Nynaeve opened her mouth, glanced at Egwene, and seemed to change what she had intended to say. “I am going below for my things,” she told the air halfway between Egwene and Elayne, then turned on Ellisor. “Captain, make your rowboat ready.” He bowed and scurried away even before she turned for the hatch, and was shouting for men to put the boat over the side before she was below.

“If one of you says ‘up,’ ” Elayne murmured, “the other says ‘down.’ If you do not stop it, we may not reach Tear.”

“We will reach Tear,” Egwene said. “And sooner once Nynaeve realizes she is not the Wisdom any longer. We are all”—she did not say Accepted; there were too many men hurrying about—“on the same level, now.” Elayne sighed.

In short order the rowboat had ferried them ashore, and they were standing on the bank with walking staffs in hand, their belongings in bundles on their backs, and hung about them in pouches and scripts. Rolling grassland and scattered copses surrounded them, though the hills were forested a few miles in from the river. The sweeps on the Blue Crane were cutting up froth, but failing to budge the vessel. Egwene turned and started south without another glance. And before Nynaeve could take the lead.

When the others caught up to her, Elayne gave her a reproving look. Nynaeve walked staring straight ahead. Elayne told Nynaeve what Egwene had said about Mat and a Gray Man, but the older woman listened in silence and only said, “He’ll have to look after himself,” without pausing in her stride. After a time, the Daughter-Heir gave up trying to make the other two talk, and they all walked in silence.

Clumps of trees close along the riverbank soon hid the Blue Crane, thick growths of wateroak and willow. They did not go through the copses, small as they were, for anything at all might be hiding in the shadows under their branches. A few low bushes grew scattered between the thickets here close to the river, but they were too sparse to hide a child much less a brigand, and they were widely spaced.

“If we do see brigands,” Egwene announced, “I am going to defend myself. There is no Amyrlin looking over our shoulders here.”

Nynaeve’s mouth thinned. “If need be,” she told the air in front of her, “we can frighten off any brigands the way we did those Whitecloaks. If we can find no other way.”

“I wish you would not talk of brigands,” Elayne said. “I would like to reach this village without—”

A figure in brown and gray rose from behind a bush standing by itself almost in front of them.

CHAPTER
38

Maidens of the Spear