Most women liked his grin. He’d been practicing it, though he didn’t use Mat’s grin as a model. Mat’s always made him look guilty. You learned grins when you were forced to fend for yourself, and Olver needed one that made him seem innocent. And he was innocent. Mostly.
Faile did not smile back. Olver figured that she was pretty good to look at, despite that nose. She wasn’t very soft, though. Bloody ashes, but she had a glare that could rust good iron.
Faile rode between Aravine and Vanin. Though they spoke softly, Olver could hear what they were saying. He made sure to stare in the other direction, so they’d think he wasn’t eavesdropping. And he wasn’t. He just wanted to be out of the trail dust of the other horses.
“Yes,” Vanin was whispering. “It may not seem it, but we’re close to the Blasted Lands. Burn my own mother, I can’t believe we’re going there. But do you feel the air? It’s getting cooler. We haven’t seen anything really nasty since those three-eyed things yesterday morning.”
“We are close,” Aravine agreed. “Soon, we will be near the Dark One, in a land where nothing grows, corrupted or not, where there is no life, not even the nastier things from the Blight.”
“I suppose that should be a comfort.”
“Not really,” Vanin said, wiping his brow. “Because the Shadowspawn up here are more dangerous. If we survive, it will be because there’s a bloody war going on. The Shadowspawn are all locked in battle. If we’re lucky, the Blasted Lands, except right around Shayol Ghul, will be as empty as a man’s purse after a deal with the bloody Sea Folk. Pardon my language, my Lady.”
Olver squinted at the approaching mountain peak.
That’s where the bloody Dark One lives, Olver thought. And that’s probably where Mat is, not Merrilor. Mat talked about staying away from danger, but he always found his way to it anyway. Olver figured that Mat was just trying to be humble, but was bad at it. Why else would you say you don’t want to be a hero, then always bloody end up charging right into danger?
“And this path?” Faile asked Vanin. “You said there might have been traffic here recently. Wouldn’t that indicate that this place is far from as empty as you so colorfully described?”
Vanin grunted. “It does look used.”
“So someone has been moving wagons through the area,” Aravine said. “I don’t know if that is a good sign or a bad one.”
“I don’t think there are any good signs up here,” Vanin said. “Maybe we should just pick someplace nearby and hole up, waiting.” He sighed, wiping his brow again, though Olver didn’t see why. It was growing pretty cold—he could tell, even through the course of the day. And there seemed to be fewer plants, too. He was just fine with that.
He glanced over his shoulder at the stand of trees that had taken that poor man’s life. There didn’t seem to be any others like it nearby, particularly not ahead of them along the path.
“We can’t afford to wait, Vanin,” Faile said. “I intend to get back to Merrilor, one way or another. The Dragon Reborn will be fighting at Thakan’dar. That’s where we need to go to get out of this forsaken place.”
Vanin groaned, but Olver smiled. He would find his way to Mat, and show how dangerous he could be in battle. Then…
Well, then maybe Mat wouldn’t leave him like the others had. That would be good, as Olver was going to need Mat’s
help tracking down those Shaido. After all he’d learned training with the Band, he was certain nobody would push him around. And nobody would take those he loved from him ever again.
“There are accounts in the archives that explain what we saw.” Cadsuane picked up her cup of tea to warm her hands.
The Aiel girl, Aviendha, sat on the floor of the tent. What I wouldn’t give to have that one in the Tower, Cadsuane thought. These Wise Ones… they had fight to them. Real bite, like the best of the women in the White Tower.
Cadsuane was increasingly convinced that the Shadow for years had been carrying out a complex plan to undermine the White Tower. It went deeper than Siuan Sanche’s unfortunate unseating and Elaida’s reign. It might be decades, centuries, before they understood the extent of the Shadow’s planning. However, the sheer number of Black sisters—hundreds, not the few dozen Cadsuane had guessed—shouted of what had happened.
For now, Cadsuane had to work with what she had. That included these Wise Ones, poorly trained in using weaves but never lacking in grit. Useful. Like Sorilea, despite her weakness in the One Power, who sat farther back in the tent, watching.
“I have made some inquiries, child,” Cadsuane said to Aviendha. “What this woman does is indeed Traveling. However, the only fragments of documents mentioning it date back to the War of Power.”
Aviendha frowned. “I saw no weaves, Cadsuane Sedai.”
Cadsuane masked a smile at the respectful tone. The al’Thor boy had put this girl in command—and, in truth, better her than some others. However, he should have chosen Cadsuane, and Aviendha likely knew it.
“That is because the woman was not weaving the One Power,” Cadsuane replied.
“What else would it be?”
“Do you know why the Dark One was originally freed?”
Aviendha looked as if remembering something. “Ah… yes. Then they are channeling the Dark One’s power?”
“It is called the True Power,” Cadsuane said. “The accounts say that Traveling by True Power works in the way you have seen this woman move. Few saw it happen. The Dark One was miserly with his essence during the War of Power, and only the most favored were granted access. I surmise from this fact that this is most definitely one of the Forsaken. From your description of what she did to poor Sarene, I would suspect it is Graendal.”