The Path of Daggers (The Wheel of Time #8)

The Path of Daggers (The Wheel of Time #8) Page 115

At last Lelaine spoke. “We do not declare war on individuals,” she said in a dry voice. “Not even on traitors like Elaida. In any case, I call to shelve your question while we deal with more immediate matters.” She had had time to gather herself since the ride back; her face was merely hard now, not thunderous. Brushing blueslashed skirts as if brushing away Elaida — or perhaps Egwene — she turned her attention to the other Sitters. “What brings us to sit tonight is... I was about to say simple, but it isn’t. Open the novice book? We would have grandmothers clamoring to be tested. Remain here a month? I hardly need list the difficulties, beginning with spending half our gold without coming a foot nearer Tar Valon. And as for not crossing into Andor — ”

“My sister Lelaine, in her anxiety, has forgotten who has the right to speak first,” Romanda cut in smoothly. Her smile managed to make Lelaine appear merry. Still, she took her time adjusting her shawl just as she wanted, a woman with all the time in the world. “I have two questions to call before the Hall, and in the second I will address Lelaine’s concerns. Unfortunately for her, my first question concerns Lelaine’s own fitness to continue in the Hall.” Her smile widened without growing the slightest bit warmer. Lelaine sat slowly, her scowl quite open.

“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, roundfaced and fierceeyed, shifted on her bench among the Greens, and so did Salita, twitching her yellowfringed 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, copperskinned Domani, Faiselle was not a woman startled by much, but she looked startled now, her square face swinging wideeyed from S