The Cairhienin were Elayne’s now, by reports, and were coming through with the Andorans and a large number of men from the Band of the Red Hand. Egwene had sent an offer, and a woman to offer Traveling, to King Roedran of Murandy, but she was uncertain if he would come. Even without him, however, a considerable number of the world’s nations were represented here, particularly since the flags of Ghealdan and Mayene could be seen among Perrin’s armies. She would have to contact their two rulers and see if she could sway them to her way of thinking. But even if not, surely what she had gathered would be enough to convince Rand to change his plans. Light send it was enough. She didn’t want to think of what would happen if he forced her hand.

She walked down the pathway, nodding back to sisters who nodded and Accepted who curtsied, soldiers who saluted and servants who bowed. Rand would—

“It can’t be,” Gawyn said suddenly, freezing in place.

“Gawyn?” she said, frowning. “Are you—”

He took off at a run across the weed-strewn hill. Egwene looked after him with dissatisfaction. He still had an impulsive streak. Why was he so upset, suddenly? It wasn’t worry; she could feel that. It was confusion. She hastened after him with as much speed as decorum would allow. Elayne’s envoy had stopped in the dead grass.

Gawyn was on his knees there, before someone. An older woman with red-gold hair, standing beside a smiling Elayne, who still sat her horse.

Ah, Egwene thought. Her spies had delivered word of this rumor just last night, but she’d wanted to confirm it before speaking to Gawyn.

Morgase Trakand lived.

Egwene stood back, for now. Once she stepped forward, Elayne would have to kiss her ring and the entire procession would bow; that would spoil Gawyn’s moment. As she waited, the clouds above grew thinner.

Suddenly they split, the dark thunderheads pulling back. The sky became an open field of blue, a deep, pure expanse. Elayne’s eyes opened wide, and she turned on her horse, looking at Perrin’s section of camp.

He’s come, then, Egwene thought. And the calm is here. The brief moment of peace before the storm that destroys.

“You give it a try, Emarin,” Androl said, standing with a small group inside a stand of trees near the border of the Black Tower grounds.

The stately nobleman concentrated, holding the One Power. Weaves sprang up around him. He was remarkably skillful, considering his short time practicing, and expertly crafted the weave for a gateway.

Instead of opening a hole in the air, the weave unraveled and vanished. Emarin turned to the rest of them, sweat streaming down his face. “Forming those weaves seemed harder than before,” he said.

“Why won’t they work?” Evin said. The young man’s youthful face flushed with anger—as if the problem with gateways was an insult.

Androl shook his head, arms folded. The trees rustled, leaves shivering, many falling to the ground. Brown, as if it were autumn. That unnerved him. He’d spent some time working the ground during his journeys in life, and had acquired a farmer’s sense for right and wrong regarding the land.