Gareth Bryne’s force had grown in the sixteen days since leaving Salidar. Two armies marching slowly northward through Altara, plainly not friendly toward each other, drew attention. Nobles flocked in with their levies to ally themselves with the stronger of the two. True, none of those lords and ladies would have sworn the oaths they had if they had known there would be no great battle in their own lands. True, given free choice, every last one would have ridden the moment they realized Egwene’s target was Tar Valon, not an army of Dragonsworn. But they had made those oaths, to an Amyrlin at least, before Aes Sedai who called themselves the Hall of the Tower, with hundreds more watching. Breaking that kind of vow came back to haunt you. Besides, even if Egwene’s head ended on a pike in the White Tower, not a one of them believed Elaida would forget they had sworn. Trapped into alliance they might have been, and into fealty of a sort, but they would be among the most fervent of her supporters. Their only way out of that trap with their necks intact was to see Egwene wearing the stole in Tar Valon.

Siuan and Leane were quite set up over it. Egwene was not certain how she felt. If there had been some way to remove Elaida without a drop of blood being shed, she would have leaped at it. She did not think there was, though.

After a small dinner of goat, turnip and something she did not inquire after too closely, Egwene retired to her tent. Not the largest in the camp, but certainly the largest occupied by one person. Chesa was there, waiting to help Egwene undress, bubbling over the news that she had acquired some of the finest linen imaginable from an Altaran lady’s maid, filmy material that would make the coolest shifts imaginable. Often Egwene let Chesa sleep in the tent with her for the company, though a pallet of blankets hardly equaled Chesa’s own cot. Tonight she sent the woman away once she was ready for bed. Being Amyrlin entailed a few privileges. Such as a tent of her own for your maid. Such as sleeping alone on nights when it was necessary.

Egwene was not tired enough to go to sleep yet, but that was no trouble. Putting herself to sleep was a simple matter; she had been trained by Aiel dreamwalkers. She stepped into Tel’aran’rhiod . . .

. . . and was standing in the room that had been her study in the Little Tower for such a brief time. The table and chairs remained, of course. Furniture was not something you took away when you set out with an army. Any place felt empty in the World of Dreams, but those that really were more than most. Already the Little Tower felt . . . hollow.