Egwene gave a faint sigh. Any mention of Birgitte did that; they started as if goosed, then either stammered around her or else went on as if she had not been mentioned at all. One look had convinced Egwene that the woman following Elayne and Nynaeve about—especially Elayne, for some reason—was the woman she had seen in Tel’aran’rhiod. Birgitte of the legends, the archer who never missed, one of the dead heroes awaiting the call of the Horn of Valere. A dead hero, not a live woman walking the streets of Salidar, but the same woman nonetheless. Elayne still had provided no explanation, only a careful, embarrassed mumble about not being able to talk of what they had agreed not to talk of. Birgitte herself, the hero of legends, turned the other way or went down alleys if she saw Egwene coming. Ordering the woman to her study and demanding an explanation was out of the question; she had promised, after all, no matter how much a fool the situation made her feel. Anyway, there hardly seemed any harm. She just wished she knew the why of it. And the how.
Putting Birgitte out of her mind for the moment, she leaned across the table toward Nynaeve. “Perhaps we can’t make Mat take orders exactly, but wouldn’t it be fine to watch him smolder over having to be your bodyguard?”
“It would certainly be worthwhile,” Elayne said thoughtfully, “if Rand really has made him a general. Mother often said the best men were reluctant to take orders, and always worth teaching to. I can’t see Mat as one of the best—Lini says ‘Fools only listen to themselves’—but if we can teach him enough that he doesn’t make a complete fool of himself where there is nobody to rescue him, we will be doing Rand a large favor. Besides, I need time if I am to study that ter’angreal.”
Egwene tried not to smile; Elayne always caught on so quickly. Then again, she probably was going to try teaching Mat to sit up straight. That would be something to see. She liked Elayne, and admired her strength, but she would bet on Mat in that contest. By a whisker.
Nynaeve gave ground stubbornly. Mat was wrongheaded; he would say “down” if they said “up” just to spite them. He could make trouble nailed up inside a barrel. They constantly would have to be dragging him out of taverns and gambling dens. Toward the end she was reduced to claiming that Mat would probably pinch Elayne the first time her back was turned, and Egwene knew they were overcoming her objections. Mat certainly gave a lot of time to chasing after women, which Egwene could hardly approve, but Nynaeve surely knew as well as she that for all of looking when and how he should not, he seemed to have an uncanny knack for picking women who wanted to be chased, even the most unlikely. Unfortunately, just when she was sure that Nynaeve was about to give in, a knock at the door announced Sheriam.
Sheriam did not wait on permission to enter; she never did. Cool-eyed in her blue stole, she paused to gaze at Nynaeve and Elayne. Second to the Amyrlin or not, the Keeper had no real authority over Aes Sedai except what the Amyrlin chose to give her, and most assuredly none to dismiss anyone from the Amyrlin’s presence, yet that look was clearly a dismissal.
Elayne rose smoothly, making a deep formal curtsy to Egwene. “If you will excuse me, Mother, I should go find Aviendha.”
Nynaeve, on the other hand, locked eyes with Sheriam until Egwene cleared her throat and slipped the striped stole back into place on her shoulders.
Flushing, Nynaeve bobbed to her feet. “I should go, too. Janya said she would talk to me about lost Talents.”
The recovery of those Talents was not proving as easy as Egwene had hoped. The sisters were willing enough to talk; the problem was in making Moghedien understand what was meant by a vague description or sometimes only a name, then hoping she really knew something. All very well to know, for example, that Aligning the Matrix made metals stronger, but the woman knew less of metals than of Healing, and what under the Light was Spinning Earthfire, or for that matter, Milking Tears?
Moghedien seemed eager to help, desperate to, especially since Siuan taught the trick of ignoring heat. Apparently she had lied to Nynaeve and Elayne about that. Convinced Egwene would take that for her “one lie,” the woman had groveled on her knees, weeping and begging, teeth chattering, kissing the hems of their skirts. Eager to help or not, it had raised her fear to new heights. The constant sickening rain of sniveling terror was just too much. Despite her intentions, the a’dam bracelet lay in Egwene’s pouch now. She would have given it to Nynaeve now—and glad to be rid of it—but handing the thing back and forth in front of others would occasion comment sooner or later.
Instead, she said, “Nynaeve, it might be best for you to avoid Mat until his temper cools.” She was not sure that Mat would really carry out his threat, but if anyone could goad him to it, Nynaeve could, and there would be no convincing her after that. “Or at least make sure you only talk to him with a great many people around. Perhaps a few Warders.”
Nynaeve opened her mouth; then after a moment closed it again; her cheeks paled a little and she swallowed. “Yes. Yes, I think that might be best, Mother.”
Sheriam watched the door close with a small frown that she still wore when she turned to Egwene. “There were hard words, Mother?”
“Only what you expect when old friends meet after a long time. Nynaeve remembers Mat as a scamp, but he isn’t ten anymore, and he resents it.” Bound by the Oath against lying, Aes Sedai had carried the half-truth, the quarter-truth and the implication to arts. Useful arts, in Egwene’s opinion. Especially with Aes Sedai. The Three Oaths did no one any favors, least of all Aes Sedai.
“It’s hard sometimes to remember that people change.” Taking a chair without being asked, Sheriam arranged her blue silk skirts carefully. “I assume whoever commands the Dragonsworn sent young Mat with a message from Rand al’Thor? I hope you said nothings he might take as a promise, Mother. An army of Dragonsworn not ten miles distant faces us with a delicate situation. It will not help if their commander believes we are going back on pledges.”
Egwene studied the other woman a moment. Nothing fazed Sheriam. Not that she let anyone see, at least. Sheriam knew quite a lot about Mat; so did several other sisters in Salidar. Could that be used to press him in the right direction, or would it make him bolt? Mat for later, she thought firmly. Sheriam now. “Would you ask someone to bring tea, Sheriam? I feel a trifle thirsty.”
Sheriam’s face altered only slightly, just a tightening around those tilted eyes so small that it barely disturbed her apparent serenity. Egwene could almost see the question wanting to pop out, though. What had she said to Mat that she did not want to talk about? What promises had she made that Sheriam was going to have to rescue her from without losing gro