Nynaeve quickened her step, Naeff at her side, until they were nearly running. A gateway would have been faster, but it wouldn’t be safe; she couldn’t be certain they wouldn’t slice into someone. We’re growing too dependent on those gateways, she thought. Our own feet hardly seem good enough anymore.

They turned a corner into a street where a group of nervous Defenders—wearing black coats and silvery breastplates, black and gold sleeves puffing out at the sides—stood in a line. They parted for her and Naeff, and while they looked relieved that she’d arrived, they still clutched their polearms nervously.

The city beyond them looked faintly…blander than it should. Washed out. The paving stones were a lighter shade of gray, the walls of the buildings a fainter brown or gray than they should have been.

“You have men inside searching for wounded?” Nynaeve asked.

One of the Defenders shook his head. “We’ve been keeping people out, er, Lady Aes Sedai. It’s not safe.”

Most Tairens still weren’t accustomed to showing Aes Sedai respect. Until recently, channeling had been outlawed in the city.

“Send your men to search,” Nynaeve said firmly. “The Lord Dragon will be upset if your timidity costs lives. Start at the perimeter. Send for me if you find anyone I can help.”

The guardsmen moved off. Nynaeve turned to Naeff, and he nodded. She turned and took a step into the affected section of town. When her foot hit the paving stone, the stone turned to dust. Her foot sank through the shattered paving stone and hit packed earth.

She looked down, feeling a chill. She continued forward, and the stones fell to powder as she touched them. She and Naeff made their way to a nearby building, leaving a trail of powdered rock behind.

The building was an inn with nice balconies on the second floor, delicate ironwork patterns on the glass windows, and a darkly stained porch. The door was open, and as she lifted her foot up to step onto the low porch, the boards also turned to powder. She froze, looking down. Naeff stepped up beside her, then knelt down, pinching the dust between his fingers.

“It’s soft,” he said quietly, “as fine a powder as I’ve ever touched.”

The air smelled unnaturally fresh, contrasting strangely with the silent street. Nynaeve took a deep breath, then went into the inn. She had to push forward, walking with the wooden floor at her knees, the boards disintegrating as she touched them.

The inside was dim. The stand-lamps no longer burned. People sat about the room, frozen in midmotion. Most were nobles with fine clothing, the men wearing beards oiled to a point. One sat at a nearby tall table with long-legged chairs. He had a mug of morning ale halfway to his lips. He was motionless, his mouth open to accept the drink.

Naeff’s face was grim, although little seemed to surprise or unsettle Asha’man. As he took another step forward, Nynaeve lunged and grabbed his arm. He frowned at her, and she pointed down. Right in front of him—barely visible beneath the still-whole floorboards right ahead of them—the ground fell away. He’d been about to step into the inn’s cellar.