“That is good advice,” Sheriam said slowly. “I don’t know about dangerous, but that is the advice I would give her myself.”

Elayne spread her hands in a helpless shrug. “I know. She told me you did, but. . . . She didn’t say it right out, but I think she’s a little afraid of those two. I know she’s Amyrlin now, but I think they make her feel a novice. I think she’s afraid if she does what they want—even if it is good advice—they will expect her to do the same next time. I think. . . . Sheriam, she is afraid she won’t be able to say no the next time if she says yes now. And . . . and I am afraid of it, too. Sheriam, she’s the Amyrlin Seat; she shouldn’t be under Romanda’s thumb, or Lelaine’s, or anybody’s. You are the only one who can help her. I do not know how, but you are.”

Sheriam was quiet so long that Elayne began to think the other woman was going to tell her every word was ludicrous. “I will do what I can,” Sheriam said at last.

Elayne stifled a relieved sigh before she realized it would not have mattered.

Leaning forward, Egwene rested her arms along the sides of the copper tub and let Chesa’s chatter flow over her as the woman scrubbed her back. She had dreamed of a real bath, but actually sitting in the soapy water, scented with a floral oil, felt strange after Aiel sweat tents. She had taken her first step as Amyrlin, marshaled her outnumbered army and begun her attack. She remembered hearing Rhuarc say once that when battle began, a battle leader no longer had any real control of events. Now all she could do was wait. “Even so,” she said softly, “I think the Wise Ones would be proud.”

CHAPTER
38

A Sudden Chill

The blazing sun still climbed behind him, and Mat was glad his broad-brimmed hat gave a little shade on his face. This Altaran forest was winter-bare and more than winter-brown, with pines and leatherleafs and other evergreens looking sere, and oak and ash and sweetgum naked. Noon yet to come, the worst heat beyond that, and already the day was like riding through an oven. His coat was slung atop his saddlebags, but sweat made his fine linen shirt cling. Pips’ hooves crunched on dead ferns and fallen leaves thick atop the leaf mold, and the Band moved in a crackle from the forest floor. Few birds appeared, quick flashes between the branches, and not a squirrel. There were flies, though, and bitemes, as if this were the heart of summer instead of less than a month to the Feast of Lights. No different from what he had seen back on the Erinin, really, but finding it here too made him uneasy. Was the whole world really burning up?