aes Sedai? I would not be surprised to find, after some investigation, that this nameless Black sister you discovered was not the only Darkfriend among the group who worked to unseat the rightful Amyrlin."

This brought another round of silence to the room.

Saerin settled back and sighed. "We cannot change the past. Enlightening though your arguments are, Egwene al'Vere, they are ultimately fruitless."

"I agree that we cannot change what has happened," Egwene said, nodding to her. "However, we can look to the future. As admirable as I find your work to discover the Black Ajah, I am far more encouraged by your willingness to work together to do it. In the current Tower, cooperation between the Ajahs is rare. I challenge you to take that as your main goal, bringing unity to the White Tower. Whatever the cost."

She stood up, and she half-expected a sister to rebuke her, but they almost seemed to have forgotten that they were speaking with a "novice" and a rebel. "Meidani," Egwene said. "You accept me as Amyrlin."

"Yes, Mother," the woman said, bowing her head.

"I charge you, then, to continue your work with these women. They are not our enemies and they never were. Sending you back as a spy was a mistake, one I wish I'd been able to stop. Now that you are here, however, you can be of use. I regret that you must continue your performance before Elaida, but I commend you for your courage in that regard."

"I will serve as needed, Mother," she said, though she looked sick.

Egwene glanced at the others. "Loyalty is better earned than forced. Do you have the Oath Rod here?"

"No," Yukiri said. "It's difficult to sneak away. We can only take it on occasion."

"A pity," Egwene said. "I'd have liked to take the oaths. Regardless, you will promptly take it and release Meidani from the fourth oath."

"We'll consider it," Saerin said.

Egwene raised an eyebrow. "As you wish. But know that once the White Tower is whole again, the Hall will learn of this action you have taken. I would like to be able to inform them that you were being careful, rather than seeking unwarranted power. If you need me in the next few days, you may send for me—but kindly find a way to deal with the two Red sisters who are watching me. I'd rather not use Traveling within the Tower again, lest I unwittingly reveal too much to those who would be better left ignorant."

She left that statement hanging before walking to the door. The Warder didn't stop her, though he did watch with those suspicious eyes of his. She wondered whose Warder he was—she didn't believe any of the sisters inside the room had Warders, though she wasn't certain. Perhaps he belonged to one of the other spies sent from Salidar, and had been drafted by Saerin and the others. That would explain his disposition.

Meidani quickly followed Egwene from the room, glancing over her shoulder, as if expecting argument or censure to fly out behind her. The Warder simply pulled the door shut.

"I can't believe you succeeded," the Gray said. "They should have strung you up by your heels and had you howling!"

"They are too wise for that," Egwene said. "They're the only ones in this blasted Tower—besides maybe Silviana—who have anything resembling heads sitting atop their shoulders."

"Silviana?" Meidani asked with surprise. "Doesn't she beat you every day?"

"Several times a day," Egwene said absently. "She's very dutiful, not to mention thoughtful. If we had more like her, the Tower wouldn't have gotten to this state in the first place."

Meidani regarded Egwene, an odd expression on her face. "You really are the Amyrlin," she finally said. It was an odd comment. Hadn't she just sworn that she accepted Egwene's authority?

"Come on," Egwene said, hastening her pace. "I need to get back before those Reds grow suspicious."

CHAPTER 13 An Offer and a Departure

Gawyn stood, sword at the ready, facing down two Warders. The barn let in slots of light, air sparkling with dust and bits of straw kicked up from the fighting. Gawyn backed slowly across the packed dirt floor, passing through patches of light. The air was warm on his skin. Trickles of sweat ran down from his temples, but his grip was firm as the two Warders advanced on him.

The one in front was Sleete, a limber, long-armed man with rough-hewn features. In the barn's uneven light, his face looked like an unfinished work one might find in a sculptor's workshop, with long shadows across his eyes, his chin divided by a cleft, his nose crooked from being broken and not Healed. He wore long hair and black sideburns.

Hattori had been quite pleased when her Warder had finally arrived at Dorian; she'd lost him at Dumai's Wells, and his story was the sort gleemen and bards sang about. Sleete had lain wounded for hours before deliriously managing to grab his horse's reins and pull himself into the saddle. It had loyally carried him, near unconscious, for hours before arriving at a nearby village. The villagers there had been tempted to sell Sleete to a local band of bandits—their leader had visited earlier promising them safety as a reward for revealing any refugees from the nearby battle. However, the mayor's daughter had argued for Sleete's life, convincing them that the bandits must be Darkfriends if they were seeking wounded Warders. The villagers had chosen to hide Sleete instead, and the girl had nursed him to safety.

Sleete had been forced to sneak away once he was well enough to travel; the girl had apparently taken quite a liking to him. Whispers among the Younglings said that Sleete s escape had also come because he had begun feeling affection for the girl himself. Most Warders knew better than to let themselves grow attached. Sleete had left in the night, after the girl and her family fell asleep—but in return for the village's mercy, he'd hunted down the bandits and seen to it that they would never plague the village again.

It was the marrow of stories and legends—at least, among regular, lesser men. For a Warder, Sleete's story was almost commonplace. Men like him attracted legends as ordinary men attracted fleas. In fact, Sleete hadn't wanted to share his tale; it had come out only owing to a vigorous campaign of questions from the Younglings. He still acted as if his survival were nothing to brag about. He was a Warder. Surviving against the odds, riding in delirium over miles of rough terrain, cutting down an entire band of thieves with wounds not fully healed—these were just the sorts of things you did when you were a Warder.

Gawyn respected them. Even the ones he had killed. Especially the ones he had killed. It took a unique kind of man to show this kind of dedication, this kind of vigilance. This kind of humility. While Aes Sedai manipulated the world and monsters like al'Thor got the glory, men like Sleete quietly did the work of heroes, each and every day. Without glory or recognition. If they were remembered, it was usually only by association with their Aes Sedai. Or it was by other Warders. You didn't forget your own.

Sleete attacked, sword lancing forward in a straight thrust delivered for maximum speed. The Viper Flicks Its Tongue, a bold strike, made more effective because Sleete fought in tandem with the narrow, short man rounding toward Gawyn's left. Marlesh was the only other Warder in Dorian—and his arrival had been far less dramatic than Sleete's. Marlesh had been with the original group of eleven Aes Sedai who had escaped Dumai's Wells, and he had stayed with them the entire time. His own Aes Sedai, a pretty young Domani Green named Vasha, watched idly from the side of the barn.

Gawyn countered The Viper Flicks Its Tongue with Cat Dances on the Wall, knocking aside the strike and going for the legs in one sweep. It wasn't intended to hit, however; it was a defensive move, meant to enable him to keep an eye on both opponents. Marlesh tried Leopard's Caress, but Gawyn moved into Folding the Air, carefully knocking aside the blow and waiting for another from Sleete, who was the more dangerous of the two. Sleete repositioned, taking smooth steps, his blade to the side as he set his back to the massive piles of hay at the rear of the stuffy barn.

Gawyn moved into Cat on Hot Sand as Marlesh tried Hummingbird Kisses the Honeyrose. Hummingbird wasn't the right form to use in such an attack; it was rarely useful against someone on the defensive, but Marlesh was obviously tired of being parried. He was getting eager. Gawyn could use that. And would.

Sleete was advancing again. Gawyn brought his sword back in to guard as the Warders approached in tandem. Gawyn immediately moved into Apple Blossoms in the Wind. His blade flashed three times, pushing a wide-eyed Marlesh back. Marlesh cursed, throwing himself forward, but Gawyn brought his sword up from the previous form and moved flu-idly into Shake Dew from the Branch. He stepped forward into a series of six sharp blows, three at each opponent, knocking Marlesh back and to the ground—the man had stepped back into the fight too quickly—and forcing Sleete's blade aside twice, then ending with his blade against the man's neck.