“I’ll Heal the others,” she said. “Narishma, Flinn at the least, before I go. All of the Asha’man probably have at least a hint of this taint upon their minds. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get to the Black Tower.” Or if I want to go there.

“Thank you,” Rand said, looking northward. “But no, you shouldn’t go to the Black Tower. I will need to send someone there, but it will be handled carefully. Something’s happening with them. But I have so much to do…”

He shook his head, then looked to her. “That is one pit I cannot cross at the moment. Speak well of me to Egwene. I need her to be an ally.”

Nynaeve nodded, then—feeling foolish—gave him a hug before hurrying off to seek out Narishma and Flinn. A hug. For the Dragon Reborn. She was turning as silly as Elayne. She shook her head, thinking that perhaps some time in the White Tower would help her regain her levelheadedness.

The clouds had returned.

Egwene stood at the very apex of the White Tower, on the flat, circular roof, holding to the waist-high wall. Like a creeping fungus—like insects in a swarm—the clouds had closed up above Tar Valon. The sunlight’s visit had been welcome, but brief.

The tea was back to tasting stale again. The grain stores they’d discovered were running out, and the next sacks to come in had been filled with weevils. The Land is One with the Dragon.

She breathed in, smelling the new air, looking out over Tar Valon. Her Tar Valon.

Saerin, Yukiri and Seaine—three of the sisters who had been the original hunters for the Black Ajah in the Tower—waited patiently behind her. They were among her most ardent supporters now, and her most useful. Everyone expected Egwene to favor the women who had been among those who split from Elaida, so being seen spending time with Aes Sedai who had stayed in the White Tower was helpful.

“What have you discovered?” Egwene asked.

Saerin shook her head, joining Egwene at the wall. The scar on her cheek and the white at her temples made the olive-skinned and blunt-faced Brown look like an aging general. “Some of the information you requested was uncertain even three thousand years ago, Mother.”

“Whatever you can give me will help, daughter,” Egwene said. “So long as we do not depend on the facts entirely, incomplete knowledge is better than complete ignorance.”

Saerin snorted softly, but obviously recognized the quote from Yasicca Cellaech, an ancient Brown scholar.

“And you two?” Egwene asked Yukiri and Seaine.

“We’re looking,” Yukiri said. “Seaine has a list of possibilities. Some are actually reasonable.”

Egwene raised an eyebrow. Asking a White for theories was always interesting, but not always useful. They had a tendency to ignore what was plausible, focusing on remote possibilities.

“Let us begin there, then,” Egwene said. “Seaine?”

“Well,” Seaine said, “I will begin by saying that one of the Forsaken undoubtedly has knowledge that we can’t guess at. So there may be no way to ascertain how she defeated the Oath Rod. For instance, there might be a way to disable it for a short time, or perhaps there are special words that can be used to evade its effects. The rod is a thing of the Age of Legends, and though we’ve used it for millennia, we don’t really understand it. No more than we do most ter’angreal.”